“If you walk in My statutes, and keep My commandments, and do them; then I will give your rains in their season, and the land shall yield her produce, and the trees of the field shall yield their fruit. And your threshing shall reach its vintage, and the vintage shall reach its sowing time; and you shall eat your bread until you are satisfied, and dwell in your land safely. And I will give peace in the land, and you shall lie down, and none shall make you afraid.”

There is a majesty in that language. A hope and a dream.

Does anyone remember what happened 66 years ago? Do some of you remember listening on the radio? Israel became the Jewish State. After the UN Partition vote in November of 1947, this was the day that Israel declared its independence. Great Britain was no longer in charge. As soon as the declaration of independence was read by David Ben Gurion, five Arab countries attacked Israel.

I grew up singing Israeli folk songs, mostly about peace and believing in the Israeli dream. “Im tirtzu ayn zo agadah, If you will it, it is no dream.” Theodore Herzl said. Debbie Friedman set it to music. I sang it with every paper I delivered and every yard I raked earning money to go on my NFTY Summer Tour as a 16 year old.

On the Kibbutzim we sang as we worked, “For our hands are strong and our hearts are young, And the dreamer keeps a dreaming’, Ages on, Keeps a dreamin’ keeps a dreamin’ along…What did we do when we needed corn? We plowed and we sowed to the early morn…” The early Israelis made the desert bloom, learned about drip irrigation, desalinization of water, solar energy. They built towns, brought Hebrew back to life, absorbed refugees from Europe and from northern Africa and Arab countries. All while fighting for its very existence.

Israel fought wars in 1948, in 1956, in 1967, in 1973. It invaded Lebanon in 1982. There have been two intifadas and any number of terrorist attacks. On Yom HaZikaron Israel mourned 23,169 fallen soldiers and 2,495 terror victims since the founding of the State of Israel. How is this possible?  How is it possible that we have lost so many, so very many? One of them is mine. It clouds my understanding of Israel.

Yuval didn’t ask to be a soldier yet he understood that was his destiny. His parents were Holocaust survivors. They lived on a kibbutz. They never talked about their life prior to the kibbutz. They lost children in the Holocaust and Yuval’s older brother in another war. His father tended the cotton fields and his mother made beautiful batik cloth. I still have napkins she made. Yuval knew he would be a soldier, an officer. And so he was. He had a very typical Israeli philosophy. Very matter-of-fact. Either we go to war or we don’t. If we don’t it is no problem. If we go to war, either there will be casualties or there won’t. If there are not, there is no problem. If there are casualties, either they are serious, or they are not. If they are not serious, there is no problem. You get the idea. He went to war. He was a casualty. It was a problem. And he died a hero.

It is times like this that I want to sing, Blowing in the Wind. “How many times must a man turn his head. How many times must the cannon balls fly.” How many young men (and women) do we have to send off to war? When will we be safe?

But Israelis are optimistic. In an article that was published this week in Israel Hayom, http://www.israelhayom.com/site/newsletter_article.php?id=4098, 93% of Israelis are proud to be Israeli and 80% wouldn’t live anywhere else. People are not concerned about the political situation and surprisingly the biggest fear is for personal safety, 17%.

This survey, based on 500 “typical Israelis,” fills me with hope. It does not address the fact that Israel is complex. Israel is intense. There are no black and white answers. There are no simple answers to complicated intractable problems that are now generations old.

The current prime minister of Israel, Benyamin Netanyau, has different response. He lost his brother Yoni. He is filled with fear. Never again should Israel lose a son, a brother this way.

I watched Prime Minister Netayahu stand with his wife at his Yoni’s grave for Yom HaZakron. He seemed detached. Almost disingenuous. Yoni was the commander of the elite group of Israeli soldiers that raided Entebbe on, does anyone remember that date? July 4, 1776.

I remember that Sunday well. It was Independence Day of the Bicentennial. As a Girl Scout I was speaking at Grand Rapids big celebration. The Declaration of Independence would be read. President Ford would be in attendance. I went to get the Sunday paper on the front porch and put the flag up on a warm, summer morning. The headline about Entebbe was splashed across the front page. It overshadowed the sitting president being in town and filled me with pride. Yoni was the only Israeli soldier killed in the raid. He was only 30. There is a movie based on his life, Follow Me, Kadima in Hebrew, the command of every Israeli officer. Yuval’s last word.

Sh! It is a dirty little secret. Israel does not always do everything right. Benjamin Netanyahu does not always do everything right. Managing a country is different than remembering a dream. Building a country is not the same as praying for peace. Sometimes difficult choices have to be made.

Despite the ambiguities, the complexities, Israel has a right to exist. Israel needs to exist. As a Jewish state. Of course, how Israel defines Jewish differs from the State of Israel and from the state sponsored rabbinate of Israel. For the State it is good enough for one grandparent, to be Jewish. For the rabbinate your mother must be Jewish and you better be able to prove it OR you may convert, using Orthodox rabbis and only some that they accept.

I am proud of Israel. Undeniably, unabashedly proud. Proud that the technology that drives my cell phone was invented in Israel. Proud that every time there is a disaster anywhere in the world, Israel shows up, sometimes quietly behind the scenes but they always show up and they are always effective, based on the painful knowledge they have cleaned from all those wars. Proud that their main hospitals do not discriminate against anyone, that they treat Jew and Arab alike. Proud that there are more Nobel prize winners per capita than anywhere else in the world. Proud that my friend, Yossi Abromowitz is running for President. That in Israel you don’t have to be born in Israel to be president and that it doesn’t matter if you are an American olah with a woman rabbi as your wife and two kids from Ethiopia amongst your children.

Israel is complex. So I worry.

• I worry about Jews being judgmental of other Jews. I stand here in my brand new tallit from Israel. Simon has a matching one. Women have a right and an obligation to davven in Israel. It is a mitzvah. There is nothing in halacha to prevent a woman from taking on the obligation of tallit or tefilin.
• I worry that Jews don’t let other Jews have honest and open dialogue about Israel. That many congregations won’t even talk about Israel for fear of offending one group or another. That many Jews will no longer speak out when Israeli politicians seem misguided. That somehow saying anything critical is considered anti-Israel or anti-Semitic. That J-Street was not allowed as a member of the Conference of Presidents. Here we will have that dialogue, because Israel is that important. You may not agree with everything I say—and that is OK come be part of the dialogue. After services we will gather to continue this discussion and thank you to the sisterhood for providing Israeli snacks to eat!
• I worry about what fear does. When those who were oppressed for so many years, generations really, become the oppressors. When there are real human rights violations on the West Bank. When fear drives our actions rather than pursing the dream of peace. Real fears. The fear of anti-Semitism. The fear of the Holocaust happening again. The fear of terrorism. The fear of a nuclear strike by Iran. Peace, real peace cannot be made with fear. Real peace cannot be made without safety.
• I worry about the peace process breaking down, again.

Why has the peace process broken down? Because on both sides there is tremendous fear and mistrust. While Israelis mark Yom Hazikaron and Yom Ha’atzmaut on the Hebrew Calendar, the Arab community marks Nakba Day on the Gregorian Calendar. While our Torah School children were here on Wednesday singing songs of peace, telling us why Israel is important to them, and leading a Torah service, and sampling hummus, some they made and some commercial, in Israel there were clashes at Damascus Gate and five Israeli Arabs were arrested, two Arabs were killed by Israeli soldiers in Ramallah. Abbas’s response was to announce that Israel is “living in the mentality of the past and closing the door to the two-state solution.” The Palestinian Authority were considering cancelling security coordination with Israel.

And in truth, for Israel to exist as the Jewish State it was intended, the Palestinian Authority needs to recognize its right to exist. Benjamin Netanyahu was clear in his response: “Not far from here, in the Palestinian Authority, they are commemorating what they call the Nakba Day. They are standing silent to mark the tragedy of the establishment of Israel, the state of the Jewish people. Palestinians are educating their children with “endless propaganda” calling for the disappearance of Israel. We have many answers to that,” he said. “The first is that we continue to build our country, and our united capital of Jerusalem. And we will also give an additional answer to ‘The Nakba’ – we will pass the Nationality Law that demonstrates clearly to the world that Israel is the state of the Jewish people.”

I deplore the propaganda that Palestinian children are raised with. Linda Blatchford posted on Facebook this week a scary example. A friendly looking kid TV character , maybe a bee, saying “That’s right, if the neighbors are Jewish…He should beat them up. You should shoot all the Jews.” Pretty shocking stuff. Ask her for the link.

The BDS is movement raging on college campuses. Sabra Hummous, the winner of our taste completion here on Wednesday, was banned at DePaul. Loyola voted to divest from Israel .Scarlett Johanseen, a former Oxfam ambassador was caught in the middle of the controversy over her SodaStream ad. She stood by her decision, saying, “I was aware of that particular factory before I signed. And it still doesn’t seem like a problem – at least not until someone comes up with a solution to the closing of that factory and leaving all those people destitute.”

Oxfam wrote to her explaining that, although it understood the independence of the stars who volunteer to help, as an organisation it officially “believes that businesses that operate in settlements further the ongoing poverty and denial of rights of the Palestinian communities that we work to support”.

This is not new. In the 70s, Jewish congregations didn’t drink Pepsi. Why? Because they wouldn’t sell in Israel and Coca Cola would. I stand with Scarlett Johanssen and Rabbis for Human Rights. Providing sustainable work on the West Bank with companies like SodaStream, Ahava and Sabra is a better way to work for peace than boycotting economic development. Maybe I should go get a Sodastream machine for my office.

But what Netanyahu means when he says build our country is a reference to continued building of settlements on the West Bank and East Jerusalem. While that is how the early Zionists were successful and I am in the middle of reading Ari Shavits fascinating book My Promised Land, I believe that continued building in the West Bank is an obstacle to peace. It erodes any sense of safety.  I was at Damascus Gate when Biden was in Jerusalem. The demonstrations and counter demonstrations were not safe. Yet, as a democratic country, free speech prevailed.

I worry about the Nationality Law. Will I or any of you even be granted Israeli citizenship should we want it? Will the Knesett once again debate “Who is a Jew?’ Whose definition will survive this time?

So I join organizations like Rabbis for Human Rights, the Parents Circle, J Street., Women of the Wall, the Israeli Religious Action Center I talk about Israel frequently and I work for peace—as often and consistently as I can.  I create space so that we can have this conversation in respectful tones but so that we can talk about Israel. I travel to Israel and help organize trips as often as I can. We will try to plan one as a congregation for next summer.

I am a rabbi, just a simple rabbi and not a politician. I think in metaphor. What I learn from the story of Abraham and Hagar, is that we have to keep trying. We need to keep pursing peace, over and over again. Hagar, the mother of Ishmael, the father of all the Arabs, hides her son Ishmael, under a bush. She calls out, not even a prayer per se, “Don’t let me look on while the child dies.” Not “heal my child,” or “ help my child”. All hope was gone. She opens her eyes and sees a source of water.  I want to cry out. I want to scream. I pray, “Make peace not just in the high heavens; but here on earth as well. Between the sons of Sarah and the sons of Hagar, speedily and in our day. Amen.”

Being a rabbi was part of the dream that Yuval and I shared. I am not sure how we get to an age where everyone can sit under their vine and fig tree and none can make them afraid. That is Isaiah’s dream. It is mine too. Speedily and in our day. Working for that dream, working for peace is how I will spend Yom Ha’Atzma’ut. It is how I keep Yuval’s memory alive.

When Sarah was a Bat Mitzvah she learned that the original Sarah had her tent open to all four sides so she could always welcome guests coming from any direction. We built Sarah’s tent. Open to all four sides. We served dinner in the tent with beautiful brass serving pieces collected in the Middle East. People felt welcome.

Today I hosted a meeting for the leaders of the congregation. As a way to say thank you. As a way to model warm and welcoming behavior. As a way to talk about how to have that kind of big tent where people feel welcome. I managed to get twenty busy people in the same room at the same time. I used real table clothes.  I served a menu that was kosher, gluten free, lactose free and vegetarian. There were enough choices. Nobody went hungry. Oh, and I’ve already got a thank you note because the fish was delicious.

Over dinner we looked at a picture of a tent. Open to all four sides. With people coming in and others welcoming them. Many ages and generations. Many skin tones. People seemed happy, joyous. There is a lot of light inside the tent.

This picture was one that Big Tent Judaism uses to spark this very discussion. They used it at a workshop on welcoming congregations for JUF and the Synagogue Commission that our educational director and our administrator attended. The discussion then focused on how we want to be welcoming. What does our tent look like:

• Non-judgemental, safe.
• Accepting
• Accessible
• Creative
• Affirming
• Approachable
• Active listeners
• Enjoyable
• Fun
• Not whiney, complaining
• No gossip
• Diverse
• Pleasant
• Positive
• Connected
• Communication

There were more words. Then we took turns reading a hand out on what priorities might be to make the synagogue more warm and welcoming. We talked a little about language and what it conveys. Then we looked at how people want to be welcomed, what proactive hospitality is. Another term is radical hospitality.

All this in a hour. Truth be told, we did all this in a hour and we just began the deep conversation. People went home with specific tasks. Someone will add a map to the video display. Someone else will continue to explore handicapped accessible bathrooms. Someone else will check the language of the website. It was a good meeting. It is a start. It is only a start.

Africa, at least Kenya, has been blessedly out of the news today. We are more than halfway to Shavuot and writing every day has become difficult. What will I say today that will be meaningful? And then it happens!

I have a friend, Yossi Abramowitz, Yosef to you now that he is wearing a suit. He is wearing a suit because he is now running for President of Israel. Really. Why? Because he believes in Israel. He has lived there now for 10ish years. His mother is my good friend Devora Abramowitz with whom I celebrated lots of chaggim together with and from whom I inherited much of Yossi’s library when he moved with his wife Rabbi Susan Silverman to Israel. Our congregation in Lowell boasts the first solar ner tamid (eternal light) in the country. But Yossi has taken solar power to a whole different level. His company, Arava Power Company, founded with David Rosenblatt and Ed Hofland at Kibbutz Ketura. Its goal is to supply 10% of Israel’s electricity needs through solar energy. He has called solar energy, the “energy of peace”; in an 2008 interview he said “To realize that the same sun shines equally on all of us, is owned by none of us, and can supply our energy needs in abundance, inherently promotes peace. The sun doesn’t recognize borders.”  “A Renewable Light to the Nations: An Interview with Arava Power Company’s Yossi Abramowitz”

This was Yossi’s Facebook Status today:

So solar power as a way to do economic development in Africa. AJWS are you listening? This may not be the rights-based method you are preferring. But it seems to be effective in Africa. Along the way, Yossi is building bridges. Perhaps one day soon, though the power of the sun, he will be president.

Today is Lag B’Omer, the 33rd day of the counting of the omer, from Passover to Shavuot. It is a celebration, the hillula of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, a Talmudic rabbi and leading disciple of Rabbi Akiva in the 2nd century CE. Or maybe it is his yarzeit, the anniversary of his death.

How is celebration connected to mourning? I think of the Psalm for the Dedication of the Temple, Psalm 30 which we read every week in synagogue.

“To you, Lord, I called;
to the Lord I cried for mercy:
“What is gained if I am silenced,
if I go down to the pit?
Will the dust praise You?
Will it proclaim Your faithfulness?
Hear, Lord, and be merciful to me;
Lord, be my help.”
You turned my wailing into dancing;
You removed my sackcloth and robed me with joy,
that my heart may sing your praises and not be silent.
Lord my God, I will praise you forever.

That is what Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai did. In the midst of the Roman occupation, where the study of Torah was forbidden, he found a way to continue to teach Torah. His students would pack a picnic and go out of Jerusalem as though on an outing. They would sit in a cave and study Torah. In that way he lived out the verse that there would be no value if his voice was silenced. In that way, his mourning was turned to joy and his wailing to dancing.

Each of us, has an opportunity to do precisely that. When Rabbi Harold Kushner wrote his seminal book, When Bad Things Happen to Good People, the title was not why bad things happen. Sometimes there is no explanation. The question becomes how do we respond. Each of us has bad things that happen to us. The challenge is to find balance, to find meaning so that slowly over time we can turn our mourning to joy and we can continue to praise G-d. It is isn’t easy.

There are a number of ways Lag B’Omer has been celebrated.With pilgrimages to the tomb of Bar Yochai in northern Israel. With bonfires. And singing. With bows and arrows. With weddings and haircuts.

In 1942 there was a most miraculous celebration of Lag B’Omer in the shadow of the pyramids. The Jewish Palestinian soldiers (this was before Israel was a state!) conscripted by England and serving in Northern Africa, gathered to light a Lag B’Omer bonfire. They sang Israeli folk songs and danced into the wee hours of the mourning. A fascinating eyewitness account of this event can be read here: http://www.israelnationalnews.com/Articles/Article.aspx/15019#.U3oYAcbxUy4

Every year, in Tunisia, Lag B’Omer is celebrated with a festive procession to the El Ghriba synagogue, one of the oldest in Africa. It brings hundreds of Jews and Israelis to Tunisia. Earlier in the year Norwegian Cruise Lines cancelled stops at ports in Tunisia after Tunisia denied entry to 20 Israelis. Pilgrims from Israel traditionally until this year entered the country on special visas issued by Tunisia in advance since Tunisia does not have diplomatic relations with Israel. This year it has flipped flopped on whether Israelis can enter on their own Israeli passports or need a special visa. The minister of tourism has said that Tunisia needs this event to be successful so the tourism season is successful. Others questioned whether there should be diplomatic ties with Israel. So much for the promise of an Arab Spring.

I learned for the first time about an ancient tradition for Lag B’omer. Some have a tradition of giving chai rotel at the grave of Shimon bar Yochai. 18 measures of liquid. It is believed that if you donate 18 “rotel”, about 54 liters, then the giver will be granted miraculous salvation. At the grave this is liquid refreshment, grape, juice, wine, soda or even water.

At Congregation Kneseth Israel we knew it would be Lag B’Omer, the last day of religious school and our semi-annual blood drive. The children would complete making their own Torah scrolls that they had been working on all year, with the phrase, “Pekuach nefesh” to save a life. The 6th and 7th graders finished their wimples, using their personal verses from the Ashrei and tying (pun intended) their studying of baby naming/bris traditions to their upcoming B’nei Mitzvah where they may use their wimples as a Torah tie. We dedicated a tree to a teacher who has been teaching with us for 25 years. We had a hot dog lunch for tzedakah. We had a child naming. Our building was full. It was filled with joy. And songs of praise. There was no mourning.

And the blood drive?  Heartland Blood Centers collected 18 pints of blood. I am told that each pint saves at least 3 lives: 54 lives. What better way to celebrate Lag B’Omer!

Part of what I am enjoying about the American Jewish World Service Global Jewish fellowship, is the opportunity to engage in chevruta study in preparation. Chevruta, from the same root as friend, is about studying intensely with a friend. You see the model in the movie Yentl. I have a new friend, Rabbi Beau Shapiro from Los Angeles. He is a rabbi at the historic Wilshire Boulevard Temple founded in 1862. That makes it 30 years older than my congregation which is also historic! I am the only rabbi of Congregation Kneseth Israel. As he put it, they have enough rabbis to field a baseball team. Really.

But we share a commitment to social justice, to tikkun o’lam, fixing or repairing the world. This week we met (virtually!) to study the texts that American Jewish World Service provided for us. We read an article about a historical overview of development and a more in-depth analysis of A Rights-Based Approach to Development by Peter Uvin. Then we contrasted it with a text we know well. Leviticus 19:9-10 and Leviticus 19:15, both part of what we call the Holiness Code.

It was an interesting discussion. Rabbi Shapiro and I agreed on much of our approach and response. Some of the material we found troubling. If you used a right-based approach, who is setting the agenda? Whose rights? What if there are rights that appear to supersede each other or cancel each other out?

We were both surprised to read that Maslow’s Pyramid as a model maybe dead. Although I quipped that I had seen on Facebook that the new bottom rung is Wifi. No one can exist without Wifi (and it actually concerns me about the Kenya trip). But seriously, I have always taught this to my fifth graders during their class on prophets where they take on an issue as a class project and try to make the world a better place. How can you talk about reducing hate crimes for instance if people are worried about food, shelter, clothing?

It is almost Shabbat, almost Lag B’omer. In many traditional Jewish communities there would be no instrumental music on Shabbat and no instrumental music during the Omer. Some communities allow instrumental music back after Lag B’omer.

Shabbat, sacred time and place. A chance to rest, to pause, to be at peace. A time of joy, of singing, of prayer. This week I am looking forward to Shabbat. It is Teacher Appreciation Shabbat where we will honor our teachers for all the work they have done all year. It is also a musical Shabbat. Once a month we are treated to some talented musicians play their hearts out. Listening to our house band rehearse last night was very moving. Highly spiritual. Exceptional.

What is it about music that touches us so deeply? I think the explanation maybe in a song I first heard Beged Kefet sing. Apparently it is a Peter, Paul and Mary song.

Music speaks louder than words
It’s the only thing that the whole world listens to
Music speaks louder than words
When you sing, people understand

Sometimes the love that you feel inside
Gets lost between your heart and your mind
And the words don’t really say, the things you wanted them to
But then you feel in someone’s song
What you’d been trying to say all along
And somehow with the magic of music the message comes through

At our musical Shabbat we will have a new tradition. Each time we will pick a “secular” song that expresses our own spirituality. Our first song selected is Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen. I am not sure why these particular lyrics work. I suspect that each person is moved by their own stories overlaid with the story of David and Samson that are told in the lyrics–even if they don’t know the Biblical references.

Watching our president “rehearse” with the band and seeing him transported by the words and the music was magical. He put his whole being into it. His eyes were closed and he was in a different zone. Holy. He created sacred time and space. At the same time, I was in my own place. And the experience brought tears to my eyes. It was holy.

If I had to pick one song to represent my spirituality, it might be the Finale from Les Miserables. But how could I pick just one song, almost every sermon has some song lyric reference.

Take my hand
And lead me to salvation
Take my love
For love is everlasting
And remember
The truth that once was spoken
To love another person
Is to see the face of God.

CHORUS
Do you hear the people sing
Lost in the valley of the night?
It is the music of a people
Who are climbing to the light.
For the wretched of the earth
There is a flame that never dies.
Even the darkest night will end
And the sun will rise.
They will live again in freedom
In the garden of the Lord.
They will walk behind the plough-share,
They will put away the sword.
The chain will be broken
And all men will have their reward.

Will you join in our crusade?
Who will be strong and stand with me?
Somewhere beyond the barricade
Is there a world you long to see?
Do you hear the people sing?
Say, do you hear the distant drums?
It is the future that they bring
When tomorrow comes!

For me, this song seems to combine the need to make the world a better place by joining in the crusade and the acknowledgement that loving another person is to see the face of G-d. What more could you ask for?

Perhaps this–to return again. Shlomo Carlebach wrote this profound song performed by his daughter Neshama Carlebach: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aYvpbcImTnc

Return again, return again
Return to the land of your soul
Return to who you are
Return to what you are
Return to where you are
Born and reborn again

This is a song that picks up what Shabbat is about. It is that opportunity to explore our inner most selves.

Sometimes music touches us not because of the lyrics but because of the melody. It maybe a quiet, haunting song like Kol Nidre which reaches me most deeply on a cello without any words at all. Or it may be a freilach (happy) melody like some Klezmer pieces or some of the Abudaya melodies out of Uganda.  Or, it maybe a niggun, a song without any words with which we will begin our service tonight.

How ever you celebrate Shabbat in the middle of this Omer, I hope it will involve some music–instrumental, lyrical or a niggun. It has the ability to lift your soul and let you soar.

Today I booked my flight from Chicago to New York for my trip to Kenya. I had a very pleasant conversation with the tour operator in Connecticut and I remembered how much I have loved international travel. I loved my trips to Israel. I have enjoyed traveling in Europe. I appreciated all the travel opportunities working for global 500 technology companies afforded me. Who would have ever thought I would be comfortable walking down the Hauptstrasse in Heidelberg?

Travel is not without its risks. When I was the High Holiday rabbi in Hamln there was a foiled terror attack at the Frankfurt International Airport and a rabbi stabbed walking home from services the week before I flew. I upped my life insurance. My brother thought I was crazy. When I lived in Israel, I spent time in a bomb shelter entertaining young children with every Girl Scout Camp song I knew. When I was in Israel I was the victim of a violent crime.

Domestic travel has its risks too. The day I went to the Mall of America with my mother and my daughter, was the day the London subway had been bombed. The police presence at the Mall and on the light rail in Minnesota was palpable. And yesterday the 9/11 Memorial Museum opened. I knew people on the planes and in the Towers. Risk during travel doesn’t just come from terrorism.

Traveling to Kenya has me spooked. Today, after I got home, I learned that Great Britain has now recalled its tourists. http://www.bbc.com/news/uk-27434902 and is suggesting no travel to Kenya through at least October. That Kenya has banned tinted windows on buses. http://www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-27401142 . However this ban has angered Kenyans who claim it will do little to prevent terrorism. http://www.nation.co.ke/news/Kenyans-angered-by-tint-windows-ban/-/1056/2314110/-/3qfi9sz/-/index.html

None of these stories are in the American press.

Perhaps the reason I am still going to Kenya is in this story. Young children and the sex tourists in Kenya. http://www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-27427630 Really. This does exist. Maybe, just maybe American Jewish World Service with it focus on preventing violence against women, girls and the LGBT community can help. Maybe I can. I hope so. The question: Is it worth the risk?

Does anyone remember what happened on this date 66 years ago? Do some of you remember listening on the radio? Israel became the Jewish State. After the UN Partition vote in November of 1947, this was the day that Israel declared its independence. Great Britain was no longer in charge. As soon as the declaration of independence was read by David Ben Gurion, five Arab countries attacked Israel.

I grew up singing Israeli folk songs, mostly about peace and believing in the Israeli dream. “Im tirtzu ayn zo agadah, If you will it, it is no dream.” Theodore Herzl said. Debbie Friedman set it to music. I sang it with every paper I delivered and every yard I raked earning money to go on my NFTY Summer Tour as a 16 year old.

On Kibbutzim we sang, “For our hands are strong and our hearts are young, And the dreamer keeps a dreaming’, Ages on, Keeps a dreamin’ keeps a dreamin’ along…What did we do when we needed corn? We plowed and we sowed to the early morn…” The early Israelis made the desert bloom, learned about drip irrigation, desalinization of water, solar energy. They built towns, brought Hebrew back to life, absorbed refugees from Europe and from northern Africa and Arab countries. All while fighting for its very existence.

Israel fought wars in 1948, in 1956, in 1967, in 1973. It invaded Lebanon in 1982. There have been two intifadas and any number of terrorist attacks. On Yom HaZikaron Israel mourned 23,169 fallen soldiers and 2,495 terror victims since the founding of the State of Israel. How is this possible?  How is it possible that we have lost so many, so very many? One of them is mine. It clouds my understanding of Israel.

Yuval didn’t ask to be a soldier yet he understood that was his destiny. His parents were Holocaust survivors. They lived on a kibbutz. They never talked about their life prior to the kibbutz. They lost children in the Holocaust and Yuval’s older brother in another war. His father tended the cotton fields and his mother made beautiful batik cloth. I still have napkins she made. Yuval knew he would be a soldier, an officer. And so he was. He had a very typical Israeli philosophy. Very matter-of-fact. Either we go to war or we don’t. If we don’t it is no problem. If we go to war, either there will be casualties or there won’t. If there are not, there is no problem. If there are casualties, either they are serious, or they are not. If they are not serious, there is no problem. You get the idea. He went to war. He was a casualty. It was a problem. And he died a hero.

It is times like this that I want to sing, Blowing in the Wind. “How many times must a man turn his head. How many times must the cannon balls fly.” How many young men (and women) do we have to send off to war? When will we be safe.

But Israelis are optimistic. In an article that was published today in Israel Hayom, http://www.israelhayom.com/site/newsletter_article.php?id=4098, 93% of Israelis are proud to be Israeli and 80% wouldn’t live anywhere else. People are not concerned about the political situation and surprisingly the biggest fear is for personal safety, 17%.

This survey, based on 500 “typical Israelis,” fills me with hope. It does not address the fact that Israel is complex. Israel is intense. There are no black and white answers. There are no simple answers to complicated intractable problems that are now generations old. Israel does not always do everything right. Managing a country is different than remembering a dream. Building a country is not the same as praying for peace. Sometimes difficult choices have to be made.

Despite the ambiguities, the complexities, Israel has a right to exist. Israel needs to exist. As a Jewish state. I am proud of Israel. Undeniably, unabashedly proud. Proud that the technology that drives my cell phone was invented in Israel. Proud that every time there is a disaster anywhere in the world, Israel shows up, sometimes quietly behind the scenes but they always show up and they are always effective, based on the painful knowledge they have cleaned from all those wars. Proud that their main hospitals do not discriminate against anyone, that they treat Jew and Arab alike. Proud that there are more Nobel prize winners per capita than anywhere else in the world.

But Israel is complex. So I worry. I worry about Jews being judgmental of other Jews. Women have a right and an obligation to davven. It is a mitzvah. I worry that Jews don’t let other Jews have honest and open dialogue about Israel. That many congregations won’t even talk about Israel for fear of offending one group or another. That many Jews will no longer speak out when Israeli politicians seem misguided. That somehow saying anything critical is considered anti-Israel or anti-Semitic. That J-Street was not allowed as a member of the Conference of Presidents. I worry about what fear does. When those who were oppressed for so many years, generations really, become the oppressors. When fear drives our actions rather than pursing the dream of peace. I worry about the peace process breaking down, again.

How we get to an age where everyone can sit under their vine and fig tree and none can make them afraid. That is Isaiah’s dream. It is mine too. Speedily and in our day. Working for that dream, working for peace is how I will spend Yom Ha’Atzma’ut. It is how I keep Yuval’s memory alive.

One of the most difficult things I do as a rabbi is help families decide how to approach their Jewish journeys. And to be clear, Jewish families are complicated these days. Blended, intermarried, interracial, all striving to be good families, good people, good Jews. All trying to find meaning in their lives. All wanting community and spirituality, roots for their children, traditions, rituals.

In my own world view this should be easy. If you want to be a Jew, you should be a Jew. If you say you are a Jew who am I to question? But the Jewish world isn’t always kind.

The State of Israel struggles with these questions of personal status. The Law of Return was crafted in 1952 when the State of Israel was very young and in the immediate wake of the Holocaust. It was last amended in 1970. There are attempts to change the language every year; to make it more narrow. Those attempts have always failed but spark great debate. Despite the Law of Return which still says that anyone who has at least one Jewish grandparent is entitled to citizenship in Israel, it argues over the status of Jews from Uganda, from Ethiopia, from the former Soviet Union. For a detailed responsa of the issues in Uganda, read this article http://www.ajrsem.org/wp-content/uploads/2011/11/Prouser.pdf that actually finds some of the leniencies that show the kind of compassion I would be looking for but is all too rare.

For me personally, I get asked several times a year, “Margaret, not a very Jewish name, are you sure you are Jewish?” And in truth, are any of us really sure? Can any of us prove our lineage? For me, this question was a particularly big deal when I was living in Israel and engaged. I couldn’t prove my lineage. The State of Israel thought I should convert. I wanted to know, having been raised Jewish, what it meant to convert from being a Jew to being a Jew. After being accepted to rabbinical school, the administrator called me to make sure I was Jewish. “Margaret, it’s not a very Jewish name. Are you sure you are Jewish?” By this point I was able to assure her I was. By anyone’s definition.

My story is not rare. It happens all too frequently. Since I have been in Elgin, I have been asked to rule on several personal status questions.

• Can a child attend religious school if his mother isn’t Jewish?
• Is someone who was raised in an Orthodox community and became Bar Mitzvah, be stripped of his “Cohain” status if there isn’t evidence that his mother was Jewish?
• If someone was converted by a Rabbinical Assembly rabbi who the RA asked to leave the RA given their announcement that it “wishes to clarify that, as a body, we do not endorse the work of the Chicago Conversion Beit Din and will not endorse conversions completed under its auspices, for any purpose, including to seek citizenship in Israel under the law of return,” are those members Jewish? If they got married assuming they were Jewish are they legally married?
• Can someone in a mixed marriage serve on the board, teach in the religious school, hold elected office?
• Is it true that no conversion is valid?

Behind each of these scenarios are real people and real stories. All too frequently real pain. How do you explain to someone who has been Jewish all of their lives or most of their adult lives, active, participating members of the congregation, how do you explain to them that they may not be Jewish? Not Jewish by traditional halachic standards. Born of a Jewish mother or converted with mikveh and circumcision.

How do I explain to any conversion candidate I counsel that a conversion that I do may not be recognized by the rabbinate in Israel. It is good enough under the “Law of Return”, but may not be good enough for the Orthodox rabbinate. This may mean that if they move to Israel they won’t be able to marry or be buried. May mean. Saying that the Israeli rabbinate doesn’t recognize all Orthodox conversions doesn’t really help either. How do you explain to a couple that comes excited about their blossoming love that again, my officiating may not be recognized. And that some rabbis will not, cannot marry couples where both partners are not Jewish or they risk losing their own ordination.

But explain I must. Because the Jewish community is splintered on these issues of personal status. I must sit down with each person, each family that presents themselves and explain as compassionately and lovingly as possible. For me, they are Jews. For the rest of the Jewish community there are hurdles that they may need to jump over, barriers that need to be climbed. And some of those Jews will choose to just walk away.

How dare we as a Jewish community?

“If only”….is a four part song sung in the Broadway version of the Little Mermaid. “What,” you say, “another reference to a Disney princess?” Sorry. “If only” is a song that expresses the hopes of four main characters, Ariel, longing that Prince Eric will hear her voice, see her love. Prince Eric, longing to find the voice he heard rescue him. Triton wishing his daughter would understand him and come home. And Sebastian, well, he is Sebastian and wants to play matchmaker. (Oops, wrong musical!) Warning: The music may make you cry: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rj9jwgzNhL8

If Only you could know
The things I long to say
If only I could tell you
What I wish I could convey
It’s in my ev’ry glance
My heart’s an open book
You’d see it all at once
If only you would look

My daughter and I saw Little Mermaid on Broadway for my birthday one year. Or maybe it was for her. She was auditioning the next day on Broadway for a college scholarship. Or maybe it is hard to understand where one thing starts and the other leaves off. And that seems to be part of the song. Maybe I am remembering this today because another thunderstorm is rumbling through. The night we saw Little Mermaid we were caught in a torrential downpour with no cabs to be found. We arrived at the theater like drowned rats. In fact, the Marriott upgraded us immediately because we were so soaked!

So here are some more reflections about Mother’s Day.

If only she could know
The things I long to say
If only I could tell her
What I wish I could convey
I shout it out loud
That I am so proud
And that I love her e’vry single day.

That part is easy. As a mother, I am proud of my daughter every single day. And I love her. Unconditionally. Sometimes, however, she is a little frustrating and I lose my patience. I am human first and a mother second. But I still love her.

Mother’s Day is complex. One friend wrote, “Happy mothers’ day, especially to all the moms who choose their children rather than abuse and addiction.” Another wrote that she was missing her own mother and her now grown children. Mother’s Day can be lonely. That was my experience. My mother is gone and my daughter is in LA. It can be lonely so we planned a full day. It was lovely. One of the best Mother’s Days ever. It also enabled me to run from my feelings. I didn’t have to feel the pain of loneliness. Those came out today, like spring blossoms.

My teacher, Rabbi Jill Hammer posted this:” I’m sending love to everyone out there for whom Mother’s Day is complicated or is interwoven with loss. Those of you who’ve lost pregnancies, especially recently. Those of you who are birth mothers to children you don’t get to parent on a day-to-day basis. Adoptive and foster moms whose kids might not be able to feel celebratory towards you today because of their losses and mixed feelings. People who are missing their own mothers. I honor the spirit of motherhood in all of you who possess it, whether or not you have children with you today….”

It is more difficult to deal with the what ifs, the if onlys.

Marian Wright Edelman of the Children’s Defense Fund wrote this to her own sons, “I seek your forgiveness for all the times I talked when I should have listened; got angry when I should have been patient; acted when I should have waited, feared when I should have been delighted; scolded when I should have encouraged; criticized when I should have complimented; said no when I should have said yes and said yes when I should have said no. I did not know a whole lot about parentage or how to ask for help. I often tried too hard and wanted and demanded so much, and mistakenly sometimes tried to mold you into my image of what I wanted you to be rather than discovering and nourishing you as you emerged and grew.” If only…

Rabbi Harold Kushner says it this way, “I don’t find it necessary to forgive my parents for the mistakes they made. It is no sin to be human. They were amateurs in a demanding game where even experts can’t always get it right. Beyond forgiveness, I love and admire them for all the good things they did…When we liberate ourselves from the myth that G-d will love us only if we are perfect, then we will no longer feel that we need to be parents of perfect children to be admired or children of perfect parents to survive and succeed.” If only…

My mother wasn’t a bad parent. She did the best she knew how. She wanted to be a good parent. She took us to the park. Arranged play dates. Sewed clothes. Taught us to read. Read to us all the time. Provided educational experiences like the Museum of Natural History and FAO Schwartz. Joined the PTA. Was a Girl Scout Leader. But it wasn’t quite enough. I ached to hear her say she loved me. I wanted her to be proud of me.

If only I could tell my mother that I love her the same way I can tell my daughter. If only my mother could tell me she loved me or was proud of me. My daughter knows that she did–based on all the little gestures. But being demonstrative? Not my mother’s style. If only.

If only I could hear her voice again, even for an hour and we could have this conversation. Without running away from it. If only she didn’t feel pigeon holed into the society she lived in–and she had finished her PhD. If only she could see me now. If only I had courage. If only I could let myself feel the sadness. If only I could feel the pang of loss. If only I could feel the joy.  More than for a day. I know that is what she wanted for me. If only…