Happy Mother’s Day. Just a Hallmark Holiday? Nope. Although I recommend that you call your mother, cook breakfast, send flowers and tell mom you love her. I surprised my congregation this week when I said that Mother’s Day started as a peace holiday.

A precursor to Mother’s Day came from the abolitionist and suffragette Julia Ward Howe. In 1870 Howe wrote the “Mother’s Day Proclamation,” a call to action that asked mothers to unite in promoting world peace. In 1873 Howe campaigned for a “Mother’s Peace Day” to be celebrated every June 2. Her poem, a Mother’s Day Proclamation, exhorted women to take control and to not sacrifice another son to war:

Arise then…women of this day!
Arise, all women who have hearts!
Whether your baptism be of water or of tears!
Say firmly:
“We will not have questions answered by irrelevant agencies,
Our husbands will not come to us, reeking with carnage,
For caresses and applause.
Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn
All that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience.
We, the women of one country,
Will be too tender of those of another country
To allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs.”

What we know as Mother’s Day, even the trademarked spelling was first created and celebrated by Anna Jarvis as a memorial to her own mother, a peace activist. Anna Jarvis went on to decry the commercialization of Mother’s Day.

I won’t lie. I like the trappings. The idea that one day a year I as a mother am feted. I like the recognition of the fact that I am a good parent. And I try to be. I really do. To my daughter, Sarah, and my three step children–Anna, Richard and Gabrielle.

Am I perfect? No. Certainly not. I have been known to lose patience and yell at my kids. I even once hit Sarah when she was stalling getting ready for school.

Was my mother perfect. Absolutely not. She was busy with her own life. She thought that if she told us she was proud of us it would go to our heads. She actually asked that very question. On the way to my brother’s wedding where she knew she was making a toast, she asked, “So I am not supposed to say I am proud of you guys? Because I am.” I spent a lot of time trying to earn that sense of pride. I still am.

But it was my mother who taught me a love of social justice. Through her understanding of Judaism as an ethical religion, as prophetic Judaism and her love of Girl Scouting and leaving the place better than you found it, we knew we had to work for social change.

So on this Mother’s Day, I will enjoy my favorite foods, fresh squeezed orange juice and Starbucks coffee, a good steak. I will take photos of tulips. And I will pause. To help make the world a better place, a more peaceful world. And I will smile, as I remember my mother.

When our educational director first said she wanted to sponsor today’s Kiddush in honor of her birthday and Mother’s Day, I thought I would break with my usual tradition of tying the Torah portion into current events. We should talk about mothers. After all, G-d couldn’t be everywhere so He created mothers. It is no accident that the kippah I chose to wear today is pink with the eye of G-d. My mother used to say she had eyes in the back of her head. And so today’s sermon is dedicated to the memory of my mom, Nelle Sicher Frisch. All moms really who taught us Judaism, who taught us right from wrong, who taught us how to be a mensch.

Today is the 25^th Day of the Counting of the Omer. Half way between Passover and Shavuot. Halfway towards freedom. And today we read the famous line…”Proclaim liberty throughout the land.” Be careful, in our translation you might miss it. In our translation they use release.

So what is the difference between freedom and release? Release is something you let go of. You give it permission to go.

Today we will also read about the Sabbatical year, the Shimta year. Rabbi Katy Allen points out that there is a relation between the Sabbatical year and Rainbow Day, the anniversary of when the animals were released from the ark are related. The rainbow that appeared as a sign of the covenant and G-d’s promise to never destroy the world by flood again, is a sacred partnership about sustainability. We too have an obligation to take care of the earth.

How do we do that?

The Torah provides a radical idea. A blueprint where everyone in society is equal. Proclaim liberty to all the inhabitants. Not just slaves. Not just the rich people. Everyone.

But everyone was not happy. If we don’t plant and we don’t harvest, what will we eat? How could it be fair to release debts in the seventh year? Why would anyone want to lend money in the 6^th year if the debts would just be cancelled the following year? Valid questions. G-d promises that “If You shall observe My laws and faithfully keep My rules, that you may live upon the land in security.”

What does security mean? People answered that it means knowing the borders are safe and we won’t be invaded, that we have feeling of safety. that we are free from fear and anxiety.

Why do we read this portion now? We are halfway to Sinai, we haven’t received the 10 Commandments and yet the portion begins with an interesting verse, “Adonai spoke to Moses in Mount Sinai, saying, Speak to the children of Israel and say to them, “When you come into the land which I give you, the land will rest, a Shabbat for Adonai…”

There are two puzzles here. The first is how is G-d speaking in Sinai? How is G-d speaking from a place we haven’t been? The congregation answered because G-d is G-d. G-d is everywhere. G-d know no bounds and no timeframes.

The second puzzle is does this mean that the land rests first year when the Israelites reach the promised land? Why? Perhaps because the land is toxic from those who inhabited it before the Israelites.

Sifra, one of the earliest works of midrash provides a deceptively easy answer. Because all of Torah is to create a society that is just. The purpose of the covenant, first with Noah, and later with all the Israelites is to create a world where the earth is respected, so that we can live on the earth without anxiety, in security. We don’t own the land. The Psalmist sang, “The earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof.” “For the land is mine and you are strangers and settlers with me, this very portion teaches.

Now I want to cue Colors of the Wind from Pocahantas here:

You think you own whatever land you land on
The earth is just a dead thing you can claim
But I know every rock and tree and creature
Has a life, has a spirit, has a name

You think the only people who are people
Are the people who look and think like you
But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger
You’ll learn things you never knew, you never knew

Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon?
Or asked the grinning bobcat why he grinned?
Can you sing with all the voices of the mountains?
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?
C
an you paint with all the colors of the wind?

Come run the hidden pine trails of the forest
Come taste the sunsweet berries of the earth
Come roll in all the riches all around you
And for once never wonder what they’re worth

The rainstorm and the river are my brothers
The heron and the otter are my friends
And we are all connected to each other
In a circle, in a hoop that never ends

Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon?
Or let the eagle tell you where he’s been?
Can you sing with all the voices of the mountain?
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?

How high does the sycamore grow?
I
f you cut it down, then you’ll never know

And you’ll never hear the wolf cry to the blue corn moon
For whether we are white or copper skinned
We need to sing with all the voices of the mountains
We need to paint with all the colors of the wind

You can own the earth and still
All you’ll own is earth until
You can paint with all the colors of the wind

In the modern State of Israel they take this seriously. You may only “buy” your land for 50 years, then it reverts back to the state. Some kibbutzim rest their land. They rotate their crops so that one field lies fallow and money is given to the poor. During the 2007-2008 Shmita year, the Israeli Supreme Court demanded that there be one law for all of Israel rather than allowing each individual rabbi to decide matters of leniency.

If none of us own the land, as Pochantas and Torah suggest, we cannot buy it, cannot sell it, then the differences between rich and poor are not as great, are not generational, are not insurmountable, are not intractable. This is, as I said, radical stuff.

And relevant today. Who amongst us was not aghast, if that is even strong enough, when the terrorists, let’s call them what they are, announced, they would sell the Nigerian girls into slavery. This portion is clear. One human being cannot buy or sell another. And trafficking does not just happen in Nigeria. It happens right here in Elgin. One of our members was quoted this week about her work with Administer Justice. The full article is on our Facebook page, but here is a haunting quote from Jack Blake, the head of special prosecutions for the Cook County state’s attorney’s office: “You all have a human trafficking problem,” Blake said. “Everyone has a human trafficking problem in the Northern (Illinois) District.” He continued that now it has become gang activity, rather than prostitution. He said that many gangs now prefer humans to drugs.  “You can sell a kilo once. You can sell a child over and over.” You can sell a child over and over again.

We are halfway to Shavuot, halfway to Sinai. The world is not perfect. Clearly if you can sell a child for sex. When I started writing this sermon, I was tired. It has been a long week. I knew I needed Shabbat. I need to rest. Abraham Joshua Heschel says that Shabbat is a palace in time, a foretaste of the world to come.

How can we rest when a child can be sold over and over?

But the text teaches us something. We need to rest and the land needs to rest. We know how to rest, how to do Shabbat. And we can. And some of us do. But Shabbat by itself is for us, or even for G-d without giving the land its rest is not enough. Then, we will be exiled from the land, cut off. The need of the land to rest comes even before our own need, according to Rabbi David Seidenberg, the neochasid.

He teaches: “Only in such a society can people learn to share their wealth, nurture the poor alongside everyone else, relieve debts, end hunger, and respect the fundamental human right to be free. The Sabbatical year was the guarantor and the ultimate fulfillment of the justice that Torah teaches us to practice in everyday life, and it was a justice that embraced not just fellow human beings, but the land and all life. The Sabbatical year was the ultimate meaning of rest, which we practice every week in the observance of shabbat. It was the Sabbath of sabbaths, Shabbat shabbaton.”

How does it work to let the land rest? How can everyone eat their fill on the volunteers that might crop up? In our community garden we had one onion winter over and reappear. G-d promises that somehow there will be enough, for us, for our servants and hired workers, for the settler living as a stranger with us, for our beasts and wild animals.” Really. It requires trust. The word trust betach, is related to the word security. We have to have trust. But the rabbis weren’t sure so they mandated that during the shmita year that the gates to the fields had to be left open. So that everyone could eat the same food, everyone, including the wild beasts.

This is that radical hospitality I have been talking about. That is Abraham and Sarah’s tent open to all four sides, ready to receive visitors. This is the wide open tent, Big Tent Judaism. This is even more than that…the only other time when humans and animals ate together in peace was when? In the Garden of Eden. Before the flood. This is the ultimate goal of the Shmita year. To return to a time when we enter paradise, when we are back in the Garden of Eden. When the world is sustainable and there are enough resources to go around. When no one is bought and sold. No one. This is what it means when it says to choose life that you might live, you and your seed after you.

This is what it means when it says if we follow G-ds’ commandments, including the command to rest ourselves and to rest the land, then our days of our lives and the lives of our children will be increased on the land. Then we will live in security.

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day. Not just a Hallmark holiday. This was a day set aside by mothers during the Civil War to say that they were not willing to send another child to war. I am not willing to sacrifice another child to trafficking. I am not willing to sacrifice the land to Monsanto and other big polluters. I pledge to teach my children, Sarah, Anna, Richard and Gabrielle, and all my students who therefore become my children, this radical Torah. This is how I will spend Mother’s Day. Then I will plant my own little garden.

This is what it means then, when it says, “Proclaim Liberty Throughout the Land.” It is not freedom to do whatever we want. It is freedom to make the world a better place. To protect the world and very land that sustains us.

We have an obligation to do so. Kohelet Rabbah says there maybe no one who will come after you to repair it. (7:13). We owe it to our mothers who taught us so well. We owe it to our children and their children.

We can do it. We have all the resources we need. It is radical. But first we have to rest.

Just ahead of Mother’s Day, women received a gift. Yesterday the International Violence Against Women Act was reintroduced into the United States Senate. Jewish Women International, who published my very first article after ordination about a domestic violence prevention initiative in the Boston Jewish Community has been working together with American Jewish World Service to get this bill reformulated. JWI made this announcement:

“While we watch in horror to what is happening to the kidnapped schoolgirls in Nigeria, we are not helpless. There is something we can do. Yesterday, Senator Barbara Boxer (D-CA), Senator Susan Collins (R-ME), Senator Mark Kirk (R-IL), Senator Robert Menendez (D-NJ), and Senator Jeanne Shaheen (D-NH) re-introduced the International Violence Against Women Act (IVAWA), a bold effort that would make ending violence against women and girls around the world a top U.S. foreign policy priority.”

I am proud that my new senator, Mark Kirk is a co-sponsor. I am proud that New Englanders Senator Sheheen and Senator Collins are also on board! I am delighted that it already has bi-partisan support.  I had already signed the AJWS petition urging passing of this legislation.

Why is this bill important when we already have Violence Against Women Act, which in itself was not an easy sell? As JWI says, “IVAWA takes a holistic, comprehensive approach to this issue by integrating gender-based violence programs into existing U.S. foreign aid programs such as health, education and economic initiatives. IVAWA would also permanently authorize the Office of Global Women’s Issues at the State Department and direct the government to implement its global strategy to reduce violence against women.”

American Jewish World Service has explained that until violence against women and girls is ended, they cannot end poverty. The violence has disrupted delivery supply chains. They cannot get the resources into the places that need it the most. Last year, AJWS introduced its “We Believe” Campaign which focuses on stopping violence against women, girls and the LGBT community worldwide. http://webelieve.ajws.org As they state it, the problem is that 1 in 3 women will be beaten, coerced into sex or otherwise abused in her lifetime and that every year 10 million girls under the age of 18 are forced into early marriages while in 77 countries homosexuality is a crime.

American Jewish World Services works in 19 countries delivering services to prevent violence and to deliver health care. In Kenya, for instance, AJWS works with Fortress of Hope to help girls develop leadership skills and implement their own strategies to stop violence. It works to help them stay in school, avoid domestic abuse and prevent unwanted pregnancy or infection with HIV.

These kinds of activities bring us hope. They empower us to action when we felt horror. Please join with me in urging your senator to support this critical bill. That is the gift I want most for Mother’s Day.

https://secure.ajws.org/site/Advocacy?cmd=display&page=UserAction&id=661

When I was a rabbinical student I went on a retreat sponsored by Panim on social action and spirituality. For many people there is spirituality or social action. This retreat which started with a day of meditation (which I skipped), sought to explore the connection between the two as opposed to seeing them as polar opposites.

For me it was a very positive and challenging retreat. Those are not polar opposites either. And it is a retreat that I think back on often. Today is one of those days. Recently I have been spending a lot of time writing, thinking, doing. Being active. Working for change. Advocating for women’s rights. Teaching at a domestic violence conference. Planting a community garden to feed the hungry. Learning about Africa. Rallying the troops, my congregants. And also visiting the sick, comforting the bereaved, feeding the hungry. Putting my actions where my mouth is.

Yesterday I had a different experience. I went to the hospital to visit someone. More than that, I called the EMTs to make sure she got to the hospital. I called the people who set up meals at the congregation. i called the people I needed to cover me–teachers, staff, etc. I was in overdrive. I know how to do this kind of stuff. Hey, I’ve been a Girl Scout for 30+ years.

Leaving the hospital, I realized that there was one part I forgot. I forgot to pray. Yes, I did. So when I got to the synagogue I made sure that the kids did a misheberach. When I went back to the hospital I sang the last verse of Adon Olam. B’yado afchi ruchi. I find this verse tremendously powerful, as did my patient.  “Into His hand, I commit my spirit.  In the time when I sleep and when I wake. And even if my spirit leaves, G-d is with me and I will not fear.”

“G-d is with me and I will not fear.” Another version of that which feeds my spirituality is “Ozi v’zimrat Yah, G-d is my strength and my song.”

The trick is remembering. The trick is one of balance. It is activism and spirituality. Both/and. I am not one who likes to meditate. I am always one who fears I will cry or I will fall asleep. But there is value in trying.

Parker Palmer wrote a lovely book, The Active Life. He was an activist, plain and simple and then one day he thought he would become a contemplative. But people laughed at him. So his book is his attempt to marry the two worlds. The book jacket describes it as “Palmer’s deep and graceful exploration of spirituality for the busy, sometimes frenetic lives many of us lead…He celebrates both the problems and the potentials of the active life, revealing how much they have to teach us about ourselves, the world and G-d.” Participating in the spiritual life does not mean giving up our active selfs, or visa versa. It can be more engaging and deeply life-giving.

For me, without remembering G-d, I am weak and tired. I complain. I whine. I may even think I am more powerful than I am. I may even forget to pray for healing…at a time when a congregant needs it most.

When I take the time to remember, then together with G-d, I can do anything. Even stay calm under pressure and call the paramedics. I can change the world, to the world as G-d sees it, as G-d wants it. One without hunger or homelessness, where the needs of the widow, the orphan and the stranger are taken care of, where we are caretakers of G-d’s beautiful creation. When I do these things in G-d’s name, then the world is a better place.

But first, I have to take the time to remember G-d.

Why am I going to Kenya? Why am I going to Kenya? Why am I going to Kenya? Same words, depending on where I put the accent, very different questions. But the time has come to try to answer it, ahead of my getting shots next week.

Let’s face it. At some level I am terrified. I don’t like shots. It is very far away. I live on my cell phone and other electronics. It is not clear that I will have connectivity. I don’t want to stir up old wounds–and even some of the preparation that I felt necessary has done precisely that. And then there were the recent bombings, which, terrify me. So why am I going? Why is my hat still in the ring?

American Jewish World Service does terrific work. It has been doing so since 1985. It’s mission is “Inspired by the Jewish commitment to justice, American Jewish World Service works to realize human rights and end poverty in the developing world.” It has feet on the ground in 17 countries and has made a real difference in overcoming poverty worldwide. They are a trusted partner when disaster strikes. They know not only how to respond but how to be effective.

I have supported their work for a long, long time. I have any number of friends and colleagues go on their trips. This trip is pushing me out of my comfort zone. Why? What has me so disturbed? I am not sure I know the answer to that yet.

It turns out I know nothing about Africa, even less about Kenya. It has never been on my bucket list of places I wanted to go. Paris, sure, mostly to see Giverny where Monet painted. Savannah, to see Juliette Gordon Low’s birthplace. Moab, UT with the Adventure Rabbi to celebrate Passover in the desert. Sedona to hike. Alaska before the glaciers are no more. Africa? Not so much. Oh, I guess a safari would be interesting and the pyramids would be cool. But Kenya?

So why go? Why take the risk? How does this relate to my job as a congregational rabbi? Here’s what I think. Sometimes it is good to challenge yourself. There is no question I am learning in the process of preparation. I know where Kenya is now. I am learning about Kibera, one of the biggest slums  in the world. I am learning about resilience. I am learning how to make a difference with very little resources or capital. I am learning about social justice at a whole different level, at an international level. I know the phrase, we all do probably, “Think globally, act locally.”

The issues that American Jewish World Service is now investing in–preventing violence against women, children and LGBT community are ones I already work locally on. It makes me uniquely qualified for this trip. I am invested with the Community Crisis Center and the 16th Circuit Court Faith Watch Committee on Domestic Violence. I get it. I believe I am making a difference locally. American Jewish World Service makes the case that unless we solve violence against women globally, we cannot solve poverty. They have discovered that they cannot deliver basic services in the 17 countries they are invested in unless they solve this problem first. It is like Maslow’s pyramid. People need food, shelter, clothing, safety, security, love before they can be self-actualized. Those bottom rung needs must be met before you can do education.

However, maybe Maslow was wrong. How do you know which comes first? Food? But you can’t have food without a job. And you can’t have a job without daycare. Shelter? Same issues. Clothing? Water? At some point I want to throw up my hands and say, I can’t do this. You need all of it. It is not a chicken and egg thing. Maybe it is more like those hand held games with the numbers out of order and an open space. Your job is to get them back in order.

At one point, the director of the House of Hope, a women and children’s shelter in Lowell, MA said it this way, “We need to advocate for fair housing. But we can’t wait. We need to house the homeless today. We need to feed the hunger today. They are cold and wet and hungry today. They have needs today. They can’t wait for the government.” It is a both/and approach.

Those words stuck with me. Organizations are doing some of it today. Habitat for Humanity, House of Hope, the Community Crisis Center, PADs, more. They are providing for the needs today. And we need to. We are commanded to. But we also need to take things to the next level. To make sure that there isn’t hunger and homelessness in the next generation. To make sure that there isn’t violence against women–anywhere, anytime.

Can we do it? I am not sure. These problems are real. Intractable. We have the resources. I don’t know if we have the will. These problems have existed for a long time. We are commanded to work on them in the Bible. They were a problem that long ago. Problems that I have been working on for 30 years may be worse. Not because I have been working on them but because they are that difficult.

So I am going to Kenya because it gives me the opportunity to learn how to do advocacy on a global level while acting locally to solve the needs today. I am going to learn how to mobilize a community that is politically diverse so that like American Jewish World Service, I can live out my own vision of being “Inspired by the Jewish commitment to justice, working to realize human rights and end poverty”, of tikkun ha’olam, making the world a better place, from within a Jewish context.

We know that successful synagogues have successful social action programs, that is one way to build community, both internally focused and in the wider world. Sid Swartz in his book, Finding a Spiritual Home in his summation says that creating social justice agenda is necessary to creating a thriving community. “A true synagogue community provides motivation to look around, see the pain and suffering in the world, and begin the work of repair, known in Hebrew at tikkun olam…A justice agenda will move a community to the high ground of noble purpose. It will strengthen relationships between people doing important mitzvah work with each other. It will also result in attracting Jews to the congregation with deep commitments to working for peace and justice in the world.”  Bolding is mine. If my job is to grow the congregation, the best way I know how to do it, based on Sid Swartz’s work is to build a strong social justice agenda. One that is based on improving our immediate world around us, and in leaving a legacy of a better world for our children and grandchildren. That is the long term view.

How does going to Kenya help with this long view? It gives me skills in organizing, in advocacy and in growing community that go beyond Kenya or violence against women, girls and the LBGT community. It gives me knowledge that I didn’t have already allowing me to model being a life long learner. It gives me experience, chevruta partners, a wealth of resources to make our observances more meaningful. It gives me my own community beyond the synagogue walls.

I am going to Kenya to be inspired by other people who are doing the hard work down in the trenches. If they can do it, I can do it. If they can do it, we all can do it. And I will name it. I am brave enough to name it. I am going to Kenya to continue my own healing. And to give back to those who have helped me heal.

I am sure I will continue to wrestle with this question more as I continue to prepare and when I come back.

The news this morning is not encouraging. More women, school-aged girls really, were kidnapped in Nigeria. Why is this OK? Why is the world not up in arms…literally and figuratively. I just want to find them, rescue them and hug them. NOW.

Why does the world have a problem protecting women? Don’t get me wrong, I am enough of a feminist that as I type those words I am thinking maybe we are women need to protect ourselves. Why is it that the Torah says 36 times that we need to protect the widow, the orphan and stranger? Because they are the most marginalized amongst us. Because they are the ones who historically could not protect themselves.

One of the books on my reading list for Africa is Half the Sky: Turning Oppression into Opportunity for Women by Nicholas Kristoff and his wife, Sheryl WuDunn. I am rereading it actually. The stories are painful. Real. Raw. They will touch a nerve.

It is a powerful book. It delineates issues all over the world with how women are treated. As the introduction says, “So let us be clear about this up front: We hope to recruit you to join an incipient movement to emancipate women and fight global poverty by unlocking women’s power as economic catalysts.”

No problem. I’ve been recruited. I understand the advantages of micro-financing. I have heard Yunnis speak and have supported Heifer International for years. I believe in women’s education and programs like Room to Read. I deplore the amount  of trafficking. I am too aware of the statistic that one in three women will be sexually assaulted in her lifetime. I am one of those statistics. I am fully invested in the work that American Jewish World Service does on a global level and that the Community Crisis Center does locally.

This book is the first step. It makes us aware of the issues facing women worldwide. Make no mistake, some of it is brutal. It details topics like female circumcision, why women still die in childbirth, what a fistula is, almost unheard of in the West and 90% of which are repairable for about $300.

It explains that 60% of the women in South Africa have been raped, higher than the worldwide average.That rape is a weapon of war recognized by the UN in 2008. That it was prominent in the genocides of Rwanda and Darfur.  That the Congo is the “world capital of rape.” “Militias discovered it is risky to engage in firefights with other gunmen, so instead assault civilians. They discovered that the most cost-effective way to terrorize civilian populations is to conduct rapes of stunning brutality.” Most cost-effective way.

The book explains, “That one impediment for women planing to run for political office in Kenya is the cost of round-the-clock security. That protection is needed to prevent political enemies from having them raped…the result is that Kenyan women candidates routinely carry knives and wear multiple sets of tights to deter, complicate, and delay any attempted rape.” (page 62)

It also empowers us to make a difference. At the end of the book, the last chapter is “Four Steps You Can Take in the Next Ten Minutes.” After awareness, the second step is action.

1. Go to www.globalgiving.org or www.kiva.org and open an account that will provide micro financing assistance.

2. Sponsor a girl or a woman through Plan International, Women for Women International, World Vision or American Jewish World Service.

3. Sign up for email updates on www.womensenews.org

4. Join the Care Action Network, www.can.care.org

I had done these before, but then I moved, so I have done them again. In addition, I have set up google alerts on Kenya so that I can keep up to date with the latest news.

After becoming aware and beginning to act, the next step is advocacy. What can we really do to make a difference and who can we get to help? Read the book. Then act. Ours is not to finish the task. Neither are we free to ignore it.

Today, the 20th day of the Omer, is also Yom Ha’atzma’ut, Israel Independence Day. The day before is Yom HaZikaron, Israel Memorial Day when Israel marks the death of 22,000 Israelis who have given their lives protecting and defending Israel. In Israel everyone knows someone who has been killed. I am no exception. My first love was killed serving his country in 1983.

Israel was born out of the Holocaust. It is no accident that the week before Yom Ha’atzma’ut is Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Memorial Day. Integrating Holocaust survivors and refugees from Arab and northern African countries was no easy task. Martin Fletcher in his book, Walking Israel, said this: “When these emaciated and traumatized victims finally landed in the arms of their Jewish brethren, they were regarded as unwelcome reminders of the ‘lambs who went to the slaughter,’ an embarrassment, just as Jews in Israel were reinventing themselves as farmers and warriors, as fighting Jews. True, their bodies were welcomed. New immigrants from Euro[e contributed half the Jewish fighters in Israel’s War of Independence, and a third of the dead. But the part of them that most needed help, their souls, was ignored and silenced…David Ben-Gurion, a legend of bluntness, famously lumped Holocaust survivors and immigrants from North Africa into one dismissive phrase: avak adam–human dust. He wondered what they did to survive and once said that the best had died.”

Harsh words indeed but it explains so much. When I was a student living in Israel I did a sociology primary research study about Moroccan Jews living in a development town, Kiryat Gat. Kiryat Gat was a planned town. It was known for making Chanukah candles for a worldwide Jewish market. It had 70 different synagogues organized by country of origin. It had three high schools. One secular, one traditional Ashkanasi and one traditional Sephardi. My research was done in the classrooms and then in the evenings in homes of the Moroccan families.

I learned I could only do two interviews with families a night. They always served food, roughly 15 courses, and if you finished a course, they would refill your plate. (And the food was yummy–ask me about the carrots another time!) I learned that they didn’t understand the difference between religious and observant. That Judaism was black or white. Either you observed everything or nothing. THat they had never heard of anything as ridiculous as a woman rabbi, but that was out of scope. I was trying to understand how the next generation of Moroccan Jews would observe Judaism. At that I failed.

And yet, it is critical to understand that Israel has done much with/for the Jews of Africa. Golda Meir believed that the lessons learned by Israelis could be passed on to Africans who, particularly during the 1950s. were engaged in the same process of nation building. “Like them, we had shaken off foreign rule; like them, we had to learn for ourselves how to reclaim the land, how to increase the yields of our crops, how to irrigate, how to raise poultry, how to live together, and how to defend ourselves.” Israel could provide a better model for the newly independent African state, Meir believed, because Israelis “had been forced to find solutions to the kinds of problems that large, wealthy, powerful states had never encountered.”

These efforts by a young Israel should be highlighted and celebrated. Israel airlifted Jews from Morocco, Tunsia, Libya after Israel became a state. The Ethiopian community, Beta Israel, was airlifted again to Israel. It is now common to see black Israelis, Ethiopians serving proudly in the Israel Defense Forces. They may not have wanted to but they took their responsibility as a refuge with its door open to any Jew who wanted seriously. In today’s world, sadly, we still need that refuge.

Israel has been the refuge for many Africans seeking asylum, some 60,000 people who have walked from the Sudan and other sub-Saharan countries. Again, in the wake of the Holocaust, Israel understands its role in protecting the citizens of all countries against genocide.

It is not easy to integrate all the cultures. My experiences in Kiryat Gat with its 70 synagogues as a young college student taught me that. Recent news about Israel deporting illegal immigrants have sent chills down some Holocaust survivors spines. Protests have been held in Tel Aviv–both for and against illegal immigrants. However, I wonder how different the government of Irsrael is reacting compared with some US policy.

As early as December 2011, the Mayor of Tel Aviv, Ron Huldai, addressed Netanyahu and demanded, “immediate emergency actions” against the immigrants since they are not an “existential threat.” The threat seems to be in his mind, economic, taking away jobs from Israelis. He cites a rise in crime in South Tel Aviv and a fear of illegal immigrants being a security risk, passing information to terrorist cells. Yet, in May of 2012, a thousand Israelis showed up in the Hatikva Quarter to protest how illegal immigrants are treated by the Israeli government, some now subjected to forced deportation. Unfortunately that demonstration turned violent. Again in late December another protest was held with thousands of marchers from Levinsky Park to the city center, demanding that detention of African refugees with trial has to stop. How this tension will ultimately play out is not clear.

Tonight, however, is the chance to pause and celebrate all that Israel has accomplished. Israel has turned 66 today. The traditional Jewish blessing is Ad Meah Esrim. Until 120–and beyond!

While Sterling still seems to be a lead story in the US press, the Malaysian plane has not been found and bodies are still being found in the ferry in South Korea, there is another story that I am more concerned about.

276 school girls were abducted by terrorists in Nigeria. 53 have escaped leaving 223 girls in captivity. It is not the lead story. It is buried in the press. Secretary of State Kerry made a comment about it in Eithiopia. There were finally rallies in several western cities yesterday but still, it was not the lead story this morning. http://www.cnn.com/2014/05/03/world/africa/nigeria-abducted-girls/

Why do I care? How is this part of counting the Omer? Because our Amidah, the central, standing portion of our service describes G-d as the one who frees the captive. However, it is not enough to pray. Our tradition teaches that we have an obligation to set aside money to rescue those who are captives. It is one of the most important mitzvot. Pidyon Shvuyim is called a “mitzvah rabbah,” a great mitzvah in the Talmud (Bava Batra 8b) and not redeeming captives is considered even worse than starvation and death.

It is the motivation behind keeping the awareness of Gilad Shalit who was an Israeli soldier captured by an terrorist organization. Many people kept Gilad’s picture as their Facebook picture as negotiations progressed. Today is Yom HaZikraron in Israel. Israeli Memorial Day. How can we forget?

Remember the sense of pride we had on the 4th of July, 1976 when we woke to the news of the raid on Entebbe. Israel had swept in while we slept and rescued the hostages of a hijacking. It was their Independence Day! It was driven by this commandment.

Traditionally, Pidyon Sh’vuyim applies to rescuing Jews by Jews. However Maimonides wrote that  “The redeeming of captives takes precedence over supporting the poor or clothing them. There is no greater mitzvah than redeeming captives for the problems of the captive include being hungry, thirsty, unclothed, and they are in danger of their lives too. Ignoring the need to redeem captives goes against these Torah laws: “Do not harden your heart or shut your hand against your needy fellow” (Deuteronomy 15:7); “Do not stand idly by while your neighbor’s blood is shed” (Leviticus 19:16). And misses out on the following mitzvot: “You must surely open your hand to him or her” (Deuteronomy 15:8); “…Love your neighbor as yourself” (Leviticus 19:18); “Rescue those who are drawn to death” (Proverbs 24:11) and there is no mitzvah greater than the redeeming of captives.” (Maimonides, Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Matanot Aniyim 8:10-11^]

The Shulchan Arukh strengthens it: “Every moment that one delays in freeing captives, in cases where it is possible to expedite their freedom, is considered to be tantamount to murder.” (Shulchan Aruch, Yoreh De’ah 252:3)

Despite the importance of this mitzvah, it comes with a limitation.  “One does not ransom captives for more than their value because of tikkun o’lam,  as a precaution for the general good) and one does not help captives escape because of Tikkun Olam.” (Mishna Gittin 4:6)

I understand the rationale behind this caveat is to prevent negotiating with terrorists. Paying a ransom opens many ethical debates both in for the Israeli government in the case of fulfilling this mitzvah on behalf of someone like Gilad Shalit or in this case:

How do you put a value on a captive? How do you explain to a mother that her girl is not coming home because of this terrorism? How do we capitulate to terrorists? How do we say that a group of schoolgirls is worth less than victims of a plane still missing or another group of school children killed in a ferry that capsized? I can’t. My tradition commands that I keep working for their release. That is how I will mark Yom HaZikaron. Bring our girls home.

What was he thinking? This is the question that I have been asked over and over again this week, starting with Mark Seigle on Sunday when it was breaking news and continuing at the Lions Club where I spoke Thursday night and at Weight Watchers. What was Sterling thinking? And in truth, I think he wasn’t. I am not going to try to explain it or excuse it. It was wrong. Period. There is no place in Judaism for racism. It is sad to have to call him Jewish, but we do. At least as someone who self-identifies as a Jew but who changed his name to sound less Jewish.

On the other hand, Adam Silver, the NBA commissioner, made me proud this week. Happy to call him a Jew.

Members of the congregation actually wondered why we were exploring this. “A waste of time” said one, as he rolled his eyes. “Oh, no,” said another.

So what is going on here? Why do people ask the question, “Is it bad for the Jews or good for the Jews?” What does it mean that this is a shonda, a shame?

The discussion centered on some expected answers. There are good apples and bad apples in every bunch. You can’t hold all Jews to a higher standard. What he did was wrong but he didn’t do it acting as a Jew so why should we care.  We don’t need to claim another bad guy (which I didn’t hear correctly and it sounded like black guy and that just sounded wrong. So glad I made that person repeat!)

Why this is important comes from this week’s Torah portion. We tend to gloss over it. It says that “you must treat them as holy,” referring to the priests. Now, I remember a very funny scene at a ritual committee meeting, where one member when we were talking about traditional duchening, the giving of the priestly benediction, thought that I meant a Catholic priest was coming to bless the congregation. Truth be told, we don’t have many functions for cohainim any more. They may duchen, have the first aliyah and officiate in a pidyon haben, the redemption of the first born. There are those who would argue that we should do away with all of that because no one can trace their lineage well enough to be called a cohain, and in this day and age we are not so big on hierarchies. That is a discussion for another day.

So since the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem, a mere 2000 years ago, much of this portion, since the priests don’t offer bread to G-d, is irrelevant. And yet, and yet…

We are told that we are to be a light to the nations, a kingdom of priests and a holy nation. That’s all of us. A kingdom of priests and a holy nation. We are told that “Synagogues, study houses, and even homes are called mikdash me’at, a small temple. According to the Talmud (Megilah 29a), God will dwell in the holy spaces we create, for those small spaces are the Temple in miniature.

So our small spaces are to be holy. We are commanded to make the home a safe place (Deut 22:8) Not only physically safe, but emotionally safe. Our homes and our synagogues should be filled with Shalom Beit, peace in the home. Like Abraham and Sarah’s tent, open to all four sides to welcome guests, they are places of hospitality. We mark our homes and our synagogues as holy, set apart by putting a mezuzah on the door to remind us of the commandments and of G-d’s oneness. Our homes are a place where G-d dwells within, just like the Holy Temple.

For us, in this building, this mikdash me’at, it means we need to refrain from being judgmental of others. It means we need to refrain from gossip, of speaking badly of others. We are all in this game together. We are all volunteers striving to create a Jewish community dedicated to being a sacred community, a holy community, a diverse community of life long learners and meaningful observance. At its center is community, Kneseth Israel, an assembly of Israel.

I say all, including me, because I am not a priest. I am a rabbi. And while the portion says that you must treat priests as holy, “Rabbis and cantors are no different from other Jews. They have no special powers, no obligations devolve on them that do not apply to all Jews. “Ten shoemakers can make a minyan but nine rabbis can’t.” Nonetheless, they are considered klei kodesh, instruments of holiness because, through their knowledge and teaching, life character, and commitments they show the way to a life of holiness.” (Eitz Chayyim, page 718)

So I must strive to lead my life by example. I must be klei kodesh. But unlike the rest of the portion which specifies that a priest must be without blemish, I don’t have to be perfect. I am no different than any of you. Together we are all a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.

The problem with Sterling was his house was not a mikdash me’at, it was a not a holy place. And his speech was not lashon hakodesh, holy speech but lashon ha’ra, evil speech.

Coming out of this week’s portion we learn from the Mishneh Torah, “we are obligated to act in a way that reflects well on G-d, the Jewish people and our tradition (Kiddush hashem sanctification of the name) and to refrain from acting in a way that would bring dishonor to God, our people and its traditions Chilul Hashem (MT 5:1)”

Our tradition is very clear. We read it last week. We are to be holy because the Lord our God is holy. We are to welcome the widow, the orphan, the stranger, the most marginalized among us precisely because we were strangers, slaves in Egypt. We are not to put a stumbling block before the blind or curse the deaf. We are not to stand by while our neighbor bleeds. We are to have just weights and measures. We are not to withhold the wages of a laborer overnight. We are not to show deference to the rich or favor the poor in judgment.

Sterling thought because of his wealth he was above the law. He was arrogant. Silver did exactly what he did according to Jewish law—he did not favor the rich. Megal in his article on Sports on Earth, summed it up this way: Silver is Gold.

“There have always been hateful, immoral people like Donald Sterling within every ethnic group. But to see him out front, the most famous man in the news right now, and that he can be called Jewish, with particular glee from those with hateful attitudes toward Jews, is deeply disturbing. But this isn’t just a story with a Jewish antagonist. The protagonist is Jewish as well. Adam Silver, commissioner of the NBA, is Jewish. I won’t claim that he is a spokesperson for all Jewish people; neither did he. But on Tuesday afternoon, before a packed ballroom at the Hilton in Manhattan and an international audience, Adam Silver spoke for me.” He spoke for me too:

“The views expressed by Mr. Sterling are deeply offensive and harmful; that they came from an NBA owner only heightens the damage and my personal outrage,” Silver said. “I am personally distraught that the views expressed by Mr. Sterling came from within an institution that has historically taken such a leadership role in matters of race relations and caused current and former players, coaches, fans and partners of the NBA to question their very association with the league.”

Lord Rabbi Sacks, writing before this story was breaking news, said this in his weekly message about this parsha:

We are God’s ambassadors to the world.

Therefore when we behave in such a way as to evoke admiration for Judaism as a faith and a way of life, that is a Kiddush Hashem, a sanctification of God’s name. When we do the opposite – when we betray that faith and way of life, causing people to have contempt for the God of Israel – that is a Chillul Hashem, a desecration of God’s name… When Jews behave badly, unethically, unjustly, they create a Chillul Hashem. People say, I cannot respect a religion, or a God, that inspire people to behave in such a way… No nation has ever been given a greater or more fateful responsibility. And it means that we each have a share in this task.

When a Jew, especially a religious Jew, behaves badly – acts unethically in business, or is guilty of sexual abuse, or utters a racist remark, or acts with contempt for others – it reflects badly on all Jews and on Judaism itself.

We are all, like it or not, ambassadors of the Jewish people, and how we live, behave and treat others reflects not only on us as individuals but on Jewry as a whole, and thus on Judaism and the God of Israel.

“Be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and others have greatness thrust upon ‘em,” wrote Shakespeare in Twelfth Night. Throughout history Jews have had greatness thrust upon them…

God trusted us enough to make us His ambassadors to an often faithless, brutal world. The choice is ours. Will our lives be a Kiddush Hashem, or God forbid, the opposite? To have done something, even one act in a lifetime, to make someone grateful that there is a God in heaven who inspires people to do good on earth, is perhaps the greatest achievement to which anyone can aspire. Shakespeare rightly defined the challenge: Be not afraid of greatness.

My hope is that this story will go away quickly. Not because it is bad for the Jews, it is. But because there are so many more important things in this world. How are we going to feed the hungry? What has happened to the 200 girls kidnapped in Nigeria? How do we make peace in Israel?  And maybe most importantly here this week, how do we create a mikdash me’at, a holy community, right here, within these four walls and beyond. We are all ambassadors of Judaism. As Shakespeare and Sacks admonish, “Be not afraid of greatness.”

The Shulchan Arukh, Jewish law code teaches, “We bury non-Jewish dead and comfort their mourners so that we follow the ways of peace” YD 370.1.2010. This week I did something that seemed natural to me. I facilitated and officiated at my first non-Jewish funeral. I didn’t hesitate. The 90 year old was the mother-in-law of my ritual chairperson. She wasn’t Jewish. She was supportive of her son-in-law and her daughter raising her grandchildren as Jews. She had attended Bnei Mitzvah, weddings, funerals. Even the annual Chanukah latke lunch and the 120th anniversary brunch. She hadn’t been to church recently although she was anointed in the hospital.

When I learned she was in the hospital last week, taken unresponsive while we were in services last Saturday, I knew I would spend Saturday night or Sunday morning at the hospital with them. When my ritual chair asked me to say a few words, well actually uncharacteristically more than a few words, I didn’t hesitate. Whatever you need.

Then I thought about the consequences. Would people judge us? I decided I didn’t care. Would people assume that they got better care than someone I know less well? Again I didn’t care. I would do this again, again under the right circumstances.

Our tradition teaches that “These are the ways of the Holy One: “gracious and compassionate, patient, abounding in kindness and faithfulness, assuring love for a thousand generations, forgiving iniquity, transgression, and sin, and granting pardon.” (Exodus 34:6). This means that just as God is gracious, compassionate, and forgiving, you too must be gracious, compassionate, and forgiving.” (Sifre on Eikev) It continues, “Follow the Lord your God” (Deuteronomy 13:5). What does this mean?…The verse means to teach us that we should follow the attributes of the Holy One…As He clothes the naked, you should clothe the naked. The Bible teaches that the Holy One visited the sick; you should visit the sick. The Holy One comforted those who mourned; you should comfort those who mourn. The Holy One buried the dead; you should bury the dead. (Sotah 14).

It doesn’t say, only the Jewish sick, only the Jewish bereaved, only the Jewish dead. This, then, is the definition of compassion: visiting the sick, comforting the bereaved, burying the dead. This, then is what community does, reaches out and offers comfort.

After I offered or accepted, then I started to think. “What would the neighbors say?” “How could I make everyone feel comfortable?” “What would be most meaningful to the family–all the family?” I called my good friends, a UCC pastor and an Episcopal priest, a senior rabbi. All of them have been ordained for some 40 years each, so lots of experience. None of them had been asked to do a funeral service for someone not in their tradition. All of them thought it was possible. No one thought it was wrong. All were helpful.

Do you know that the outline for a funeral service is nearly the same. “Use Psalm 23, the Lord is my shepherd, and Psalm 121, I lift up my eyes to the mountains.” I was told, “Sometimes I use, “There is a time to be born and a time to die,” or a Woman of Valor.” There is a committal prayer. I chose to use “The Lord’s Prayer”, the prayer that Jesus taught his disciples and which is based on traditional Jewish prayers. I figured that would comfort the Catholics that were sure to be present. I have had it memorized since a 7th grade Hebrew School retreat where we learned a rock version. Of course, I stumbled over which is the Catholic version and which is the Protestant version. I am still not sure I picked the right one.

In all traditions, part of the function of the funeral is the eulogy, the telling of the stories about the person who died. It is part of how we keep their memories alive. It is part of how we keep them close.

Judaism teaches that burying a loved one is the last act of compassion, since it cannot be repaid. My hope is that by my congregation and me opening our hearts to people who were grieving we showed compassion, compassion without judgment and that we brought the family comfort.

Was it easy? Not entirely–more because I was worried that it would be comfortable for everyone. One person did say, “I didn’t realize she was Jewish.” another said, “I have never seen a rabbi lead the Lord’s Prayer.” The preparation took me a little out of my own comfort zone. Would I do it again? You bet. It was compassion. It was comfort. It was the right thing to do.