This week we are just three weeks into our most sacred text. Bereshit, the book of Genesis, the first book of the Torah. 

The world was created. We had our first murder. The world was nearly destroyed. We were told that would not happen again, at least not by water. The tower of babel and the confusion of languages. and then a long genealogy. We met Abraham. Three weeks.  

We are told that Noah was righteous in his generation and Abraham was righteous.  

I asked our Torah School kids what righteous means. It means being right, being correct, doing the right things.  

What was it that Abraham did that made his righteous? What is it that we can do to emulate Abraham? 

Our portion begins with the words, Lech Lecha. Go. Abraham is told to go. To leave his land, the land of his birth, his father’s house and go to the land that G-d will show him. Pretty powerful stuff, pretty powerful language. Why does he have to leave everything he knows? To focus. The Hebrew construction is a bit odd. Lech Lecha often gets translated as go forth. But the Hebrew offers another clue, Go to yourself.  Find yourself.  

Leaving is hard. Making space for something new with its promise of being better is hard. Yet, that is exactly what Abraham needs to do. What G-d demands him to do. He is forging a new path, a new future for himself and his family, both Sarah and Hagar, Isaac and Ishmael. He, in the midrash, smashed the idols of the past. 

For some, these last few weeks have been about smashing the idols of the past. For others, it didn’t happen the way they envisioned.  

Cat Zavis said: “Some continue to embrace the idolatry of the past, an idolatry that makes us believe that we are safe when we isolate ourselves, when we demean and oppress others, when we build walls. But in truth, we are safe when we are in community, when we see and uplift the Divine within one another, and when we build bridges and solidarity. Sometimes we harden our hearts and fear takes over. We have a choice. Are we willing to leave behind the idolatry on which our country was built and forge a new path? How might we do so? Can we take responsibility for the injustices of the past and build a future on justice and liberation for all? Being alive is truly miraculous. This is our time. We are all here for a reason. How will we show up and meet this moment? Let’s start by being together in a beloved community to nourish ourselves and dream of a future where everyone is nurtured and held in beloved communities.” 

Here we are, in beloved community, still in community. Many of us came from somewhere else, leaving behind the places we were born. That term that Cat Zavis used, beloved community, is one that Martin Luther King first used, is the name of a group that Josh Stober and I are participating in. We’re reading the book, Healing Resistance, trying to find a way to build a community that takes care of the most vulnerable, the widow, the orphan, the stranger amongst us. A world where people work together with the police and are not afraid of them, a world where people are respected and yes, loved. 

Abraham did more than just leave.  

He rescued his nephew Lot who was being held captive after which he broke bread with the King of Sodom, Malchizedek.  

He argued with G-d not to destroy Sodom and Gemorah. If there are just 50 righteous people…all the way down to 10. That is why our minyan is 10. 10 is the number for community. We are not meant to be alone. We are meant to be in community. Look around you. We here are in community. All of us together. Sometimes we agree and sometimes we don’t but we are all here.  

There is a power in being seen. Abraham…and Sarah do that. He saw the injustices of Sodom and Gemorah. He tried to protect the most vulnerable there. We nned to be seen…and to see. Look around you…we are building a community where people are heard and seen. Where people show up. Where people care about one another. 

Later we are told that his (and Sarah’s) tent were open on all four sides, so he could see who was coming. They practiced radical, audacious hospitality, from which we get the concept hachnasat orchim, welcoming guests.  

We are told that we should emulate G-d, “Just as G-d is merciful, we too should be merciful. Just as G-d is kind, we too should be kind.” The midrash continues that G-d’s kindness includes clothing the naked, Adam and Eve, feeding the hungry with manna in the wilderness and burying the dead. Abraham’s kindness includes feeding his three guests, even interrupting his conversation with G-d to rush to do so. 

Abraham certainly wasn’t perfect. He tries to pass off his wife as his sister. Twice. He throws Hagar (and Ishmael) out of the camp at his wife’s insistence as we will see next week. He almost sacrifices Isaac. Yet he gives us a model. Pirke Avot teaches, “In a place where there are no menschen, strive to be a good person.” That’s the message of Abraham. Be kind. Be loving. Be hospitable. Protect the vulnerable.  

G-d promises that Abraham and his descendants will be a blessing. They will be as numerous as the stars in the sky and the sands on the beach. 

Some of you may be feeling tired this week. Between the time change and the election cycle this has been a week like none other.  

Yet our haftarah offers comfort. 

The ETERNAL is God from of old,
Creator of the earth from end to end,
Who never grows faint or weary,
Whose wisdom cannot be fathomed—
Who gives strength to the weary,
They shall run and not grow weary,
They shall march and not grow faint. 

Anne Frank said, “It’s really a wonder that I haven’t dropped all my ideals, because they seem so absurd and impossible to carry out. Yet I keep them, because in spite of everything, I still believe that people are really good at heart.” 

The world is not yet as we would like it, as G-d and Abraham envisioned it. We learn from the Best Exotic Hotel Marigold: Everything will be alright in the end so if it is not alright it is not the end. The only real failure is the failure to try, and the measure of success is how we cope with disappointment. Remember you are everything, or you are nothing.”

Pirke Avot teaches: “Ours is not to finish the task, neither are we free to ignore it.” We are here in this time and place for a reason. Be like G-d. Be like Abraham. 

Today’s Torah portion is called Vayera, G-d appeared. Abraham is sitting at the entrance to his tent after his circumcision, no little surgery for an adult male at any stage, but particularly in those times. 

He saw three figures, (men, people, messengers, angels or as we just heard in the haftarah translation, agents), approach, standing near him. Abraham interrupts his visit with G-d, his conversation with G-d and runs, yes, runs, to welcome them.  

Fred Rogers from Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood is credited with saying that when things are scary, “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.” Those figures were the helpers. 

The verb here is nitzavim, just like a portion in Deuteronomy, “Atem nitzvavim hayom. You stand here today.” It continues, all of you. Your leaders, chiefs, old people, your wives, your little ones, your water drawers and wood choppers.” All of you. All of us. 

We learn two important things from this opening. G-d visits the sick so we should visit the sick. Abraham welcomes guests, strangers, whomever they may be.  

But Abraham and Sarah were not perfect people. Far from it. Yet they answered the call to be present, with a simple word “Hineini, I am here.” They are present. We need to be present. 

Many times, I am asked in a seemingly impossible situation, “Where is G-d.” Sometimes it is hard to see.  

This portion is full of sight and appearance. G-d appears. An angel or a messenger appears. Each messenger only has one responsibility, one action they must complete, one reason they have appeared. 

Sometimes it seems impossible to see the good. To see G-d. 

Today’s portion has two of the most painful stories in the Torah. Both of these we also read on Rosh Hashanah. I have wrestled with why. How do explain these painful stories to children, in particular.  

Perhaps they are about crying over children. Protecting children. Perhaps they are about new beginnings. Finding another way. Finding G-d in the midst of unspeakable tragedy.  

Sarah feels threatened by Hagar, worried for her child Isaac and demands that Abraham send them away, put them out of the camp. Abraham is told to listen to Sarah’s voice, and he does. He sends them away with just a skin of water and some bread.  

Hagar does not want to look on while her child dies of thirst in the desert. She cries out, “Let me not look on.” How desperate she must have been to not pray, “Save my child”. G-d hears the voice of the lad (not even named here). She cries for her child. G-d hears her pleas.  

“Then God opened her eyes and she saw a well of water. She went and filled the skin with water, and let the boy drink.” 

Yet, in the very next chapter, Abraham hears a voice, telling him to take his son, his only son, the one he loves, take Isaac to a mountain G-d will show up and offer him as a sacrifice. Abraham prepares to do exactly that. Abraham who argued with G-d about Sodom and Gemorah, seems willing to do the unthinkable. The rabbis couldn’t understand that and invented the midrash, the dialogue here. Take your son. I have two sons. Your only son. They are each the only son of their mother. The one you love. I love them both. Take Isaac.  

So they leave on this three day journey without telling Sarah where they are going or what they are about to do. When Issac questions Abraham, Abraham answers that “It is God who will see to the sheep for this burnt offering, my son.” 

When Abraham looked up, his eye fell upon a ram, caught in the thicket by its horns. He saw a ram!  

And Abraham named that site Adonai-yireh, whence the present saying, “On GOD’s mount there is vision.” 

The message of these two stories is clear. We cannot sacrifice our children.  

It is alright to cry. Hagar cried. Sarah cried. Rachel cried. Hannah cried. About our children. About the world. And we cannot stop there. We need to open our eyes. We need to be Mr. Roger’s helpers. 

 Always, always we have to look for another way. We have to find another way. Don’t give up. Don’t lose hope. Keep searching. The water was there all along. The ram was there. The messengers were there. We need to answer the call to be present with Hineini. I am here. 

 “To love another person is to see the face of G-d. “ Victor Hugo, Les Mis 

Jeff Klepper who wrote the music to Shalom Rav, wrote a son, a bridge between Ahavat Olam and the Sh’ma. If we open up our eyes, maybe in the people who come to help, that is where we find the oneness of G-d.  

“Open up our eyes, teach us how to live.
Fill our hearts with joy and all the love You have to give
Gather us in peace as you lead us to Your name
And we will know that You are one. We will know that you are one.” 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JGEhB-KYboo&t=78s 

Today is my mother’s yahrzeit. So we study this parsha in her memory. Nelle Sicher Frisch.  

When she actually died is shrouded in some mystery. Either on Halloween, when she had her final heart attack and never regained consciousness, or on Election Day in 2008, when she took her last breath surrounded by those she loved. Every single one of us, including her, who had voted early, voted before she died. Then we turned on the election results and waited for the funeral home to come. 

Today we read the story of Noah’s ark. At the very end of story we learn that G-d makes a brit, a covenant, to never destroy the world again. At least by water. Yet, G-d seems to get frustrated, angry even quickly. There is a brief story, the Tower of Babel, that appears at the very end of our parsha. The people, still healing from the trauma of the flood come together to build this massive Torah. They seem to be united in language and a shared sense of purpose and community. But what is that purpose? Why are they building a tower to the heavens? Are they building this tower out of fear? Out of anger? Are they trying to draw close to G-d or attack G-d?  

Rabbi Menachem Creditor points our something I didn’t notice before. Call that life long learning. They build the tower in a valley, not on high ground. (Gen. 11:2). As he said, In a way, it’s an irony wrapped in hubris: trying to reach the heavens from the lowest point. Why build in a valley? The text doesn’t say directly, but perhaps it reflects how misplaced their fear and ambition were. In their desperation to control the world, some wanted to protect against another flood, others—a midrash teaches—wanted to challenge heaven itself. The rabbis tell us that when the tower grew tall, some people even shot arrows into the sky as if to strike back at God.” 

 “It’s powerful to consider this reaction. After a traumatic event, we know how easy it is to be consumed with rage, to direct anger outward. But the story invites us to recognize that the flood came because of humanity’s own cruelty and corruption (Gen. 6:13). In truth, we often bring our own storms and floods. Shooting arrows at heaven may feel cathartic, but it’s a diversion from the hard, holy work we are actually called to do: reflecting, changing, and doing better.” 

We are not at the lowest part. Yet things like the pandamic, inflation, job loss, rising anti-semitism, natural disasters make us long for what was, or what seems to have been. It seemed be a simpler time. 

A long time ago, Paul Glaser, a former CKI member, president, Men’s Club president, and my first ritual chair, talked about unity here. He called this corner “unity on division street.” And we still work from that perspective. We look out for each other. We plan events for each other. We feed people. We plant bulbs. We clean up litter. We try to make the world, or at least our small corner of it, better. That’s called Tikkun Olam, repairing the world. Like the classic story from the Zohar, we gather the shards back together again. At least our small corner of it.  

 We don’t always understand each other’s faith and belief. We don’t try to convince each other that they are wrong and we’re right. Sometimes it feels like we don’t even speak the same language. Tiffany Henderson has been teaching me the world bougie. It is a term, perhaps a derogatory slang word in the African American community, to describe those who are wealthier or upwardly mobile people, usually other Black people, who were seen to be socially pretentious. I taught her JAP, a term I don’t hear so much anymore, for Jewish American Princess, a stereotypical well-to-do or spoiled American Jewish girl or woman.  

Both are upwardly mobile, perhaps trying to build those towers to the heavens. It’s hubris that both communities joke about. Sort of.  

While we are a political free zone here at CKI, a partizan one would be better. My mother taught me never to discuss politics or religion in public. It’s not polite. It hurts the polite unity we’ve built. 

Yet I stand here today unable to do that completely. Call it an occupational hazard. I am aware of three recent events aimed at the Jewish community.  

The first is an ad released by the Republican Jewish Coalition that trades in various stereotype and promotes the fear over rising anti-semitism. https://www.youtube.com/watch?reload=9&v=vnXSm. They conclude there is only one way that as Jews they can vote.  

(And still there is more. The same Jewish deli just filmed a Kamala ad: https://www.jta.org/2024/10/31/politics/hymies-the-philly-jewish-deli-featured-in-a-trump-ad-is-now-the-setting-for-a-harris-spot, announced after I initially wrote this!)

The second is an email that I received from the ADL Center on Extremism that there will be rallies in 30 communities including Chicago to protest the perceived genocide in the Middle East:  

“Local organizers of at least two of the protests — in Albuquerque, NM and Raleigh, NC — have announced their intention to march to polling places during early voting hours. Other protests may also take place in the vicinity of early voting locations. Another protest scheduled to take place at a location of political significance is the one in Milwaukee, WI, that is set to take place outside of a Democratic Party of Wisconsin field office… Some of the previous protests co-sponsored by these groups have platformed threatening language directed at Zionists or which have escalated into vandalism and violent confrontations with law enforcement or counter-protesters. Election-related activities and rhetoric urging Americans to vote against both major political parties have been commonplace among anti-Israel activists over the past year.” 

Last weekend Chicagoland, West Rogers Park a highly Jewish neighborhood. The person appears to have targeted an Orthodox young man walking to shul, someone who looks “stereotypically” Jewish. As I understand it the alleged shooter than shot at police officers who took him down. Based on information recovered in his cell phone in addition to attempted murder charges, he was eventually charged with terrorism and hate crimes. I want to remind you that charges do not equal a conviction. This still needs to be adjudicated. Nor do I want to additionally raise anyone’s anxiety. As we do almost every week and as was suggested by the ADL email, we have reviewed our CKI security protocols and are looking at additional things.  I don’t believe we have an actually threat here. And I don’t want to be naive. I will never take your safety for granted. 

The third communication is an email I received just yesterday from Ha rega, in Hebrew characters, on my CKI email. I do not know or recognize the sender at all. It tells me why I have an obligation as a rabbi to tell you who to vote for. It too leans into fear.  

Let me be clear. I will not tell you who to vote for. I value your intelligence too much. You are highly educated and can make your own informed decisions. And. I am told by law enforcement, that it is probably a Russian bot. Don’t get confused by those masquerading.  

Jews have not always had the right to vote. As colonial re-enactors in Chelmsford, we learned that only white, male Christian landowners could vote. Black men did not gain the right to vote until 1870. Women did not gain the right to vote in this country until 1920. The Voting Rights Act of 1965 was signed into law on the conference room table of the Religious Action Center of the Reform Movement. Jews have been in the vanguard of protecting our right to vote and in getting out the vote. 

Yet, the Jewish community is not a monolith. There are many opinions. You may have them in your own families. I know I do. There are many opinions here at CKI. We know the joke about two Jews and three opinions. We know that we argue about everything. Even about the word argue. Some would prefer debate because arguing can lead to civil discord. 

In Proverbs we learn: “Iron sharpens iron.” It is a phrase that refers to the idea that people can sharpen and refine each other through discussion and interaction. The phrase comes from Proverbs 27:17, which says, “As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another” (Yes, I changed that translation to be gender inclusive!) 

We, Jews, preserve that kind of debate in the Talmud. It sharpens our discussion and makes us better. It is the minority opinion, It is the model for our own Supreme Court.   

Yet, how we do that is important. We do it with respect, with care, with active listening. Not with violence. 

Let me be clear again. The threats of violence are real. I worry about voter intimidation. I worry about poll workers. I worry about the day after the election. I worry about charges and counter charges of Jewish loyalty. But if anyone asks you to participate in violence, using that old phrase “just say no.” Then call one of the election hotlines. The ACLU toll free number for starters is 1-866-OUR-VOTE. https://www.aclu.org/know-your-rights/voting-rights  

We can agree to disagree on matters of policy. We can find ways to have civil discourse, both here at CKI and at Thanksgiving dinners. What we cannot do is participate in violence. What we cannot do is give up our rights to vote or our identity. 

On Monday night I will be participating in a panel on political violence and religious response. Not sure whether my mother would be proud or angry. It is sponsored by the Elgin Human Relations Commission at 5:30 PM at the Centre of Elgin. I’ll be joined by several local pastors from all denominations.  

This arose out of the fear some residents expressed of not feeling safe to wear their religious garb. I have had similar discussions with some of you about kippot, Jewish jewelry, mezuzot. My answer remains the same. I continue to wear mine proudly. And I understand the fear and do not want to minimize it.  

I stand here today, as I have done before to urge you to vote, although I know many of you have already. I will not tell you who to vote for. Just vote. Exercise your right. 

Back in 2016 I wrote a prayer for voting.  

https://www.theenergizerrabbi.org/2016/11/08/the-joy-of-voting/ 

I did it again in 2020 coupled with an evening of teaching about Jewish civic engagement. 

https://www.theenergizerrabbi.org/2020/11/03/pre-election-teaching-on-judaism-and-civic-engagement-in-memory-of-my-mother/  

My mother’s favorite prayer, the one she read at her own confirmation in Saint Louis in 1938 was “Grant us peace.” I offer it here as a model of how Jews pray for our country and the world.  

“Grant us peace, Your most precious gift, O Eternal Source of peace, and give us the will to proclaim its message to all the peoples of the earth. Bless our country, that it may always be a stronghold of peace, and its advocate among the nations. May contentment reign within its border, health and happiness within its homes. Strengthen the bonds of friendship among the inhabitants of all lands, and may the love of Your name hallow every home and every heart. Blessed is the Eternal God, the Source of peace. ” (Gates of Prayer, based on UPB1)

Every week we pray for our leaders and advisors. This week, especially this week, is no exception.

Rabbi Creditor reminds us that “our parsha holds up a mirror to our humanity. Babel represents more than misguided ambition; it’s a warning against misguided unity. They shared a single language, perhaps even a single mindset, yet it led to a unity without understanding, a closeness without compassion. 

We live in a world rich in diversity, where no two people are exactly the same. Each soul carries a unique facet of the Divine image. This week, as we face a tense moment here in America and beyond, may we cherish that diversity, lean into empathy, and resist the urge to build towers that only serve some of us. Let’s build spaces that hold everyone. We don’t need to erase our differences or speak a single language to find unity. Instead, we’re invited to a unity of purpose, one that celebrates the extraordinary gift of our differences and uses them to create deeper connections.” 

He is correct. Our parsha teaches the G-d made a covenant with Noah, a righteous man in his generation. to never destroy the world again. Our obligation is to keep building this world, based on love, on empathy, on compassion.  

Here is my prayer for 2024: 

I stand here today,
Hineini
Ready.
Ready to exercise my right.
My right to exercise my voice.
My right to vote 

Guide me
With wisdom
With compassion
With care 

Help me 
To shut out anger
To ignore fear and anxiety
To stand here
In this very moment..

Help me
To cast a vote
My vote
Reflecting my values
To make the world a better place.

I stand here today.
Ready,
Hineini. 

~At the Edge of the Deep~ 

In a dream,
God took me to the swamp,
The formless deep,
Roiling with anticipation and desire,
From which divine yearning
Created us all.
Everything held in nothingness,
Light confined in darkness.
Life calling out in song,
Souls calling out in prayer.
Seeds of beauty and terror,
Seeds of history and eternity.
God asked me:
“Shall we make Human in our own image?”
Confused, I replied, “You’ve already made me.”
“Oh, dear one,” God said,
“Before I created you
You called out to Me from the deep,
You yearned for Me,
You courted Me,
And I fell in love.”
© 2023 CCAR Press from “These Words: Poetic Midrash on the Language of Torah” by Alden Solovy 

 It seems that while the G-d keeps saying Ki tov, it is good, in the Bibilical text we begin reading again this weekend, all the way back at Genesis 1, according to the midrash, while something isn’t quite right. Something happened in this world that seemed so perfect. That was called the Garden of Eden, Paradise, that we call heaven. Something went wrong.  

Here is a new poem by Danielle Coffyn that won the Pushcart Prize: 

If Adam Picked the Apple
There would be a parade, 
a celebration,
a holiday to commemorate 
the day he sought enlightenment. 
We would not speak of 
temptation by the devil, rather, 
we would laud Adam’s curiosity, 
his desire for adventure
and knowing.  

We would feast 
on apple-inspired fare: 
tortes, chutneys, pancakes, pies.
There would be plays and songs 
reenacting his courage. 

But it was Eve who grew bored, 
weary of her captivity in Eden. 
And a woman’s desire
for freedom is rarely a cause 
for celebration. 

After they eat the apple, probably a pomegranate, when G-d asks “Ayecha, Where are you?,”they try to hide. Hide from G-d? Interesting idea. How can you hide from G-d? Doesn’t G-d everything? Doesn’t G-d know where they are? 

It could have been perfect. Something happened. So G-d degrees they will be expelled from the Garden. They are going to have to work by the sweat of their brow.  By the time we pick up the story, there is sibling rivalry and the first murder. G-d asks Cain almost the same question G-d asks Adam and Eve. “Where is your brother?” Doesn’t G-d know? Or is like the mother who finds the broken cookie jar and says, “Who broke the cookie jar?” knowing full well who! Cain famously asks “I do not know. Am I my brother’s keeper?” And the implication is YES. You are your brother’s keeper. You are accountable for his actions, and your own! There has to be accountability. We have to take care of one another.  Jealousy is bad. Sibling rivalry is bad. Murder is bad. Is that clear? 

Next week, we read the story of Noah. G-d is really frustrated with the world G-d created. We know the story. At G-d’s command, Noah builds an ark. It rains and pours for 40 days. That storm destroys everything on the earth, except the ark and those on it. This is not the first time G-d gets angry. In the midrash G-d created and destroyed 974 worlds before this one. (Midrash Tehilim 90:13) This time, G-d makes the first covenant. A sacred promise. A contract. G-d promises to never destroy the world again. At least by water.  

This is a week we think a lot about rain and water. G-d separates the water from the dry land. We add a prayer for rain. Water has the power to heal and to destroy. I was relieved that we got through Sukkot with very lovely weather. Being in the Sukkah was nearly perfect. Yet, we desperately need rain in this climate. This is not the first time where there is a dought. Even in the ancient land of Israel.  

There is an old Talmudic story about Honi the Circle Drawer who lived in the first century BCE. We often tell one of the stories about him around Tu B’shevat, the New Year of the Trees. Seems that he had a special relationship with God and his prayers were quite effective. There was a terrible drought in the land of Israel. The rainy season had ended with no rain and the Israelites were about to enter the dry time of year. When rain is plentiful, it’s an afterthought. During a drought, it’s the only thought. The people needed rain.  

The people sent for Honi to pray for rain because they knew that God listened and answered Honi’s prayers. Honi prayed, but no rain came. Then Honi drew a circle in the dust around himself and told God that he would not leave the circle until G-d sent rain. A little audacious. A little chuztpidik, perhaps. It began to rain, but so little and light that the people complained to Honi. They kvetched. They told him that it was raining only enough to release Honi from his vow, but not enough to end the drought.

Honi turned his face to heaven and spoke to God, “Not for this type of rain did I pray, but for rain which would fill wells, cisterns and ditches.” The skies opened and the rain came in torrents. Again, the people came to Honi. Again the people kvetched. This time they cried that the rain was beginning to flood and damage the land.

Honi turned his face to heaven once more and prayed, “Not for this type of rain did I pray, but for rain of your favor, blessing, and graciousness.” This time, G-d heard Honi’s prayers and answered with a rain that refreshed the land. It’s like the Goldilocks prayer for rain.  Of course, like much in Judaism, there are two sources for this, both from the Talmud, Taanit 19a and 23a. 

“Like water, teshuvah is both destructive and creative. It dissolves the person you were but simultaneously provides the moisture you need to grow anew. It erodes the hard edges of your willfulness but also refreshens your spirit. It can turn the tallest barriers of moral blindness into rubble while it also gently nourishes the hidden seeds of hope buried deep in your soul. Teshuvah, like water, has the power both to wash away past sin and to shower you with the blessing of a new future, if only you trust it and allow yourself to be carried along in its current.” Dr. Louis Newman 

In the old days, as part of the end of Sukkot, on Shimini Atzeret precisely then that we add the prayer Geshem. You wouldn’t want to say it too early. You wouldn’t want those paths home from Jerusalem to be too muddy. Today we began to add it’s echo in our Amidah, “Mashiv haRuach u’Morid haGeshem, “Who causes the wind to blow and the rain to fall” 

Rabbi Jacob Fine teaches that, “the complete dependence of life on water is powerfully conveyed through the Hebrew root ג-ש-ם (gimel-shin-mem), which can mean both rain and physicality. Lest we forget that we are made up of nearly three-quarters water, the Hebrew reminds us that without geshem (rain), there is no gashmiut (physicality). Or in other words, without mayim (water), there is no chaim (life).” 

This is a prayer that is specific to the land of Israel, although we desperately need rain here. Still. Even after the storms of Thursday night. When Shira was studying this prayer, she was reminded of something Yossi Klein Halevy wrote about the fact that Jews spent centuries praying for the rain and dew in season for the land of Israel, even though most of them never travelled there. But his point was that we never abandoned our land. 

Here is a classic cantorial recitation from Cantor Azi Schwartz at the Park Avenue Synagogue.: 

https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=610600010807967  

Here is a video of this important prayer. I know a number of people featured in it, but we found it thanks to Shira. It may even contain a glimpse of Margot Seigle.  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=imxxAEHaG5g&t=28s 

This year, there was at least one rendition that added extra stanzas to beg G-d for rain for the merit of the victims of October 7th: 

“Remember the children who returned to their land, like streams of water. On a day of wrath, the wicked overwhelmed them like a flood of water. As they grasped the handles, their tears flowed like water. Hear the cry of their blood, spilled like water.
For their sake do not withhold water. 

Remember the thousands who rushed to battle on the day of the prayer for water. For the sake of their brothers, they entered fire and water. In love for Your people, their hearts stirred like the sound of flowing water. Their bravery flowed like a river of water.
In their righteousness, grant the grace of an abundance of waters.
Remember the captives, men and women, on the eight day, judged by waters. Like a leaf, they were caught in a current of water. In distress, in the darkness, in a pit without water. Have mercy and redeem them , like the flight of doves and like clouds of water.  

For their sake, do not withhold water.” (Rabbanit Shlomit Piamenta)

Powerful words. Please G-d hear them.  

Yet, there is a little more here we need to do. We pray for rain through the zecut, the merit of our ancestors. People have talked about our responsibility to the earth as it relates to this prayer. G-d promised to never destroy the earth again with water. You might want to check with any of the people who have endured the floods and hurricanes of this year, whether they still think this way. 

How are we accountable? Do we have any responsibility? 

Today’s Torah portion teaches that we are partners with G-d in creation. We have an obligation to take care of this earth. In Deut. 20 it teaches this very concept, the Jewish value of bal taschit, do not destroy. We are not to destroy fruit trees if we siege a city. From that we extrapolate that we are not to destroy anything. Earlier in Deuteronomy, in the paragrpah that we deem the second paragraph of the V’ahavta, we are told that  “If, then, you obey the commandments that I enjoin upon you this day, loving Adonai your God and serving Adonai with all your heart and soul, I will grant the rain for your land in season, the early rain and the late. You shall gather in your new grain and wine and oil— I will also provide grass in the fields for your cattle—and thus you will eat to contentment.” (Deut. 11). 

We need to do more than pray for rain. We need to work for a time where we are accountable for not destroying this glorious world.  

Truth in advertising. Some of this repeat a d’var torah I did on Sukkot in 2010. It is still relevent today with some additions. 

To everything…turn turn turn
There is a season…turn, turn, turn…
And a time for every purpose under heaven…
A time to be born, a time to die… 

We know this quote. We know this book. Ecclesiastes, Kohelet. We just read excerpts of it. We know it from popular literature—and music. Shakespeare. Lincoln. Tolstoy. Thomas Wolfe. The Byrds. Turn, turn, turn.  There is nothing new under the sun, so says Kohelet. 

But read on Sukkot? Surprising, no? Here comes this book that seems like such a downer, right in the middle of “the time of our joy.” Why? 

They say that every rabbi writes the sermon they need to hear. With someone who has a middle name Joy, who is fascinated by the character Joy in Inside Out, the new Disney animated film, I’ll be costumed as Joy at the police Halloween extravaganza next week. So, let’s talk about joy.  

We know that we can’t command an emotion. Your feelings are your feelings. What happens then we we say, “Be Happy, It’s Adar” for Purim, or like my coaster says, “Choose joy,” and we just can’t get there. Are there times when it is impossible to feel joy? There is much being written about this as we approach Simchat Torah. This year, while we will be dancing, it will feel different. Our grief will be mingled with our joy. I expect it will be palpable. That’s OK.  

The book’s name in English comes from the Greek ekklesiastes, a translation of of Kohelet, meaning something like “one who convenes or addresses an assembly”. In fact, the book’s opening verse tells us that it was written by Solomon in his old age. The rabbis agreed that it was Solomon. This is not the Solomon of his youth when tradition says he wrote Song of Songs. Here, he sounds like an old, cranky, bitter man.  (My husband, older than I am disagrees with that analysis) 

Of course, this is Judaism, so there is an alternative reading. That this was written or edited by Hezekiah. The same king who may have also written Isaiah, Proverbs and Song of Songs. Because of the Persian loan words and some Aramaic it cannot be “really” be earlier than 450BCE and since Ben Sira quotes from it in 180 BCE it cannot be later. 

And while I get fascinated by linguistics, I am not sure I really care. This is beautiful and important poetry. Poetry and wisdom we need to wrestle with the meaning. 

Why is it read during Sukkot? I think it is like why we recite Yizkor during the Pilgrimage festivals, Sukkot, Passover, Shavuot. At the times of our greatest joys we are keenly aware of those we miss. At a wedding we break a glass to remind us of the sadness we feel, that our world is not yet complete. The Israelites picked up the shattered pieces of the tablets of the 10 Commandments and put them In the Ark to remind them of their dreams not yet fulfilled. Kohelet is like that. We need to remember not to get too caught up in the joy, in the festivities and to carry over the joy we do have to the rest of the year. 

This book makes that clear. It tells us that it is better to go to a house of mourning, a shiva if you will, than a house of feasting, a house of celebration. Why? It tempers our joy. Perhaps, it also about being needed at a shiva. Your presence provides comfort, continuity, community, connections. It seems particularly appropriate this year where we at CKI have had a number of shivas. Just show up is what Rabbi Sharon Brous argues in the Amen Effect. And you did. Mourners don’t forget who showed up. 

In the most difficult year that I can remember in Israel, people showed up at shiva minyans. All over the county. People showed up. And there are still sukkot standing, waiting for their loved ones to come home. There were still weddings, there were still babies being born. Even in the midst of trauma and tragedy, there was still joy. 

It says in the Talmud that if a funeral procession and a wedding procession cross in a town square, the wedding procession goes first. I sometimes need to teach this if the bride or groom has recently lost a beloved relative. This year I have taught it frequently. Life continues. Life goes on. There is a time for everything. 

We want that sense of joy. We need it.  

We also crave the sense, the knowledge that we are loved. Part of the reason this seems like a bitter old man is the translation we use. We just read, “Futility, futility, all is futility.” Other translations, including the one Thomas Wolfe used is “Vanity, vanities.” That doesn’t sound very encouraging. 

But what if we go back to the Hebrew. Hevel. Breath. All is breath. That is much more encouraging. Sure, breath seems to flutter away. It was a cold morning. Who saw their their breath today? I hope so! It’s a good thing. My mother had COPD, a chronic lung disease. Every breath was precious. She even had a t-shirt, “Remember to breathe.” Breath brings joy. Breath is life. Breath is G-d. Breath is everything. Without breath, there is no life. No ability to praise G-d. 

Our liturgy is filled with these connections to breath. Elohai neshama… O my God, the soul which You have given me is pure. You breathed it into me. 

Kol haneshma, Let every living soul, everything that has breath praise G-d. Nishmat kol chai, The soul of every living being shall bless Your Name. 

One of the things that we know about breath is that is fragile. So too is peace. Our liturgy says “Ufros Aleinu Sukkat Shlomecha. Spread over us the shelter, the fragile shelter, that fragile sukkah of Your peace.”  

Last year, just after the war started, I was coming back from the JUF rally at Northshore Congregation Israel to a Coalition of Elgin Religious Leaders meeting. My co-president and I had decided in light of the war that we would look at prayers for peace from a variety of religious traditions. Every religious tradition has a reading, a prayer, a hope for peace. However, one of our members, another rabbi, felt that we could not pray for peace at this time. Citing Kohelet he reminded everyone that there is a time for everything, a time for war and a time for peace. This, he said is a time for war.  

I did not agree with him. While I believe strongly that Israel has a right to defend herself, the ultimate goal must be peace. Our tradition demands it. We are taught to “Seek peace and pursue it.” (Psalms 34:14) The desire, the hope, the very prayers for peace are sprinkled throughout our liturgy.  

With my very last breath, that G-dly breath, I will use it to praise G-d and work for peace.  

A Guided Meditation:

We were going to take a couple of minutes and do something different. We were going to concentrate on that breath and the sukkah. I have taken a guided meditation by Shimona Tzukernik who writes for Chabad.org and expanded it to emphasize breath. Sit comfortablyy, you can do this on your own. 

Close your eyes. Breathe in deeply. Breathing in, breathing out. It is a cold morning. You can see your breath. Notice how it floats away. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in love. Breathe out stress. Everything is breath. 

U-lekachtem lachem ba-yom ha-rishon pri eitz hadar, kappot temarim, va-anaf eitz avot, ve-arvei nachal 

“You shall take for yourselves on the first day of Sukkot) the magnificent fruit of a tree, the fruit of a a goodly tree, what we call an etrog, together with the leaf of a date palm, fragrant boughs myrtle and willows of the brook.” (Leviticus 23:40) 

Imagine that you are sitting in a sukkah. Its walls are panels of fragrant wood. On the floor beneath you dance patterns of light and shade, cast by the sechach, the scented roof of leaves above your head. Take another deep breath. Imbibe the peace within your sukkah’s walls. Ufros aleinu sukkat shlomecha. God spreads over you a gentle sense of peace. Breathe in that peace. 

The sechach, the roof through which you can see the sun, the moon, the stars, is a shadow cast by a heavenly tree. It is ancient, wide, alive. Nestled within the inner branches, you notice a fruit—a citron, an etrog. It is the heart within the heart of the Tree of Life, and pulsates with G‑d’s infinite love—for you. 

You long to internalize this love. Breathe in deeply. Feel your spine stretch and open. Sit up straight and tall. It is the shape of a palm frond, a lulav. Its pointed tip tapers beyond you, transcending your rational mind, reaching above you, beyond the sechach, into the heart of the tree. Feel the point quiver as the lulav and etrog make contact. G‑d’s love begins to flow down your lulav-spine: downward between your shoulder blades, down, down to its base of your spine, Breathe in that love. 

You feel the warmth of that love at the base of your spine. The love begins to rise up. Radiating. Filling you. It reaches your heart. Look inward at the ventricles of your heart, the corners you reserve for love and hatred, forgiveness and grudges, abundance and stinginess; surrender your need to control the myriad emotions of life to a Higher Being, to the Divine Being, to the Shechinah. Feel the love of the lulav penetrates your heart, as it pieces your heart, your very soul. It awakens you to your higher self. It allows you to let go of the pockets of darkness you use in defense of your ego-I. The darkness gives way to light and love . . . 

Your heart has become one. Whole. Complete. It too is an etrog pulsating with love—for G‑d, for the G‑dly spark within your soul and for the world. Joy surfaces as this hidden, innate love is released. Breathe in that wholeness, that sense of peace 

The love and joy flow outwards, filling your lungs, enabling you to breathe deeply. Rising upward toward your mouth. Your lips are the shape of a willow leaf. Silent leaves fluttering on the winds of love and joy. You have no need to speak; simply being bespeaks the loftiness of your soul. 

The energy flows ever upwards, entering your eyes and seeping into the center of your forehead. Illuminated myrtle eyes. Take a moment to envision your life through the lens of abundance and joy. Observe the way you awaken in the morning, interact with others, the way you pray and play when drenched in love and joy. 

Elohai neshoma. The soul that You, O God have given me is pure. You breathed it into me. 

Sit in your sukkah, spray of etrog, palm, willow and myrtle. You are in a circle of love; you are a bouquet of joy. Breathe in that sense of love, joy, peace, hope. Everything is breath. It is not futile. It is not vain. 

Our study of connections continues. Today’s guest is Chief Ana Lalley of the Elgin Police Department. She builds connections every day, but they were particularly evident as the police department celebrated Halloween. (Her favorite holiday, I’m told.)

Here is what she said:

Community policing at the core is a partnership between the community and their police department who work in unity to identify and solve concerns with the ultimate goal of improving the quality of life for residents.  However, community policing is much more than that.  The drop in crime rates that a community may experience or the improved conditions in a neighborhood are the tangible outcomes of a police department working with the community but the intangibles…trust, respect, mutual understanding, communication, and care, are what sustains these outcomes.   

 When a police department embraces the philosophy of community policing, true and meaningful relationships are built that can transcend barriers.  These barriers may be from past experiences, historical events, or a perception, and can be a hindrance to building true connections that benefit both the community and the police department.  Take for example, an event that a department holds for the community…a coffee with a cop, open house, or citizen police academy.  The event is what brings people together, but the interactions that happen where true engagement occurs, builds the foundation for a better community.  At these events, police officers who actively listen (to both the compliment and the criticism), find perspective, and genuinely believe in the ‘serve’ component of ‘serving and protecting’ begin to lay the foundation for the tangibles of community policing, but more importantly, the intangibles.   

It is always better to leave something, some place, or someone better that when we first arrived…and this happens when genuine connections and relationships are nurtured, fostered, celebrated, and appreciated.  When police departments subscribe to the community policing philosophy and truly dedicate themselves to their community…magic happens.   

Chief Ana Lalley  

Magic…and joy. At a police station. I would have never thought this. Don’t laugh. I learned to hug from the Elgin Police Department. I have been a police chaplain for ten years. Some of what I do in that role is very serious. Death notifications. Death investigations. Sad. Necessary. Handled as best we can with compassion. Often at somebody’s worst possible moment. No one wants to see a police officer and a chaplain show up at their front door.  

And yet, community policing as Chief Lalley says can make magic. It builds connections in the community. And trust. And yesterday I saw them build joy. One part of community policing are community events. I have participated in several through the years, National Night Out in August. Halloween Trick-or-Treat at the Station. And yes, even Christmas.  

This year the chaplains and the social workers combined to bring Inside-Out, the Disney movie, to life. I was Joy. (OK I know it’s my middle name!) Al Keating, the senior police chaplain was Fear. Some kids really were scared of him. Many smiled when they saw us. Some wanted photos with us. And the look of joy throughout the station was priceless. Yes, I found Joy at the police station. 

Tonight is Shabbat Sukkot. Continuing our theme of connections, I am thinking about the lulav and the etrog, the four species. The lulav, a palm, the etrog, a citron, the aravot, willow and the hadas, myrtle. 

Why these?  

Etrog — because it is written (Psalms 104: 1): ‘You are clothed in glory and majesty.’ (The word translated as majesty is hadar. In the Torah (Leviticus 23:40), the etrog is called the fruit of the goodly tree.  The same Hebrew word, hadar, is used in that context to mean goodly.) 

Palm — because it is written (Psalms 92:13): ‘The righteous bloom like a date palm.’ 

Myrtle — because it is written (Zechariah 1:8): ‘And he stood among the myrtle-trees.’ 

Willow — because it is written (Psalms 68:5): ‘Extol Him who rides on the clouds [aravot], the Lord is His name.’ 

Each of the four relates to a particular limb through which man is to serve God (cf. Sefer ha-Hinukh, #285): 

Taken together, they represent many things. One interpretation is they can be seen as the Name of G-d. Yud—as the etrog, Vuv as the lulav, and the willow and myrtle as the arms and legs of hey.  

This is a whole body experience. It is very concrete. Each part can represent another part of our own bodies.  

The Etrog is the heart, the place of understanding and wisdom. 

The Lulav is the backbone, uprightness. 

The Myrtle corresponds to the eyes, enlightenment. 

The Willow represents the lips, the service of the lips (prayer). 

Another interpretation suggests that these are each one of the four species represents one of the four types of habitats in Israel. 
1) Lulav-Palm branch = desert
2) Hadas-Myrtle = mountains
3) Aravot-Willow = rivers and streams
4) Etrog-Citron = lowlands, agricultural land 

Each one needs the most water of all the species that grow in its region. Between them, they make a kind of ecological map of Israel, and they represent last year’s rainfall. And we use them to ask for this year’s rain. (Rabbi David Seidenberg, known as the neo hasid) 

 But even more than those interpretations is the idea that these four species represent learning and good deeds. The etrog has both taste and learning. The lulav had taste but not fragrance. The myrtle has smell but no taste. The willow has neither. Each is a different kind of person. Some have learning and good deeds. Some have one but not the other. Some have neither. Real community is only found in acknowledging this truth and bringing all, welcoming all into the big tent. That is the real challenge of the shaking the lulav. 

There is a tradition of inviting guests, ushpizin, to our sukkah, just like Abraham and Sarah invited guests into their tent. Each night is for a different historical guest. Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, and David. And these days we invite the matriarchs too: Sarah, Rachel, Rebecca, Leah, Miriam, Abigail, and Esther.

I invite to my meal the exalted guests, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, Aaron, and David. May it please you, Abraham, my exalted guest, that all the other exalted guests dwell with me and with you – Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, Aaron, and David.”

I love this reading. It represents how we as a community are connected in different ways.

“May the door of this synagogue be wide enough to receive all who hunger for love,
all who are lonely for fellowship.
May it welcome all who have cares to unburden, thanks to express, hopes to nurture.
May the door of this synagogue be narrow enough to shut out pettiness and pride,
envy and enmity.
May its threshold be no stumbling block to young or straying feet.
May it be too high to admit complacency, selfishness, and harshness.
May this synagogue be, for all who enter, the doorway to a richer and more meaningful life.” 

Rabbi Sydney Greenberg 

Back in July, I was asked to contribute to a book for the High Holidays that would be a supplement in light of October 7th. In Israel there are still Sukkot that are standing, a year after the atrocities. The poem I submitted for this supplement sadly still seems relevent.

Ufros Aleinu Sukkat Shlomecha 

Try this:
Ufros Aleinu Sukkat Shlomecha,
Spread over us the shelter of Your peace
That very fragile shelter
That fragile sukkah
Open on all its sides
Like Abraham and Sarah’s tent
Roof open to the sky
To the stars
Yet it can blow over
In the slightest wind.
Four simple words
And if that is too hard
Sing it
La, la, la.
Anyone can do that.
Do it now.
Please.
Demand it.
Command it.
Beg it. 

That fragile peace was shattered
As we danced.
Will we ever dance again?
How can we? 

Or try this:
Oseh shalom bimromav
Hu Ya’aseh shalom
May the G-d who makes peace
In the high heavens
Make peace here,
Speedily, here, now.
In our time.

We need G-d to do it.
Because apparently,
We can’t.
We don’t know how.
We lack the will
Shalom. Sa’alam.
We are all created
B’tzelem elohim.
In Your image.
Shalom. Sa’alam.
Sa’alam. Shalom.
Demand.
Command.
Beg.
Now.

Or try this:
Do not hide Your face
From us.
Once we thought:
Nothing could shake our security.
But it did.

Once we said:
Your love is lifelong.
Tears may linger for a night.
Joy comes with the dawn.

Once we danced:
We danced with abandon.
Now how can we?
How can we not?
This is zeman simchateinu
The time of our great joy!
Where is the joy?

Once we asked:
What profit is there
If we are silenced?
If the music stops?
If the dancing stops?

Tears will linger.
We will not forget.
We cannot forget.
We will not be silent.
We will tell their stories.
What benefit was there
To all those who went to their graves?

Help us to find our voices.
Help us to hear the music again.
Help us to find joy again.
Help us to turn our mourning into dancing,
Again.
Speedily and in our time. 

Don’t hide Your face from us!
Demand it.
Command it.
Beg it. 

Ufros Aleinu Sukkat Shlomecha
Spread over us
That fragile sukkah of Your peace
So we can dance again. 

We will dance again.
Amen.  

Rabbi Margaret Frisch Klein 

Zeh hayom asah adonai, nagila v’nismecha bo. This is the day G-d has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it. On Yom Kippur? Really? Yes, really. 

Soon we will recite the words of Yizkor. Much has been written about yizkor this year in light of October 7th. I want to pause to do something else.  

People come to services for the High Holy Days for a number of reasons. Some come to pray, to talk to G-d. Some come to talk to their friends. Some come to eat. Yes, break-the-fast is coming. Really. Some come to stare out the stained glass windows and reflect. Some come to hear the music. Thank you, Stephanie and Stew and the choir, Some come to hear the words of the rabbi. Yes, really. They expect them to be inspiring, uplifting, funny, entertaining.  And some come to feel connected to all the generations that came before.  

Connected to all the generations that came before. That’s right. We survived. We are here. That brings me joy and hope.  

You, each of you, is a chain in that tradition. A link. A connection. Deep, deep connections. Some of you have experienced recent losses, within the year or even within the last month. Some of you have experienced more distant losses.  

Many of you sitting in this room have memories of other people sitting in this very room. You know just where Peretz sat, or the Bursteins. You may know the story of how this congregation came to have “mixed seating”, men and women sitting together. Thank you Adeline Kohlhegan, who my husband called the original Rosa Parks. 

You may be missing your spouse. You may be missing Perry and Wanda, Paul and Lynn, Marc and Suzy, Sherry, people who have moved away but still feel connected to CKI and to each of you. After the last hurricane, I reached out to each of them to make sure they were still OK, whatever OK means. Many of you did as well. And that meant the world to them. Synagogue friendships often last a lifetime, even across the miles. I reached out again this week as the hurricane loomed large in Florida, offering home hospitality to those who might need a Florida break. 

Paul and Lynn are now in Northbrook, safe, although without water in Asheville, which is why they are here in Illinois. Water may not be returned to Asheville for months. Paul may come out tomorrow to help build the sukkah that he recommended that the Men’s Club purchase. That’s connected. Even before the hurricane, people have stayed connected. Opportunities like Zoom and Facebook make that much easier.  

These walls and especially the stained glass seem like they share these memories. They have watched and they have listened. In addition, we chant Sh’ma Koleinu, begging G-d to hear our voice. To me when Stephanie chants the haunting tune it sounds like a gurgling bubbling brook.  

Just after the Torah service, here at CKI we add Yizkor. Some people come to Yom Kippur specifically for Yizkor, to feel that connection through the ages.  

Yizkor was a brief prayer added to Yom Kippur. Yom Kippur is seen as the most joyous holiday on the Jewish calendar. All the way back to the Talmud, which teaches that Yom Kippur is one of the happiest days. (Ta’anit 30b). While many may see this time period, the Yamim Noraim, the Days of Awe, between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur as being full of fear and trepidation. We tremble thinking about the ancient liturgy proclaiming that who shall live and who shall die. Instead, we need to find a way to see it as a time of joy. 

Why? It is a chance to feel forgiveness and start fresh, free of the burdens of bad feelings, resentments and regrets. A midrash teaches that G-d gave Yom Kippur to the Jewish people with “great love and joy.” It is a chance to change and become a better person. It is a day set aside to not focus, to disconnect from the material world. At the end of the day, we leave refreshed and renewed. 

And yet, even at our most joyous times, we remember those who came before. That is one of the reasons we smash a glass at a wedding. We remember the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. We miss those who could not be at the wedding.  

At some point we extended the recitation of Yizkor from Yom Kippur alone to the three pilgrimage festivals: Sukkot, Passover and Shavuot. It is based on a verse from Deuteronomy, which tells us that when we make our pilgrimage to Jerusalem we are to remember and to not appear empty handed. Each person was to make a donation according to his (or her) ability. (Deut 16:15-18) 

Four times a year, essentially at the turning of the seasons, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, Pesach and Shavuot, we stop and pause and remember. We have three other days of remembrance. Tisha B’av in the heat of the summer. Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day and Yom Hazikron, Israeli Memorial Day that then leads immediately into Yom Ha’atzmaut, Israeli Independence Day, 

Zachor. Remember. Zikraon. Remember. Remember not to forget. 

There is not a fully fixed liturgy for Yizkor or even a “correct” place in the service. Too recent for that in our long Jewish history. Some do it when the Torahs are still out and the Torahs become the witness. Some do it as part of musaf in the early afternoon. Some do it just before the afternoon service.  Some link the Avodah service to the martyrology and then to yizkor.   

These days there seem to be four parts to Yizkor 

1. Some readings and prayers that set the tone for this solemn part of the service.
2. Paragraphs that you recite personally remembering your own beloved family members. Specifically in our book you will find ones for father, mother, husband, wife, son daughter and other relatives and friends. And Jewish martyrs.  
3. El Male Rachamin, the memorial prayer that is also recited at Jewish funerals. It begins G-d Full of Mercy.  
4. A special prayer, Av HaRahamim (Ancestor of Mercies), probably composed as a eulogy for communities destroyed in the Crusades of 1096, is recited by the congregation as a memorial for all Jewish martyrs.  

 Some congregations, including ours also recite Psalm 23. And while Yizkor surpisingly doesn’t specifically require Kaddish many congregations end on that note. This means, however, that you do not need a minyan for Yizkor and it could be recited at home alone.  

The prayer that intrigues me the most is that personal prayer.
May G-d remember the soul of avi mori, my father, my teacher, (name here) who has gone on to his world, because, without making a vow, I shall give to charity on his behalf. 

As reward for this, may his soul be bound in the Bond of Life, together with the souls of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob; Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah; and together with the other righteous men and women in the Garden of Eden. 

Acknowledging that our parents were our teachers, our very first teachers seems especially poignant. The idea that I would give tzedakah in my parents’ names seems equally important, especially on this day of Yom Kippur. In my case I might choose to give to the Nature Conservancy, The Literary Council or some other organization that my parents supported heavily. The idea that they would be rewarded in the world to come and that I would be rewarded here based on their merits is _________________ 

What is that reward? It is taught in the Talmud that we should repent the day before we die. The rabbis quickly ask then, but we don’t know when we will die. The answer, we should repent every day. That seems especially appropriate on this Yom Kippur morning. 

 Teshuvah is not just for Yom Kippur. It is for every day. It is even included in our daily Amidah prayers and in the full night time Sh’ma.  

Yet, sometimes the relationships we have with our parents are not “healthy” They need healing. Or in some instances are beyond healing. Do you still need to recite Kaddish for someone like that? Rabbi Harold Kushner of blessed memory would say yes. Here is a yizkor meditation in memory of a parent who hurt by Rabbi Robert Saks: 

 “Dear God, You know my heart.  Indeed, You know me better than I know myself, so I turn to You before I rise for Kaddish.  My emotions swirl as I say this prayer. The parent I remember was not kind to me. His/her death left me with a legacy of unhealed wounds, of anger and of dismay that a parent could hurt a child as I was hurt. I do not want to pretend to love, or to grief that I do not feel, but I do want to do what is right as a Jew and as a child.” 

These feelings are real. And complicated. And it is not appropriate for me to talk you out of them or to say that you are wrong or that your feelings are not your feelings.  

For many of you sitting here, you may be missing a parent, a spouse, a child, a dear friend. Those feelings can be complicated as well. But there is something in choosing to remember that actually brings us closer to joy.  Grief and Joy live together. Maybe that feeling is nostalgia, or pleasure or comfort at remembering those good times. Maybe it is that sense of connecting across the ages and being a chain in that long tradition. Maybe there is no perfect word in English or Hebrew. But we are here. Together. Remembering, Connecting. 

The psalmist understood this as we see in Psalm 30: 

Weeping may last for the night. But joy comes with the dawn. You turned my mourning  into dancing, 

my sackcloth into robes of joy, We will dance again, We will dance for them. Even if that means I still have to learn to dance.  

In the Amen Effect, the copies of which are on the back table as part of our community read,  

“the community of survivors, as the horror of the Roman conquest and all that was lost began to sink in. Many survivors and their children became ascetics. “How could we possibly eat meat,” they reasoned, “which used to be sacrificed on the Temple altar, or drink wine, which was poured as libation, when every bite and sip reminds us of the destruction?” What they were really asking: How could one even live in light of all that we’ve lost? That thinking may sound extreme, but it was increasingly normative in their time. One of the prominent rabbis in the survivor community even decreed that Jews should no longer marry. How could they think of bringing children into a world of so much pain and persecution? His view was rejected—it would have ensured the end of the Jewish people!—but his thinking persists to this day. During the past decade, I’ve heard from many young people a reluctance to bring children into the world in light of climate devastation. These conversations are painful. believe strongly that we need not to give up on the world but to invest in a healthy, resilient future. And even still, I both respect and resonate to the impulse to preempt human suffering at all costs. I really do understand. But listen to the rebuke those ascetics received from the great Rabbi Yehoshua: “Okay, no meat or wine,” he said. “But then you really ought to stop eating bread, too, because the meal offering can no longer be made after the destruction.” “That’s fine,” they said. “We can live on produce.” “Well, but you really shouldn’t eat fruit either,” Rabbi Yehoshua said. “Because the first-fruits can no longer be brought as an offering. And by the way, you really should also stop drinking water, now that water-libations have ceased.” And to this they could find no answer. Checkmate. “We’re listening,” they said. So Rabbi Yehoshua taught them, and us, a lesson about loss and life: “My children,” he said, “hear me out. You must mourn. The devastation deserves our attention and commemoration. But to mourn too much, to live in perpetual deprivation, is simply wrong. Instead, the challenge is to find a way to grieve and live.” How, though? How can we hold that tension? Rabbi Yehoshua offered some very practical guidelines: When we paint our homes, he advised, we should leave a little patch bare, unfinished. When we prepare a feast, we must leave out one delicacy. When we get dressed up, leave off one piece of jewelry. We remain always mindful of what we’ve lost, even as we build houses and eat good food, get dressed up and go dancing, fall in love and maybe even make art and babies. The moral of this story: even in the deepest suffering, there is still joy. To be alive is to see that this world overflows with blessings. Even here, even now. You grieve, and you live.”

— The Amen Effect: Ancient Wisdom to Mend Our Broken Hearts and World by Sharon Brous 

This leaves me, all of us, deeply, deeply connected. This is what community does. It lightens our burden of suffering and that leads to joy. That is what this community does. This brings me hope and joy. We will dance again. We will dance for them.  

I have known this for a long time. There is a running community. I participate in a number of online groups and am connected throughout the country (and beyond) to runners. One highlight was running in Guatemala with someone I met in a RunDisney group. I thought I was pushing really hard and couldn’t figure out what my problem was. Turned out she is a national champion. That was the fastest 2 miles I had run since high school!  I introduced that community to today’s contributor, who as we write this is out pounding the pavement. We wish him luck and pixie dust at the Chicago Marathon today,

In the early morning hours of an October Sunday, thousands of people walk the streets of Chicago. Hundreds of different languages are being spoken. Police cars sit in each intersection. A voice over a loud speaker repeatedly welcomes the throng of runners from around the world to the Chicago Marathon. Some have ambitions of finishing near the lead pack, while others know that they will be struggling for six or more hours. But this group has a couple common connections. They are runners, and they are here to participate in this race together. Their homeland, home state, age, and language doesn’t matter. All barriers are broken down by what they have in common on this one day. They smile at each other, exchange high fives and handshakes, and wish everyone around them well. The connection is stronger than the competition. The connection is stronger than their differences. They are a family, if just for today. Which is exactly how God sees us every day. If only we could see ourselves in this light on our most mundane days as well, for God’s desire is relationship more than anything else.
     -Rev Jeffrey G Mikyska 

Tonight, long ago I promised, that’s a vow, that I would talk about Israel. The title was “Promised Made, Promises Broken: Connecting with Israel. And I decided I could not write it until this week. Because who knows where we would be. 

I stand here tonight knowing that I really need to quote the Israeli expression. Ain Milim. There are no words. I have used that phrase frequently this year. And in other moments. After mass causality events like Sandy Hook or Tree of Life. After natural disasters. Since there are no words, I am always grateful to our cellist and our cantorial soloist and our choir because they put into music what I feel but can’t say. I am aware like Peter Paul and Mary sang that Music speaks louder than words. 

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. 

(Chorus) 

The longer I live the more I find that people seldom take the time
To really get to know a stranger and make him a friend.
But the power of a simple song can make everybody feel they belong.
Maybe singin’ and playin’ can bring us together again.
Singin’ and playin’ can bring us together again. 

So we’ve had music. Now I will try to provide some context. I will repeat what I said on Erev Rosh Hashanah just after Iran attacked Israel. 

I am still connected to Israel. To the land. To the people. To the State. It is a complicated relationship. But I am deeply connected. To the land that I have hiked. To the people, all of you, the stories I have learned from my earliest days, to the ethics that those stories and the thousands of years of commentary that it teaches, to each of you, to the Jewish people around the world.  to the country that I once lived in, to the dream of a place where Jews could live in freedom, without fear, without hatred.  

This past year has been impossibly difficult. This past week has been impossibly difficult. I am still connected to all of those things, I still believe in the dream. I still believe in the hope that Israel offers, I still believe.  

Some of you may feel connected to Israel. Some of you may not. Some of you may be sitting here tonight with a range of emotions, or no emotions at all. Some of you may wonder how we will ever find joy. How can we possibly celebrate the High Holy Days this year when time seemed to stop on Simchat Torah last year. Yet, as the saying goes “We will dance again.” Or as I read this week, “We will dance for them.” 

CKI has always been a political free zone. What that really means is a partizan free zone. It is hard to talk about Israel without talking about politics. We are not going to discuss the merits of either US candidate for president. But in the strongest possible terms I urge you to vote. Nor will we discuss the current prime minister of Israel. I am not a policy wonk. I do have opinions, but I will not express them here. If I could have solved peace in the Middle East, a problem for 3000 years, I would have gone to the Kennedy School or the Fletcher School and we’d be done. Instead, I am a small town rabbi who believes in peace. It is a very high value in Judaism. Tonight is not the time for that discussion either. The answer is really quite simple. Put down your arms. All of them. Return the hostages. Now. It is exactly what our friend Alden Solovy said this week. 

Year Two Day One 

No,
Just no.
No, No. No.
No more.
Please G-d.
No More. 

Alden Solovy 

Let me be clear.  

1. Israel needs to exist. Full stop. From the earliest times. All the way back to the promise the G-d made to Abraham.  

There is a modern case for Israel. Our young people may not fully understand the history. They may not feel connected. Modern Zionism, started by Theodor Herzl wanted a safe place for Jews in the late 1800s. He famously said, Im tirtzu ain zo agadah. If you will it, it is no dream. I paid for my first trip in high school to Israel by singing that song and raking leaves and delivering papers. (Remember those early jobs?) I am not going to do a survey course here, but I am happy to provide a list of reading material on Israel. Borders were not open to Jewish immigrants across the globe prior to what became known as the Holocaust. That included the US that turned away the SS St. Louis. After the Holocaust, countries didn’t want their Jews back and Displaced Person Camps were created throughout Europe. We have one member who was born in a DP camp. The United Nations knew it had to do something. They created the Modern State of Israel by dividing up British Mandate Palestine. After 2000 years of dreaming of a return to Israel, it was becoming a reality. Part of the dream. Make the desert bloom. Israel excels at agricultural, inventing drip irrigation, at technology developments, medical research and so much more.  

I am concerned about rising anti-semitism, on the left and the right. The numbers remain shocking. Anti-semitism and hate crimes are up some 67% whether you are looking at ADL stats or FBI stats. I think many of us thought we were past all of this. We are not. But that doesn’t mean we should not be proud of being Jewish. We need to be proud…I am still convinced that is our best method for combatting anti-semitism. I am concerned about protesters, be they in downtown Chicago or on any number of college campuses, who don’t fully understand the context and the nuance. From the river to the sea is a great sound bite but if you ask what it means, many have no idea what river and which sea or that it calls for the destruction of Israel and the murder of Jews everywhere. The use of the word genocide which was created after the Holocaust is not what was happening in Gaza. Great Britain was really the colonizers. I have reached out to each of our college students and their families to see how they need our support.  I am concerned not only about our college kids but our middle schoolers and high schoolers. All of whom report some anti-semetic iinciddent. Often just a joke, but still those jokes can lead to other things.

2. Israel has the right to defend itself. Full stop. It needs to protect its citizens. And it does. We as a Jewish people need Israel. The current loss of life is tragic. Traumatic. 

And yet…as Sarah Tuttle Singer said recently, “But alongside our rage and grief, there is something more—something that pulls at the edges of our soul. We know there are innocent people, too, those who live in Gaza, whose lives are crushed beneath the weight of this war, families in Lebanon who are also terrified. Their death toll rises, and it is a terrible thing to hold in our hearts at the same time as we mourn our own. This isn’t a call for us not to defend ourselves—we must. We have no choice. But within this fight for survival, we are also reckoning with the pain and the loss on both sides, knowing that war spares no one.” 

 So how does one create peace or hope in this climate. It isn’t easy. But it is necessary. For all involved. Earlier this month I received a text from Rabbi Melaine Landau who is a rabbi and a therapist in Jerusalem. She offers blessings for the new year. She is as she said, “starting to be involved with an inspiring group of women, initiated by Palestinian women, inspired by non violent communication who are setting up a space- Satyam- in the West Bank where all people – Israelis, Palestinians and Internationals can safely meet and hold the seeds of common humanity at this very difficult and charged time. If you would like to find out more, if you would like to share this seed of hope with your community in some way let me know. Options include supporting projects, learning non violent communication, having a presentation from the ground or of course, visiting in person.” She adds she I knows people are struggling in different ways around how to address the situation here, how to hold opposing values, how to hold the grief, wondering where hope or light is and I thought this project can speak to some of those concerns.” 

There are other such groups emerging. And that gives me hope. She raises an important point. How do we hold opposing views or values. There is a story that is important to consider tonight. Each of us has two truths in our pockets. One says “You are but dust and ashes.” the other one says, “For my sake the world was created.” How do you hold both at the same time. Both are true. 

Similarly, May 14, 1948 was Yom Ha’atzmaut, Israel Independence Day. For Jew around the world it was and is celebrated with much fanfare. For people displaced by the division, it became known as the Nakba. Both are true. At the same time.  

There is a lovely story told. The Legend of the Two Brothers. Or Brothers A Hebrew LeggendLong ago, in the land of Israel, two brothers each have a field of wheat. Their father told them that they needed to be friends and help each other. And so they did. Each night the one with no children would get up and deliver wheat to the one with lots of children. The one with lots of children would get up each night and deliver wheat to the one with no children. The wheat exchange went on for years. The legend, shrouded in mystery, is attributed to the midrash, to Legends of the Jews, to Palestinian Arabs in the Arab market in Jerusalem, to Indian Muslims. In the Jewish telling it is the origin of the Holy Temple being built in Jerusalem, the City of Peace. I love the message of this story and it is the basis of the song from Psalms, Hiney Ma Tov, How good and how pleasant it is for brothers, (and sisters) to live together.  

https://outorah.org/p/33322/  

 But as I learned about the different sources for this story I was reminded of the necessity to check multiple sources. I read the following sources, religiously, one might say: Jerusalem Post, Times of Israel, Ha’aretz, the Chicago Trib, the Boston Globe and the New York Times. I also read occasional articles in the Washington Post, the Wall Street Journal and the Atlantic. I watch NBC, CNN and some Fox. (Mostly after football games but I do watch) I listen to NPR, mostly while driving. I listen to briefings from the ADL, JUF and SCN. It is not exhaustive and it can be exhausting. I limit my news coverage. That is important too. Last week when NPR was covering Lebanon from Kiryat Sh’mona I had to turn it off. The sound of the air raid sirens was too much. I spent a week in a bomb shelter in Kiryat Shmona. 

3. While we cannot vote in Israel, criticizing Israel, for instance for not allowing  full access to women at the Walll, or not taking care of the 70,000 displaced persons from the north now living in hotels is not anti-semetic. In fact it is very Jewish. Calllling for the destruction of Israel ll is anti-semetic.

So here are my promises tonight, ‘bli neder,” without a vow. 

• I promise to continue to teach the complicated history of Israel from its earliest times to right up to the minute. At CKI, At U-46 or other local school systems and whenever I get the chance. 

• I promise to source material appropriately and to stay informed as best as I can. 

I promise to make Israel relevant and important to our students and their families. 

• I promise to continue to build bridges, here in Elgin and around the world, in order to work for peace. 

• I promise to decry anti-semitism in all its forms. 

• I promise to invest in Israel. In Hadassah. In technology. In organizations like Leket, Yad L’kashish, Women of the Wall, Parents Circle, organizations I have supported for decades and need our support now more than ever. 

• I promise to seek peace and pursue it. 

When I was putting together the program for our observance of October 7th. I was reminded of an Israeli song.
Ani mavtiach lach. I promise you my little girl that this will be the last war. Written after the Yom Kippur War, it is a promise, a vow that has not been achieved. I remember crying down the Merrit Parkway in CT listening to it. I made that promise to Sarah, I will not tonight make that vow tonight. 

I grew up on Peter Paul and Mary songs. Ask Simon later about one of our first dates. One of the songs that got me through the death of my first fiance, my first love killed by a terrorist bomb in Lebanon in 1983 was another Peter Paul and Mary song. Carry on sweet survivor.  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eTBxndWfZ3w 

You have asked me why the days fly by so quickly
And why each one feels no different from the last
And you say that you are fearful for the future
And you have grown suspicious of the past
And you wonder if the dreams we shared together
Have abandoned us or we abandoned them
And you cast about and try to find new meaning
So that you can feel that closeness once again. 

Carry on my sweet survivor, carry on my lonely friend
Don’t give up on the dream, and don’t you let it end.
Carry on my sweet survivor,
Though you know that something’s gone
For everything that matters carry on. 

You remember when you felt each person mattered
When we all had to care or all was lost
But now you see believers turn to cynics
And you wonder was the struggle worth the cost
Then you see someone too young to know the difference
And a veil of isolation in their eyes
And inside you know you’ve got to leave them something
Or the hope for something better slowly dies. 

Carry on my sweet survivor, carry on my lonely friend
Don’t give up on the dream, and don’t you let it end.
Carry on my sweet survivor, you’ve carried it so long
So it may come again, carry on
Carry on, carry on. 

That’s our obligation. That is our vow. That is our promise. That is our  hope. This song, in between my tears, still give me hope. It still connects me.  It still connects allll of us. To the land of Israel, eterz yisrall, to the people of Israel, am yisrale and even the state of Israel, medinate yisrael. Am yisrael chai. 

At the back of the room I provided a list of resources:

Resources on Israel and Anti-Semitism: 

• Noa Tishby’s Israel, A Simple Guide to the Most Misunderstood Country on Earth 

•  Martin Fletcher’s Walking Israel, written by NBC’s former chief Isarel correspondent   

• Ari Shavit, My Promised Land  

• Yossi Klein Halivni, Letter to My Palestinian neighbor  

• Tolan’s Lemon Tree (also exists as a movie)  

• Friedman’s From Beirut to Jerusalem (I was once told if I only had one book to read that year it should be this one but may be dated)  

• Dershowitz, The Case for Israel 

• 100 Years War on Palestine. 

• Israel/Palestine,   

• The Netanyahus 

• Rabbi Evan Moffic’s First the Jews  

• Bari Weiss’s How to Fight Anti-Semitism. 

• Jonathan Greenblatt’s It Could Happen Here