May we be comforted amongst all the mourners of ZIon and Jerusalem and all the world.  

How can we be? So much has been written about the return of four coffins this week. 500+ days ago, the world changed. The world was ripped apart.  

My emotions range. I am the mother of a red head. Every picture of that baby looks like my own we used to call “frosted flake.” I am not alone in this.  

Two babies came back. We now know they were killed, brutally murdered by the hands of their captors in that first awful month.  Their mother was not sent back. Some unknown Palestinian was in the coffin. How is that even possible? Bring her home. NOW! My words utterly fail. What words of comfort can there possibly be for Yarden, her husband, their father. When Aaron’s sons were “zapped,” he remained silent. We learn from Job’s comforters the power of silence.  

And yet.. 

I am a peace activist from long ago. Since my first fiancé was killed by a terrorist bomb in 1983. I have supported Parents Circle-Families Forum and Rabbis for Human Rights and other organizations for decades. I have bought olive trees in the West Bank for Tu B’shevat.  

And yet, unlike Oded, I never drove a Gazan to an Israeli hospital. How do we offer comfort to his wife who was also a hostage? How does she go on? How do any of us go on? 

Some have argued this week that we can never forget, and we can never forgive. I agree with the first part.  

I wrote a thesis on the 13 Attributes of the Divine (Exodus 34) looking at repeating patterns in the 3rd and 4th generation. I examined domestic violence, German-Jewish reconciliation and the Israeli-Palestinian peace process.  

I learned a lot about forgiveness. We are told to be like G-d, forgiving iniquity, transgression and sin. But like in the book the Sunflower, Jews are taught that we cannot forgive the harm done by someone to someone not ourselves. Only the person harmed can forgive. 

Tonight, it is too early to talk about forgiveness. Now or in the future. The emotions are too raw. It may never be time. It is not mine to say. 

As a DV counselor, or a clergy member, one should not tell a woman to go back to her husband who abuses her. Instead, we talk about safety planning and exit strategies. We are taught to believe women.  

There are at least two instances in this current, ongoing trauma where women were not believed. The first was when the IDF intelligence officers who happened to be women were not listened to. This was a glaring intelligence failure. The second was in not listening to and believing what happened to the victims—especially the women—who were brutally raped and tortured at the hands of their initial captors, before they were murdered or taken into captivity.  

In 2006 I was sitting in Germany, in a Holiday Inn in Waldorf, near my job at SAP. wokring on my thesis. Israel had “accidentally” bombed an apartment building in Lebanon. A young father who had escaped with the three month old was being interviewed on CNN. He said something like, “I don’t blame Israel, but this baby where will she be in 20 years? What anger will she hold?’ It illustrated the point. The sins of the fathers (and mothers) are visited on the children and the children’s children to the third and fourth generation. 

What happened on October 7th was wrong.  Period. What happened to all those held in captivity was wrong. Period. Israelis need to live in safety. Period.  

What I learned in writing that thesis and I argued, successfully, that unless someone feels safe one cannot forgive. When will Israelis feel safe? Or Palestinians either? 

Revenge, however, is not sanctioned. Leviticus is clear. “Revenge is Mine,” says the Lord. Yet we are directed to wipe out all of the Amalekites. We read about the Amalekites who attacked the weak, the young and old on the Israelites trek to the promised land. We read this section just before Purim. “Zachor…remember not to forget the Amalekites” Saul spared the Amalekite king and lost his own kingship. Some have likened Haman, Hitler and yes Hamas to the descendants of the Amalekites.  

This week I learned a remarkable thing.  Rabbi Rob Scheinberg taught in the AJR Purim Supplement that in the Talmud it teaches, “Some of the descendants of Haman studied Torah in B’nei Brak.” (Gittin 57b) After this week, can we imagine such a world? Can we afford not to? If we totally wipe out Hamas, in their anger what rises to take their place?  

And yet…My anger is great. At Hamas. At Netanyahu who seems to not have believed the women, who may have prolonged the war to save his own skin. At the world response, including the UN. At the American political system. Even at G-d, to whom we pray to make peace but who has not yet. 

At the Gazans themselves whose losses are astronomical as well. Who puts children in schools and hospitals that are the hiding places for missile launchers knowing that they will most likely be bombed?  

This is known as Repro Shabbat in some of the Jewish world. I have spoken about this extensively in other years. I even have a t-shirt for it. I started to set this up last week when talking about the 10 Commandments and translation. Does it say, “Thou shall not murder.” or “Thou shall not kill.” Later in Deuteronomy we are told to “Choose life so that we may live.” Shiri brought two beautiful children into this world. Those children whose lives were just beginning had no choice in their brutal end. We as a world must do better.  

For 500+ days I have prayed for the hostages, and those wounded and those returned. For those babies. All those babies.  

I am a small town rabbi. If I could have solved peace in the Middle East decades ago I would have. I fear based on my thesis we are now looking at least another 3 to 4 generations, without peace. And it makes me very very sad.  

May we be comforted? How can we be? Can we pray for peace? What other choice do we have?  

The only statement I have read this week that makes sense to me comes from NCJW: https://www.ncjw.org/news/our-statement-on-this-profound-moment-for-the-jewish-people/?emci=b5668747-82f0-ef11-90cb-0022482a94f4&emdi=aa0c48bb-88f0-ef11-90cb-0022482a94f4&ceid=8833339 

Yehuda Amichi taught, “Don’t stop after beating the swords into plowshares, don’t stop! Go on beating and make musical instruments out of them. Whoever wants to make war again will have to turn them into plowshares first.” 

We owe this to the beautiful piano music of Oded and his commitment to peace making.  

Today we read the 10 Commandments. We do that every year, even on a triennial cycle. The text of today’s portion is powerful, sweeping and has much to teach us even today, especially today. People have wrestled with this text from the very beginning. There are two editions of the 10 commandments, the one here in Exodus and the one in Deuteronomy. They are almost the same. Almost but not quite. One of the major differences is about Shabbat. Do we shamor, keep, guard the Sabbath or do we zachor, remember the sabbath. The answer is both.  

We guard Shabbat when we don’t work on Shabbat, when we fulfill the negative commandments. We remember shabbat when we fulfil the positive commandments. And in Lecha Dodi we learn that shamor v’zzacor bidibur echad, both were uttered by G-d simultaneously at Mount Sinai. Because after all G-d doesn’t make a mistake. 

We practice this in a number of ways: We light two candles, one to remember and one to guard and make it holy. Homes are made sacred by loving relationships, healthy connections and the protection of love. And according to JWI. Last night we talked a lot about love and at the very end, I thanked organizations like the Community Crisis Center and Shalva who work on domestic violence issues because sadly love isn’t always protected at home, even in Jewish homes. The lights of Shabbat illuminate a path to a world where our very rest that we are commanded to do refreshes us and enables us to be inspired to action.  

But what does it mean to be commanded? G-d? Moses? Tradition? If we are not commanded in the historical sense, are we still obligated? Why are these 10 Sayings, Aseret Debrot as they are called in Hebrew, so powerful? So important? 

What really happened on Mount Sinai? There are lots of midrashim to explain it. One of the most powerful is that we all stood at Sinai but at birth we forgot. I even wound up teaching this at the grocery store this week.  

There are not just 10 Commandments. There are 613 Commandments. Next week we read Mishpatim, which has more commandments than any other portion. Is there a difference between a mitzvah, command, a mishpat, a rule and a hok, a law. A hok is seen as a mitzvah without any explanation. 

Why review this material? Because at some level the Hebrew Bible is under attack. There are moves afoot, to display the 10 Commandments in public schools and in courthouses in several states. There are bills pending to “register non-Christians” (We’ve seen that before) and to make this a Christian nation.  

Just from a separation of church and state, guaranteed in the US Constitution, these moves should alarm us. When the display of the 10 Commandments was first announced for Oklahoma last spring, I immediately wrote to Tony Sanders, the former U-46 superintendent and now the Illinois State Superintendent. He wrote back and assured me he understood the establishment clause. It will not happen in Illinois. Not on his watch.  Oklahoma has now introduced House Bill 1006 which would require a poster or a framed copy of the Ten Commandments to be posted in a conspicuous place in every public school classroom in Oklahoma, a state where the head of public schools also is endeavoring to put Biblical texts in classrooms, effective for the 2025-2026 school year.  

Here is where my husband, in particular got upset. He spent hours exploring these questions: Which version, Exodus or Deuteronomy? Which language? If not Hebrew, which translation? Which numbering system, it varies between Jewish, Protestant and Catholic versions. As I have often said, every translation is a commentary. 

Does it say, “Thou shall not kill.” or Thou shall not murder.”? Even today when taking about the metaphor of eagles which shows up in the portion and in some of our prayers, someone reminded us that it could be translated as vulture. That has a very different connotation.  

Nor will it help with what the legislators want. They want to reduce violence in the classroom, to make kids be better behaved, more moral and ethical. Has anyone ever read the list of how to close this building? It is posted right by the door and the alarm. Eventually, it just blurs into the background. Research has shown that things like that do exactly that, 

The simple truth is that the 10 commandments, as important as they are, do not belong hanging in classrooms. It is in fact a violation of the establishment clause and freedom of religion guaranteed in the Bill of Rights.  

This is something that our founding fathers understood. Wahington’s letter of 1790 illustrates:  

The citizens of the United States of America have a right to applaud themselves for having given to mankind examples of an enlarged and liberal policy — a policy worthy of imitation. All possess alike liberty of conscience and immunities of citizenship. 

It is now no more that toleration is spoken of as if it were the indulgence of one class of people that another enjoyed the exercise of their inherent natural rights, for, happily, the Government of the United States, which gives to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance, requires only that they who live under its protection should demean themselves as good citizens in giving it on all occasions their effectual support. 

It would be inconsistent with the frankness of my character not to avow that I am pleased with your favorable opinion of my administration and fervent wishes for my felicity. 

May the children of the stock of Abraham who dwell in this land continue to merit and enjoy the good will of the other inhabitants — while every one shall sit in safety under his own vine and fig tree and there shall be none to make him afraid. 

From the very beginning, the 613 commandments were seen as too difficult. Many prophets have tried to distill them. Micah famously said, “Do justly, love mercy and walk humbly with your G-d.” The Talmud starts with 15 and reduces them to one. The early Reform Movement kept the ethical commandments and discounted the ritualistic ones. Others have talked about as I did last night, “Love G-d, Love your neighbor, Love the stranger.”  

Once a long time ago I talked about the refrigerator magnets, the abcs and the alef bets that graced my parents ice box that my father gifted to my daughter. If you had to boil this down to one commandment that you could spell out in those magnets, I think mine might be “Do the right thing.” What would your refrigerator say? 

What the world needs now is love sweet love. It’s the only thing that there’s just too little of. 

By Hal David and Burt Bachrach. I learned it as part of the choir at Temple Emanuel, Grand Rapids as part of Jewish Music Month which is held in February. 

Today is Valentine’s Day. Not a very Jewish holiday some would argue because it is really St. Valentine’s Day.  

Yet love is very important in Judaism. There are really two words for love, Ahavah, the first use of it in the Torah is in Genesis when Isaac takes Rebecca to Sarah’s tent and he loved her. The other word is chesed, perhaps best translated as lovingkindness.  

Shai Held recently wrote a book called Judaism is About Love. It is 643 pages and on every page, I found myself highlighting something.  I am not finished with it yet. It tells the kind of things I have been saying for years. Having grown up in a highly Christian community of Grand Rapids, the myth that Christianity is about love and Judaism is about works, or law or something not quite as good. Everyone wants to know that they are loved. That they are worthy and Christianity offers that assurance. So does Judaism but too often it gets hidden. Part of why I became a rabbi is to change that dynamic.  

The official review of the book says this: “He shows that love is foundational and constitutive of true Jewish faith, animating the singular Jewish perspective on injustice and protest, grace, family life, responsibilities to our neighbors and even our enemies, and chosenness.” 

Last week our littlest ones made heart shaped cookies, one to eat and one to donate and then read Larry Kusher’s book The Hands of G-d. They then hid the platter of extras in the ark for our Saturday morning crowd to discover. Their hands were the hands of G-d, doing gemilut chasadim, acts of lovingkindness. Pirke Avot teaches: the world stands on three things, on Torah, on work or worship and on acts of lovingkindness.  

Psalms teaches and Rabbi Menachem Creditor composed the song, “Olam chesed yibaneh” The world will be built on love. (We taught his song on Sunday morning to all our students!) 

Micah teaches that G-d demands three things, “do justly, love mercy and walk humbly with G-d.” The Hebrew is v’ahavat chesed. Love lovingkindness.  Both words for love, back to back. 

What about ahavah? We are told that we should love G-d, love our neighbor, love the stranger. When people ask me what is a Jewish value, a moral imperative? I think that is it. 

Our service tonight includes two of these examples. All evening services have this example. Our choir director Stew Levin talks about it as the ultimate love song. I say, it is like being wrapped in a warm blanket. Ahavat Olam tells us that G-d loves us and like a loving parent, G-d gives us rules, commandments, laws so that we will live long. It is like the parent who sets limits and says “No you can’t touch the stove!”  

Then we have the Sh’ma. The watchword of our faith. The proclamation that G-d is one. This powerful proclamation is something we witness, and it is in the code of the words themselves. The word Sh’ma ends in an ayin. Echad ends in a dalet. Ayin Dalet spells witness. 

Immediately following we chant the V’ahavta, “You shall love the Lord your G-d with all your heart, with all your spirit, with all your everything.” But wait, you say, you can’t legislate an emotion. And yet, the “prayer” continues with ways that we demonstrate our love. We study these very words. We put them on the doorposts of our houses. We recite them at home and away, when we lie down and when we rise up. And we teach these very words to our children. That’s why I am so happy when we have a child present who can lead this portion.  

A warm blanket of love on a cold winter’s night. Ahavat Olam, Sh’ma, V’ahavta. 

Loving our neighbor also comes with a recipe for creating a moral and civil society. The holiness code, in which “Love your neighbor” is included tell us: You should keep Shabbat. That’s what we are doing now. You should leave the corners of your field for the widow, the orphan and the stranger, the most vulnerable amongst us. We do that with our community garden. You should revere your mother and your father. You shall not steal, lie, seems right out of the 10 commandments that we read tomorrow. The wages of a laborer shall not remain with you until morning. You shall not insult the deaf, or place a stumbling block before the blind. That’s why we try to have an accessible building as possible. You shall not stand idly by while your neighbor bleeds. That’s why we sponsor blood drives. You shall not render an unfair decision: do not favor the poor or show deference to the rich; judge your kindred fairly. You shall have just weights and measures.  

You shall not hate your kinsfolk in your heart. Reprove your kindred but incur no guilt on their account. You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against members of your people. Love your fellow as yourself: I am GOD.  

A recipe for love. A blanket of love. 

Then there is loving the stranger. We got hints of it in this passage teaching us how to be holy. Giving us that recipe to create a civil society, a holy group, a kehila kedosha. 

And 36 times the Torah tells us, according to the Talmud that we should, have to, take care of the stranger. We need to love the stranger. Why? Because we were strangers in the land of Egypt. We know what it is like to be marginalized. To be enslaved. To be othered. So we must not do that to others. That  is a Jewish value. A Jewish imperative. A moral imperative. 

What the world needs now is love, sweet love.  

Before we get to the d’var Torah, the sermon, I just want to say, what a fabulous weekend at CKI. From First Friday Family Shabbat with our little ones learning about chesed, acts of loving kindness and making heart cookies, one to eat and one to donate, to Larry Kushner’s Book about the Hands of G-d, to Shira’s haftarah, just WOW! and Nikki’s palm tree cookies, and Nina’s brunch, and Nikki’s Tu B’shevat challah baking with the kids, to my Alef Bet who sang Dayenu by reading it! What a weekend! This is what I live for. 

Today is called Shabbat Shira, the Sabbath of Song. We mark it by reading, singing, chanting the Song at the Sea and the haftarah’s Song of Deborah. How perfect that we have Shira chanting haftarah for the first time. We are grateful to her and to Rabbi Gordon for teaching her. To quote Talmud, “Much I have learned from my teachers, even more from my colleagues and the most from my students.”  

This is a remarkable moment at CKI, and yet not. Let’s think about this for a moment. I am a woman rabbi. Rabbi Gordon is a woman rabbi. Shira is a woman. We have a woman who is our cantorial soloist. We had women who have been CKI presidents. This doesn’t always happen everywhere in the Jewish community.  

Historically, women didn’t count in a minyan, the required group of 10 adults to hold a full service. Congregation Kneseth Israel has counted women since the 50s. Women and men have sat together for generations, since Walter Kohlhagen told his wife he wouldn’t join CKI unless he could sit with her, something they had done for years in West Hartford, CT. So she said come sit with me and he did. My husband calls her the original Rosa Parks. We have had Bat Mitzvah ceremonies here since before Barbara Simon Njus and Sue Sharf Johnson had theirs. Women have had aliyot here since the 50s. Blossom Wohl was the first. I am not the first woman rabbi. Rabbi Debra Eisenman was the first and was written up in the Chicago Trib: https://www.chicagotribune.com/1992/12/04/rabbi-creates-stir-in-congregation/  Then there was Reb Deb Greene.  

And yet, this nonsensical notion of Kol Isha, the voice of a woman as an almost evil thing is still contested in parts of the Jewish community and in Israel itself.  

I stand here proudly wearing my Woman of the Wall tallit. Women of the Wall has stood at the Western Wall since Chanukah 1988 arguing and demonstrating for equal access to this most holy of sites. Every month they are subjected to men and yes women screaming at them, whistling and even worse. Assaulting them for carrying or possessing a Torah or putting on tefilin. Both of which are not prohibited by Jewish law, yet some people think are.  

Why is this so complicated? So fraught?  

Historically, our codes, written by men, warn that a woman’s voice may be too alluring. (If you need me to spell that out I will at the Kiddush) Historically, women are exempt (but not prevented or prohibited) from time bound mitzvot.  

I remember working at an assisted living facility in Boston. A woman came up to me after services and said that it was a lovely kiddush, but now could a man do it, so it would count. Even here we had someone argue that HE would do a better Kol Nidre rather that our cantorial soloist Stephanie because he was a male and it would count. Kol Nidre is a legal declaration, and back in the day women could not be witnesses. Therefore, a woman couldn’t chant Kol Nidre.  

Once when the Men’s Club was hosting a regional event a former member of CKI walked in and praised the breakfast that the women must have made. It wasn’t the Men’s Club breakfast. The men had done that themselves and it was in the library. Then he said something about only counting men for the minyan. I quipped something like, “Here we count men and women. But if you are only counting men, I am sure there will be enough today.” Welcoming but clear.  

This is a congregation that embraces diversity in religious observance, so if you come from a more traditional background and only count men in a minyan, yes, I as your rabbi have arranged for that. For funerals. For shivas. For other events. If I work with Rabbi Shem Tov at Chabad, I understand our ground rules. I can speak or tell stories but not sing. And I appreciate his respect. 

It doesn’t always happen that way. Especially in Israel. Depending on governmental coalitions, women are not allowed to say Kaddish at a graveside. Women’s voices are not on the radio. And tragically, women intelligence officers were not believed before October 7th.  

And yet, here we are at today’s texts. Miriam and Deborah. Two women we revere. Two women of seven granted the designation of prophetess. Sarah, Miriam, Deborah, Hannah, Huldah, Abigail, and Esther. 

Today’s text about Miriam begins: 

“Then Miriam the prophetess, Aaron’s sister took a timbrel in her hand, and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dancing. And Miriam chanted for them, “Sing to the Lord, who has triumphed gloriously. Horse and rider were thrown into the sea.” 

Such relief at escaping such danger. The gratitude is palpable and physical. They danced. They sang. They played their timbrels.  Often, I play a game with children—sometimes even adults at the Passover seder or recently when people were forced to flee the California fires. If you were leaving Egypt in haste—what would you take with you. I get the usual answers—food, water, sunscreen. It is the desert after all. My family, my stuffed animals, my dog, my GameBoy, camera, photos, books. No one has ever said timbrel—or frankly any musical instrument. But somehow these women knew, they took food, lamb and matzah baked in haste, their neighbors’ gold and their timbrels. They knew that out there in that desert there would be opportunities to celebrate, to rejoice, to be grateful. How did they know? 

Read Sandy Sasso’s book here: 

This singing and dancing, her singing and dancing, is emblematic of her deep gratitude. They are her prophesy. She chooses life over death, gratitude over bitterness, joy of the moment over fear. 

However, she is not alone in this. Biblical scholars believe that Miriam’s song maybe a fragment of a larger poem that has been lost. However, we do have its parallel—Moses’s song which has made its way into our daily liturgy—both in its entirety as Az yashir in the morning service and as Michamocha, asking “Who is like You, O Lord”. He and the Israelites are grateful too. 

The full text includes two verses that I want to comment on both of which are personal expressions of gratitude to God. 

Ozi v’zimrat Yah, vayahi li yeshua 

The Lord is my strength and my might. And He was my salvation (or deliverer). Zimrat can either be read as my might which Rashi does or as my song, Either way it is an expression of deep gratitude, and I suspect the double entendre was intentional. Perfect for this morning with members of Shabbat Zimrah, The Sabbath of Song here to support Shira. 

Zeh eli 

This is my God. Zeh as the demonstrative pronoun is seen as a finger pointing to what is seen, what is real, not just a vision. Usually when we pray in Judaism, the words of our liturgy are written in the plural. Notice that here, in the midst of great communal redemption that this prayer is written in the singular—The Lord is MY strength and MY might, MY salvation, MY God. Why? 

In the Michamocha itself, we say, Zeh Eli anu v’amru—This is MY God, THEY answered and said. 

Mekhilta teaches us that while Ezekiel and Isaiah had visions of the Divine, “even a slave woman at the shore of the sea, saw directly the power of the Almighty in splitting the sea All recognized in that instant their personal redemption and therefore all of them opened their mouths to sing in unison.  

Think about the setting. The Israelites have just crossed the sea. They are finally free. How would you feel? Relieved? Joyous? Tired? Anxious? You might think, “Wow!” Or maybe as our Hebrew School kids said, “That was cool!” “That was amazing!” “That was awesome.” “Do it again!” “How did You do that?” “What just happened here?” “What happened to the Egyptians?” “We are safe now.” “We are free.” “Thank you G-d.” “Hallelujah.” One girl said she would have fainted. They got the awesomeness of this moment. Just like Moses when he first sang Mi Chamocha. And we echoed it. And that is what real prayer is–the prompting our hearts to what is going on around us. 

And our text proclaims, “Ze Eli! This is my G-d!” They said. Together as one. An entry point into spirituality. One each of us needs to find for ourselves. Today. Not just historically. So that when we sing, “Ze Eli,” we mean it for ourselves. Each of us individually. 

Moses wasn’t the only one who sang. Miriam took a tof, a timbrel, a tambourine, a drum in her hand and led the women in song. 

I learned recently that in the Dead Sea Scrolls, in the Qumran text there is an addition to the Biblical text. Preserved in the feminine imperative are half the lines of Miriam’s song. It was thrilling to learn about this and the link between this song and other women’s songs, such as Deborah’s song, which we will also read this morning, Hannah’s prayer, and Judith’s. These pieces of poetry, song are amongst the oldest in scripture. 

http://digitalcommons.unl.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1096&context=classicsfacpub 

https://rabbisylviarothschild.com/tag/meaning-of-the-name-miriam/ 

And for me as a woman rabbi, it makes modern day arguments about why some Jews misquote Jewish texts to make women’s voices in prayer not kosher. Those arguments seem less and less valid. Women have always prayed. Women have always sung. Women will continue to do so. 

Bo means come. Like in Lecha Dodi when we sing, Boi Kallah, Come O Bride. But it also means Go, like in Let my people go. 

Today, as we do every day, every week, we recite the blessing, Baruch ata Adonai,Eloheinu melech ha’olam, matir asurim. Blessed are You, Lord, our G-d who frees the captive. This is part of the morning blessings, and as such had to do with unfurling our captive limbs from bed. And its double meaning of real captives. We repeat the phrase in Nishmat Kol Chai and then again in the second paragraph of the Amidah. This is a powerful phrase and the burden of rescuing hostages or captives is a very high one in Judaism.  

The rabbis of the Talmud taught that we should say 100 blessings a day. Saying the morning blessings (page 65 in Siddur Sim Shalom) gets us to 15. We are on our way. 

Gates of Prayer and retained in Mishkan Tefilah has a prayer before Kaddish that includes, “It is hard to sing of oneness when our world is not complete.” That speaks to the tremendous grief that we are still feeling. At the death of 1200+ on October 7th, at the death of thousands of Gazans, including far too many children, at the death of those killed on the plane crash over the Potomoc with more children, talented skaters, or the plane that crashed in Philadelpha with a young child on a medical flight. And yes, our own personal grief about our own personal tragedies and losses. The pain is real. It is palpable as we await word, of hostages released today including Yarden Bibas while the rest of the Bibas still waits including the two youngest hostages, Kfir and Ariel as well as their mother, Shari and the remainder of the hostages.  

Nonetheless, today we are grateful that another three hostages have been released and returned to their families. This includes Israeli-American Keith Siegel.  

Apparently reported in multiple sources, Keith used to tell his fellow hostages that they should strive to find one thing they were grateful for every day as a way to find a little light in those dark tunnels. I sometimes stand here and say at Modim Anachnu Lach, never mind 100 reasons to be grateful, just find one and concentrate your attention on that.  

Research has shown that being grateful can lead to finding meaning and that can lead to finding joy. Victor Frankl, himself an Auschwitz survivor and the author of Man’s Search for Meaning, and the developer of logotherapy, part of the larger discipline of positive psychology, said “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”
― Viktor E. Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning 

He also said, “Those who have a ‘why’ to live, can bear with almost any ‘how’.”
― Viktor E. Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning  

His understanding of this topic, began when he himself was a prisoner in Auschwitz. He felt that those who could find their own why did better in Auschwitz than those who did not. 

Today’s parsha is a pivotal portion.  

It is in this portion we are told, “And you shall explain to your child on that day, ‘It is because of what GOD did for me when I went free from Egypt.’” 

Each of us has a story. Each of us has a story of liberation, of freedom from some narrow place. Mitzrayim, the Hebrew for Egypt, also means narrow place. It is up to each of us to figure out that meaning, to figure out how to tell the story. Whether that is sitting around the dining room table at a Passover seder, or interviewing bubbe and zayde for a class project, or writing an ethical will. Or on a morning like this when we are gathered to celebrate another trip around the sun for one of our dearest members, one who brings us heat and light and warmth and wine for kiddush and havdalah.  

She has quite the story to tell in her (almost) 90 years and has created quite the legacy, right here at CKI. Today, we honor her this morning for that. And more importantly with her family, many of which we managed to gather here today. But she is a behind the scenes kind of gal. Taking the levels of tzedakah that the Rambam taught us to heart. Give a man a fish and he’ll eat for a day. Teach a woman to fish and she will fish for a lifetime and feed thousands. That is part of the Franks-Lindow legacy.  

Our parsha has more to teach. When Moses was negotiating the release of the Israelites, he refused Pharaoh’s offer to allow only the men to go–because a community needs all of its parts to be whole, and everyone has value no matter their age or gender! 

When the Israelites finally left Egypt, they left as a erev rav, a mixed multidate. We came together as one b’nei yisrael, children of Israel with many kinds of diversity. Our vision statement, crafted by some of the people in this very room includes embracing diversity. Look around you—we are quite diverse,  

All kinds of diversity. Religious observance. Country of origin. Age. Community. Level of ability, and disability. People who were born Jewish, people like in our story wanted to become Jewish and throw their lot in with us. That is part of why I am teaching Intro to Judaism right now. People wanting to become Jewish since October 7th is up, according to what we are experiencing right here and in an article in the New Yorker magazine. This is a class Helen is actually taking proving that at 90 there is always something more you can learn, another of our pillars, life long learning. All while building community. 

That is also part of her legacy.  May she, may we, find that meaning in our lives and live ad meah esrim to 120 years just like Moses. 

I feel like I need a glass of wine for this:
Dam Tzefardea Kinim Arov Dever Sh’chin Barad Arbeh Choshech Makat Bechorot
The Ten Plagues. Our text today has us in the middle of them. We know this story so well.
This stop and start. The stop and start. This will they be released. Won’t they be released. I am pleased to announce that yes, four more hostages were released today. Baruch atah Adonai, eloheinu melech ha’olam matir asurim. But that is not enough. 

Shlach et ami, Let my people go. All of them. From the youngest little Bibas. To the oldest. Alive or dead. When the Israelites were finally freed, they took the bones of Joseph with them, as they had promised 400 years earlier, so he could be buried in the Land of Israel. Rescuing captive, hostages, is a high value in Judaism, and Jewish communities all over the world still hold designated funds specifically for this mitzvah.  

The early part of our portion gives us lines we know so well from the Passover Haggadah. Four parts of redemption. Four promises of G-d: 

• I will take you out: God will rescue the Israelites from slavery in Egypt  

• I will save you: God will free the Israelites from the penalty of sin  

• I will redeem you: God will equip the Israelites to accomplish his plans for them  
• I will take you as a nation 

But the Haggadah asks if there is a fifth promise, because the redemption is not complete. I will bring you…to the land that I promised to your ancestors, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. This is why we have Elijah who appears to the Passover seder. To bring redemption. To herald the messianic age, where there will be peace throughout the world. Where there will be no more wars and no more hostages.  

 Yet in our text, there is problem. Pharaoh’s heart is hard. Heavy. Pharaoh is stubborn. Sometimes it seems that he hardens his own heart. Is it fear? He’s afraid he will lose his source of labor? His power? Will these slaves attack him?  

Or as the text also says, is G-d hardening Pharaoh’s heart? How does that work if we have been given free will? Doesn’t Pharaoh have a choice? Y friend, Jeanne Pinard of blessed memory, taught me this. Pharaoh keeps making choices. Every time he chooses badly, his heart is hardened a little more. He is so very stubborn. He is more concerned with his own interests than those around him.  That’s how G-d hardens his heart.  

 While we remember each of the plagues, which punished the Egyptian Pharaoh and his people alike, we remember the midrash that G-d rebuked the angels from celebrating. “My creatures are downing, and you rejoice?” We can’t rejoice over the pain Pharaoh and G-d caused to the Egyptians. Or in today’s day, the very real pain caused to Palestinians, or frankly the hostage families by waiting to come to terms on a ceasefire. That was stubbornness. How many fewer people, including Hersh would be dead if the plan had been accepted in May? 

At times while wandering in the wilderness the Israelites, themselves were also described as stubborn. One of our Psalms from Friday night even says, “Harden not your heart in the ways of your ancestors who tried Me and tested Me in the wilderness, even though they had witnessed my miracles.” 

Stubbornness can be good. It can lead to survival. It can lead to perseverance. It can lead to resilience.  

This is a week where hope seemed in short supply. Where compassion and empathy seemed to be waning. Where the promised redemption is not yet complete. Last week I mentioned Edmund Fleg, a French philosopher who wrote this in 1927: 

I am a Jew
I am a Jew because my faith demands of me no abdication of the mind.
I am a Jew because my faith requires of me all the devotion of my heart.
I am a Jew because in every place where suffering weeps, I weep.
I am a Jew because at every time when despair cries out, I hope.
I am a Jew because the word of the people Israel is the oldest and the newest.
I am a Jew because the promise of Israel is the universal promise.
I am a Jew because, for Israel, the world is not completed; we are completing it.
I am a Jew because, for Israel, humanity is not created; we are creating it.
I am a Jew because Israel places humanity and its unity above the nations and above Israel itself.
I am a Jew because, above humanity, image of the divine Unity, Israel places the unity which is divine. (After Edmond Fleg, “CCAR Rabbi’s Manual”, page 203-4) 

The world is not yet complete, we are completing it. His words, as complicated as the world is, give me hope. They are like the famous John F Kennedy quote from his inaugural address: “Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country” 

I have a new friend, Ruth Gursky, from my running world. One of her friends, Rabbi David Okunov, who I don’t know taught this hope this week: 

“There are times when we all feel like our efforts don’t matter. It’s easy to become discouraged and question our purpose. But Judaism teaches us a powerful truth: everything we do matters, even when we can’t see the results. 

The Midrash tells us about the frogs in Egypt, seemingly insignificant creatures, who fulfilled their ultimate purpose by jumping into ovens during the plague of frogs, as described in this week’s Torah portion. Their act wasn’t random—it symbolized breaking Egypt’s defiance and making G-d’s presence known. If even frogs can fulfill a divine mission, how much more so can we, who are created in G-d’s image. 

Every mitzvah, every act of kindness, every good deed, adds to the beauty of the world and brings us closer to our purpose. You were created with a unique mission that no one else can accomplish. 

Never doubt your worth. You matter, and your actions have the power to transform the world.” 

I will be stubborn.  I will believe in you. And your actions to transform the world. I refuse to give up on the hostages. On working for peace. On loving my neighbor. On supporting the widow, the orphan and the stranger. On being caretakers of G-d’s beautiful creation.   

I refuse to give up on kindness. On compassion. On empathy. On hope. And sounding just like the song Imagine, “I hope you will join me. And the world will live as one.”  

This is a weekend designed for us to think about leadership. This is the weekend that we begin to read the book of Exodus, Sh’mot in Hebrew. It is also the weekend we observe Dr. Rev. Martin Luther King jr, we mark the yahrzeit of Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel and his birthday too, and yes, there is an inauguration as well.  

In these first few chapters of the Book of Exodus, we see a lot of models of leadership. We see Miriam who hides Moses and quietly takes matters into her own hands to ensure the baby’s survival. We see Shifra and Puah who speak truth to power and enable the baby boy Israelites to be born. We see Batya, Pharaoh’s daughter who plucks Moses out of the water and takes him into the palace as her own. Perhaps she is the first foster mother. We see Tzipporah circumcising her son in order to protect him and her husband.  

And of course we see Pharaoh, Moses and Aaron.  

This is a story we know well. Our Haggadah retells the story and begins: 

We were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt, and the L‑rd, our G‑d, took us out from there with a strong hand and with an outstretched arm. If the Holy One, blessed be He, had not taken our fathers out of Egypt, then we, our children and our children’s children would have remained enslaved to Pharaoh in Egypt. Even if all of us were wise, all of us understanding, all of us knowing the Torah, we would still be obligated to discuss the exodus from Egypt; and everyone who discusses the exodus from Egypt at length is praiseworthy. 

Don’t worry. This is not a Simon seder who always wants to emulate the rabbis of B’nei Brak. We won’t be here until midnight.  

But what does it mean for Moses to be called to go to Egypt and deliver what seems to be a simple message. “Shlach et ami. Let my people go.” He didn’t think he could do it. And he has real concerns. He doesn’t speak well. He worries that he will be killed since he himself killed the Egyptian taskmaster. And he likes his life as a shephard in Midian. Why should he go. But go he does. For 15 months we have had people, leaders, demand that Hamas, “Let my people go,” and today we stand on the cusp. Perhaps it will happen this weekend. Perhaps there will be a ceasefire and a cessation of violence. Dare we hope for peace? 

G-d sends Aaron to meet Moses. To help him deliver the message to Pharaoh. In what ways are we called to meet Moses and help?  

The vast majority of the portion we read today deals with the taskmasters. Our Haggadah text talks about  

“. . . My father was a wandering Aramean. He went down to Egypt few in number and sojourned there; but there he became a great and very populous nation. The Egyptians dealt harshly with us and oppressed us; they imposed hard labor upon us” (Deut. 26:5-6). . . . “And oppressed us,” as it is written: “They set taskmasters over them in order to oppress them with their burdens; the people of Israel built Pithom and Raamses as store cities for Pharaoh” (Ex. 1:11). 

Each of us is to see ourselves as though we were slaves in Egypt, that we were brought out of Egypt with a strong hand. What did it mean, then that Pharaoh and the taskmasters oppressed us, to impose hard labor upon us? Those cruel taskmasters made us make bricks but no longer supplied the raw material, the straw and still we had to make bricks at the same rate.  

While it might be good for the taskmasters, it was not good for the slaves, the worker bees. The real issue here was the taskmasters didn’t care. There was no compassion. No empathy.  

We probably know how Martin Luther King was assassinated in April of 1968. Standing on the balcony of his hotel in Memphis. But why was he in Memphis at all: 

On 1 February 1968, two Memphis garbage collectors, Echol Cole and Robert Walker, learn their names, were crushed to death by a malfunctioning garbage truck. Eleven days later, frustrated by the city’s response to the latest event in a long pattern of neglect and abuse of its primarily black employees, 1,300 black men from the Memphis Department of Public Works went on strike. This trike went on and on…and as we know everyone wants garbage collection. Let’s review: Hamas won that election in the Gaza Strip because they promised three things: schools, water and yes, garbage collection. King was there in Memphis to lend his support to the striking workers who were looking for dignity and compassion, safety and better working conditions. 

King did not live to see a resolution of that strike, nor many of the goals the Civil Rights movement. We are still not there yet. In a famous speech the night before his death a weary King, preached about his own mortality, telling the group, “Like anybody, I would like to live a long life—longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned about that now … I’ve seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight that we, as a people, will get to the Promised Land” (King, “I’ve Been to the Mountaintop,” 222–223). 

His concerns still happen in our modern world. Once when I was working for a sales lead generation firm, the owner, my boss, did not treat his employees well. One winter I got bronchitis, and my physician told me I had to take the rest of the week off. My boss’s response was to cut everyone’s sick time from four days a year to two. When one of my team members needed to go to the hospital because she couldn’t breathe, I sent her and another employee with her. He then yelled at me because I had caused us to lose two people’s productivity. There are more stories like that from there, and I didn’t last much longer, but I think about that when I read stories about Amazon warehouse or delivery workers, organizing at Starbucks, or the Imokelee tomato workers,  

Don’t worry, goes the theory. They can just find another worker. They are just cogs in a wheel. Right?  

Jewish workers have been at the vanguard of the organized labor movement. Perhaps hearkening all the way back to when we were slaves in Egypt. That ability to organize, Slowly over time, has resulted in things we often take for granted: safety in the workplace. The 40 hour work week, access to health care and day care. Pensions. Sick time. Labor Day itself.  

https://jewishcurrents.org/a-short-history-of-jews-in-the-american-labor-movement  

As we move into this new book of Exodus this year, and this new world that may not value individual worker, it behooves us to think about the leadership styles of those women of Exodus, and of Abraham Joshua Heschel whose feet were praying with Kind, and of Martin Luther King, and of Moses himeself.  

What set Moses apart as a leader:  

Moses didn’t want to lead. He wasn’t convinced that he had the skills. He was pretty sure he would fail. With the help of G-d, he surrounded himself with people who could help. Aaron went with him to Pharaoh to be his mouthpiece. 

Here’s one description of how Moses’ style influences the business world today: 

“The Bible sketches an ambitious list of leadership traits ascribed to Moses, including humility, empathy and heroism, but also patience, self-reflection, charisma and wisdom, among others. Although few can emulate all of these traits, humility is one that stands out. The Book of Numbers stresses that “Moses was a very humble man, more so than any other man on earth” (Num. 12:3). Hence, humility was clearly deemed an important trait and one that ought to be emulated by more people aspiring to lead others. After all, what is humility but the opposite of arrogance? Most people have an understandable dislike for arrogant leaders.” https://www.woolf.cam.ac.uk/blog/moses-as-a-model-for-effective-leadership  

Moses took care of his frustrating, kvetching, complaining people. With a great deal of what we might call chutzpah, this man with a speech impediment, successfully  argued with G-d to preserve them.  

But perhaps the most important thing we learn is that Moses was humble.  

 Now Moses himself was very humble, more so than any other human being on earth. (Numbers 12 : 3)  

We are told at the end of Deuteronomy, “Never again did there arise in Israel a prophet like Moses—whom יהוה singled out, face to face,” (Deut 34:10) 

Our job: Be like Moses and Heschel and King.

A piece of Talmud I have been thinking about all week often gets taught this way:
when one hears a fire truck going by with sirens wailing, one shouldn’t pray “please, God, let it not be my house burning” — either it is, or it isn’t, but the prayer won’t change whatever is already real. But where does this come from in Talmud? There were not fire engines back in the day. It comes from Berachot 9 and the idea that we should not say a prayer over something that has already happened or that is in vain. Sometimes this applies to medical diagnoses as well. We may already, for example, have cancer. We can’t change that now. We can manage how we respond to it. Rabbi Harold Kushner’s book is not “Why bad things happen to good people, but “when.” That doesn’t mean that the response is easy.  

Similarly, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel as cited in Gates of Prayer before the Amidah, as an intention, a kavanah which we used last night and this morning, said, 

“Prayer cannot bring water to parched fields, or mend a broken bridge, or rebuild a ruined city; but prayer can water an arid soul, mend a broken heart, and rebuild a weakened will.” 

“Pray as if everything depended on G-d; act as if everything depended on you. Who rise from prayer better person their prayer is answered.” (Gates of Prayer, page 157) 

Last night we talked about what we would put in a “go bag.” We talked about the samovar in my office that was carefully carried from Russia by the Goldstein family. It is heavy, brass, beautiful. And you could pack things inside of it. For thousands of years Jews have been forced to leave and leave quickly, all the way back to the Exodus from Egypt, the story of which we begin to retell next week. Sometimes people leave because of threats of violence. Sometimes in times of famine. Sometimes because of natural disaster. Our Haggadah begins the story with these words: “Our father was a wandering Aramean.” which is actually how Deuteronomy begins to retell the story.  

 Often, I play a game with our kids in Torah School—and sometimes even with adults at our seder table. You have 18 minutes to leave Egypt. What are you taking with you. Sometimes we do it in alphabetical order.  

This is no longer a drill. And not just in Southern California. We have had people displaced in our own community. Paul and Lynne Glaser in Ashville. Anita Silverman by fire at her senior living complex and now resettled but it took long months. And while her senior cat was rescued by the Schaumberg Fire Department, he was not welcome in her new apartment. Judy Richman from Del Webb when the tornado roared through last summer. The point is clear. Everyone should have a go bag. A list of what goes in that bag is included as a public service announcement at the end of this d’var Torah.  

We have a prayer, “Ma Tovu Ohalecha Ya’akov.” How lovely our own dwelling places, O Jacob, our sanctuaries O Israel.” They are indeed lovely.  But all too often we leave them and the belongings that are in them. 

While the dwelling places are lovely, the most important thing is the lives they contain. This week I made phone calls to fire victims in California on behalf of Congregation Or Ami in Calabasas in the Palisades. It’s what we’ve been talking about all year. It’s about connections. Community. The Amen Effect. It was something I could do. From here.  

Almost all the people I texted with or spoke with said the same this. They described themselves as lucky. Sad, maybe even depressed, missing family heirlooms and history and memories. Photos, art, Steinway pianos. And lucky. 

Sometimes we think that the jewelry, the china, the silver are our legacies. I look around my living room. Things I have acquired over a lifetime. Over several generations. But they are not really legacies. What is a legacy? 

Today’s portion is a bit of a challenge. Jacob is at the end of his life. He is “blessing” his sons. 

“The God of your father, who helps you,
And Shaddai who blesses you
With blessings of heaven above,
Blessings of the deep that couches below,
Blessings of the breast and womb.
The blessings of your father
Surpass the blessings of my ancestors,
To the utmost bounds of the eternal hills. 
May they rest on the head of Joseph,
On the brow of the elect of his brothers.” 

What follows is a “blessing” for each son. But they feel much more like a blessing and a curse:
Benjamin is a ravenous wolf;
In the morning he consumes the foe, 
And in the evening he divides the spoil.” 

 I don’t really want to be called a ravenous wolf as a blessing!

Perhaps the legacy, the blessing needs to be balanced. Balance is a key word. How do we maintain our balance when the world seems so out of kilter? What hope do we offer the next generations? How can I even dare to offer hope at times like these? What is the blessing in this moment? 

As you know, Simon and I hike extensively. 38 states and 5 foreign countries. One of our most memorable hikes was from Topanga Canyon Road down to where the MASH filming site was in Malibu Creek State Park. For me, it was thrilling (and exhausting because it was hike down and then hike back up!) as a big fan of MASH. But perhaps what was most magical was creating memories with our adult kids. One other critical hike was in Estes Park, CO in the Rocky Mountain National Park. The ranger we were hiking with talked about the growth after the fire there now many years ago. Almost immediately, little ferns begin to grow. Those bright green shoots fill me with hope. Earlier this week I saw a blog post about precisely this. “Look for the miracles,” the woman, she herself had been through a devastating fire several years ago, wrote. “Look for the ferns.”  

In another destructive fire, I was moved by a family who returned to their burned home to find the mezuzah still intact. I am considering buying mezuzot (I have ones in mind from Israel) to send to people at Or Ami. It is a way that we rededicate ourselves.  

Other times I have quoted Mr. Roger who used to say: “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.” Our job is to find the helpers. Our job is to be the helpers. That’s how we “love our neighbors as ourselves.”  

Looking for the miracles and looking for the helpers is how we build resiliency. It is how we build community. It is how we build hope. Even in the worst of this current crisis there is evidence of hope. Life will continue (for most). Life will be changed. There will be mourning and grief. But life will continue. 

That mourning includes anticipatory mourning. Jacob did something else in this what could be called a “deathbed scene.” He left detailed instructions. He was to be buried not in Egypt but back in Canaan, back with his ancestors, with Abraham and Sarah, and Isaac in the cave of Machpelah. Joseph was able to convince Pharaoh to let him go to do this. All the dignitaries went too. In a scene reminiscent of this week’s state funeral held at the Washington National Cathedral with burial back in President Carter’s birthplace of Plains, Georgia. 

But after the burial at Machpelah, Rabbi Menachem Creditor reminds us of a midrash on this portion. Joseph returned to the pit where his brothers once threw him in. (Genesis Rabbah 100:8). He transformed this moment from trauma—real trauma—to gratitude. This is not easy to do. Creditor continues, citing Rabbi Matthew Berkowitz “comparing it to survivors revisiting places of profound suffering: a soldier returning to a battlefield, a Holocaust survivor journeying to a concentration camp (Returning to Joseph’s Pit, 2025). These acts are not about erasing pain but about reclaiming agency and gratitude, even in the face of profound hurt.” 

Joseph and his brothers mourned for Jacob after the burial for seven days. Ever wonder where the tradition of shiva comes from? Right here! 

This “pre-planning” is a real gift to your family. A blessing, a legacy. We have talked about this before. Part of your legacy might be writing an ethical will, so your children and grandchildren know your values. Part of it maybe offering forgiveness for things said, and those not said. Part of it maybe making clear the funeral plans.  

As we conclude this morning, we pray for healing. For ourselves, for our nation, for the people of California and Florida and Tennessee and North Carolina, for all of Am Yisrael including the hostages and the IDF and all those displaced from their homes, in the north of Israel, in Gaza, in Syria, in the Ukraine. ANd may we go forth from this book of Genesis stronger into Exodus where we are taught that we were wandering Arameans and slaves in the land of Egypt so that we have an obligation to be helpers, to welcome and love the widow, the orphan and the stranger. Chazak, chazak v’nitchazek.  

Before Misheberach:

A Prayer for Firefighters and First Responders
Blessed are the hands that pull others from the flames,
scarred hands, calloused hands, trembling hands,
hands that grip hoses and axes,
hands that steady the world when it shakes.
Blessed is the courage that rises
stronger and higher than smoke —
the courage that steps into the chaos,
the courage that doesn’t flinch at the sound of breaking glass and metal,
that doesn’t stop even when the air burns and the ash falls.
Blessed is the heart that holds two truths at once:
the knowing that life is fragile,
and the stubborn faith that saving one life
is enough to hold up the universe.
We pray for the strength to carry the burden of this holy work.
For lungs that can breathe through the thickest soot.
For arms that will not falter,
even when the weight feels unbearable.
And we pray for their return.
For safe passage through the fire, the flood, the storm.
For nights where they can rest,
and mornings where they can hold their children
without the smell of smoke on their skin.
May they know that we see them,
that we hold them in the deepest parts of our hearts,
that their work is sacred,
like the flame that burns but does not consume.
Blessed are the ones who run toward the danger,
who wade into the waters,
who carve paths through the wreckage—
not because they are fearless,
but because they refuse to let fear have the final day.
Let them be guarded by something larger than themselves:
a voice in the wildness saying,
“You are not alone. You are not alone.”
And may the Holy One—by whatever name they call—
watch over them always,
and bring them back home.
Amen.
     Sarah Tuttle Singer 

 Before Candle Lighting, both Friday night with two tapers and Saturday night for havdalah where those tapers become one “fire” with multiple wicks, usually representative of the community coming together:  

Burning Hope by Paul Kipnes 

Last night, two fires raged to within 5 miles my three holy places: our home, our synagogue Congregation Or Ami, and my father-in-law’s house. We packed, prepared to evacuate, only to see amazing firefighting teams knock the fires down. Lying in bed this morning, trying to figure out what comes next, I felt a flicker burning within. Which became … 

Burning Hope
By Paul Kipnes
A flicker in the endless dusk,
A spark that whispers, Not yet lost.
Beneath the ash of dreams lifelong,
A stubborn ember, frail but strong.
It dances through the choking smoke,
Defying winds that would revoke
Its fragile right to blaze anew,
A beacon for the shattered few.
The world may press with heavy hands,
May scatter stone and barren sands,
But hope, though burning, never dies—
It smolders soft in weary eyes.
Overnight, as fears are cultivated,
It refuses to be evacuated.
A quiet hope to heal the earth,
Through morning’s light, it finds rebirth. 

I saw this one of Facebook and didn’t snag the author, so I apologize. If I find it I will add the attribution. We talk a lot about balance at CKI. It is true of some of our basic elements as well. Water and fire. They are both necessary and can be destructive. She captures this:

FOR BLESSING AND NOT FOR CURSE 

Creator of all things,
your creations fill the Earth. 
With a simple glance I
behold the bounty 
of your makings.
The living creatures of
flesh and breath,
the foliage which feeds,
the elemental powers which
we attribute to your actions.
We cannot simply pray 
for abundance when too much 
becomes a curse.
Reliant on the rain
whose waters sustain
in scarcity 
delivers death with drought
in abundance
engulfs and drowns.
Reliant on the fire
whose heat warms 
in scarcity
bears fatality with frost
in abundance
engulfs and incinerates.
The same water which
fuels can flood.
The same fire which
fuels can destroy.
We cannot pray them away.
Creator of all things,
we pray for balance
blessing, not curse
life, not death
satiety, not want
knowing one shifting wind
can change our fate.  

Go bags:

From the Westchester County Website: 

• Bottled water and nonperishable food, such a s granola bars 

• Personal hygiene items (toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, wet wipes, etc) 

• Flashlight, hand-crank or battery-operated AM/FM radio, and extra batteries 

• Portable cell phone charger 

• Notepad, pen/pencil, and marker 

• Local street maps (paper version) 

• Spare home/vehicle keys 

• Whistle or bell 

• First aid kit 

• Dust mask to reduce inhalation of dust and other debris 

• Work gloves 

• A change of clothing (long sleeve shirt/pants, rain gear, sturdy footwear, etc.) 

• Copies of important documents (insurance/medical cards, contact lists, identification, marriage and birth certificates, etc.) in a portable, waterproof container or plastic bag 

• Back-up medical/assistive equipment and supplies 

• A list of the medications you take, why you take them, and the dosages 

• Cash, in small bills 

• Supplies for your service animal or pet 

In my go bag, I will also put one piece of irreplacebale jewelry that was my grandmother’s, a daisy pearl pin and a piece of silver that rode out the Chicago Fire in 1871. My daughter plans to take her first Disney medal.  

This is a portion about reconciliation, about survival, about migration. It feels like a recap of all the themes of Genesis which we wrap up next year. 

Joseph finally sees his father again. Hallelujah! 

Joseph is amazed that his father is still alive. How is that even possible. “So Joseph ordered his chariot and went to Goshen to meet his father Israel; he presented himself to him and, embracing him around the neck, he wept on his neck a good while.” (Gen 46:29) 

This is an emotional scene for both of them! Let’s remember, Joseph was thrown in a pit and sold into slavery. Then the brothers told their father that Joseph was dead and showed him that famous coat of many colors soaked in animal blood.  

This part of the d’var Torah may need a trigger warning. No parent should have to bury a child as the conventional wisdom says. Yet it happens all too frequently. To even members of our own congregation. Jacob maybe flamed the sibling rivalry with that coat, but the brothers should not have tricked their trickster father.  

Children are often angry with the way parents parent. There is a new trend in the United States of adult children, often sons of fathers, who cut off ties with their parents, primarily the fathers. If you google for this trend you will find lots of articles. Perhaps the best one may be behind a paywall but worth finding it is from the New Yorker magazine. https://www.newyorker.com/culture/annals-of-inquiry/why-so-many-people-are-going-no-contact-with-their-parents I encourage you to read it if you can get to it. 

But Israel when he get to Egypt and sees Joseph says “Then Israel said to Joseph, “Now I can die, having seen for myself that you are still alive.”” (Gen. 46:30) 

They and the brothers found a way to reconcile. It isn’t easy. And it is important to note in the Maimonides guide to teshuvah if someone sincerely apologizes three times and it isn’t accepted, it is on the other person. 

Joseph then presents Jacob also known as Israel to Pharaoh who wonders how old Jacob is. 130 is the answer. Pharaoh promises to take care of him and Joseph’s brothers.  

Pharaoh comes up with an equitable arrangement. Declaring that of their holdings, 1/5 and only 1/5 would be Pharaoh’s and rest of the holdings would be for Jacob and his descendants. This seemed to please everyone and our story end with this line: 

“Thus Israel settled in the country of Egypt, in the region of Goshen; they acquired holdings in it, and were fertile and increased greatly.” (Gen 47:27) 

Fertile and increase. P’ru u’vru. The same language that is used at the beginning of Genesis when G-d commands Adam and Eve to be fruitful and multiply.  

Next week we read the very last of Genesis and then move on to Exodus where we learn that after 400 years a new Pharaoh arose who knew not Joseph. The Israelites did in fact multiple and Pharaoh was afraid that they would attack the Egyptians and there were not enough resources to go around.  Does that sound familiar? 

We are told to make Kiddush for two reasons. One to remember Creation. And one to remember the Exodus from Egypt, another great migration story.  

While this was written thousands of years ago, the underlying themes are still relevant in our day. 

Famine…migration because of famine…enough resources…even to our own day. People talk about the Great Migration when so many Irish arrived on these shores. Who read Grapes of Wrath, one of my all time favorite books but perpetually on banned book lists. That was internal migration during the Great Depression and the Dust Bowl from Oklahoma to Bakersfield, CA. Who can forget the picture of the Syrian boy in the red t-shirt who died on the coast of Turkey trying to reach Greece. These images are likely, sadly, to increase with famine from climate change dominating the news. 

https://www.migrationpolicy.org/article/emerging-crisis-famine-returning-major-driver-migration 

People are often forced to make impossibly difficult choices. Food, heat, medicine, medical care. The number one reason in this country for bankruptcy is medical debt. 58% of Americans are living paycheck to paycheck and many are one paycheck away from bankruptcy and could not afford a $1000 emergency expense.  

While moat of us no longer live on farms that is part of what was driving Joseph’s brothers and his father to seek relief from famine in Egypt. 

Here in Elgin, we are lucky. With the help of organizations like Food for Greater Elgin, and Elgin Cooperative Ministries, we manage to feed the hungry seven days a week. As we approach Martin Luther King Day, we will once again participate in the Elgin Martin Luther Food Drive, which support many of our local pantries, not just Food for Greater Elgin. Over the next two weeks, we will ask you to bring non-perishables to CKI which we will then deliver towards the total count. It is this kind of coming together, just like Jacob, Joseph and his brothers, that brings me hope.  May we be blessed in the new year to not experience famine, separation of families and hard choices between food, heat and medicine.

The last few weeks have been about dreams, visions. This week, this is no exception. Our haftarah gives us two visions. 

I’m going to ask you to close your eyes to see if you can envision this first one: 

He said to me, “What do you see?” And I answered, “I see a lampstand all of gold, with a bowl above it. The lamps on it are seven in number, and the lamps above it have seven pipes; 

and by it are two olive trees, one on the right of the bowl and one on its left.” 

“Do you not know what those things mean?” asked the angel who talked with me; and I said, “No, my lord.” 

This is a vision of the Menorah, the seven branched candelabra first in the mishkan and then in the Holy Temple. The Menorah that was carted off to Rome and is pictured in bas relief on the Titus Arch. 

The word menorah is fascinating. It has ner, candle and or, light both embedded in it. These candles are to bring light. To be the light.  

Despite this, at least for me the vision of what this candelabra was to look like is not very clear. Do any of you have a clear image? Look around you. There is a concept in Judaism of hiddur hamitzvah, beautifying the mitzvah. In our windows we have 8 different chanukiot in our windows, each one beautiful in their own right.  

But what is a mitzvah? I am working my way through Michael Strassfeld’s Disrupted Judaism. “Hasidim teaches that the word mitzvah/commandment is related to the Aramaic word tzavta, which means connection.” He concludes that mitzvot are not items to check off a list but rather opportunities for connection. For Strassfeld, the mitzvot provide opportunities for connection to other people, to our vision of life, to this planet to the unity underlying the universe and finally to ourselves.   

In every synagogue, there is a ner tamid, an Eternal light. This light is to be kept burning for all times. This congregation is fortunate to have two. One here in this room, in the sanctuary, the mishkan or mikdash. And another in the room we call the library or chapel.   Each is beautiful in their own right.  

Both spaces are consecrated, made holy and that is what we do as a part of Chanukah, which means dedication, we rededicate these sacred spaces. 

And we have a job to do to make sure that these spaces are sacred. To keep the lights burning. To make sure that they don’t go out. One day, Dick Johnson came to me to tell me that the light in here was out. There was an edge of almost panic in his voice. It turned out that it was an easy fix. The lightbulb needed to be replaced. In truth, it is easier now with LED bulbs since they last so much longer. Thank you, Gene! But to the idea of mitzvah as connection, it is incumbent of all us to watch, to make sure that the light doesn’t go out. And if it does go out, to work together to rekindle it. 

That is the message of Peter Yarrow’s song, “Light One Candle” the chorus of which is “Don’t let the light go out.” It is incumbent on all of us to make sure that the light doesn’t go out. Peter recently entered hospice and we sang his song last night. Peter’s light and his music will not go out long after he passes. He will leave a lasting legacy. 

Still in Strassfeld’s book, he quotes Rav Kook, “Take that which is old/tired/routine and make it new. And take the new and make it holy.” Let me read that again: “Take that which is old/tired/routine and make it new. And take the new and make it holy.” 

Here at CKI we have a vision statement. We are a Jewish community that cherishes life long learning, building community, creating meaningful observance and embracing diversity. 

Meaningful observance is like the menorot in the windows. There is no one way to do Jewish. What is meaningful to me may not be to you and visa versa. Yet together we are a community, embracing that very diversity. That is not to say we have no community standards. We do. Rather, it is about taking the old and making it new and meaningful, together. It is about meeting each of you where you are, wherever you are on your Jewish journey.  

How we light the candles is an example of this. This is a Talmudic debate that has gone on for two thousand years.  

Do we light the lights as Shammai, all of them the first night and reducing them by one each night? He based his argument on the offerings for Sukkot. But Hillel countered and said we light one more light each night. Now we all “know” how the argument was settled. We add more light each night. Yet in some households, they go with Shammai. Or they light both ways. It’s not wrong. It’s the minority opinion.  

Here we increase the light, we increase the holiness, we increase the joy. Light brings joy. 

Joy can be tricky. Happiness can be tricky. Neither one of them can be a constant state. We can’t always be happy. Perhaps as someone suggested the goal is to be content. 

Rabbi Evan Moffic wrote a book The Happiness Prayer where he outlines what we need to do to be happy. 

“These are the obligations without measure, whose reward, too, is without measure: To honor father and mother; to perform acts of love and kindness; to attend the house of study daily; to welcome the stranger; to visit the sick; to rejoice with bride and groom; to console the bereaved; to pray with sincerity; to make peace where there is strife…and the study of Torah is equal to them all, because it leads to them all.” (Talmud, Shabbat 127a) 

For him, these actions bring happiness. Perhaps even joy.  

Strassfeld says it this way: “Hasidim’s emphasis on was rooted in a much broader world view, rejecting the asceticism of earlier Jewish mystics.”  

Being useful brings joy. Doing for others brings joy. 

Psalm 97 teaches, “Or zarua latzdik u;yishrainlev simcha. Light is sown for the righteous and joy for the upright in heart.” First, we are righteous, then we get to experience the joy.  

The concept of rabbinic debate is not only ancient. My study partner and I debate what the core idea of Judaism is. She says it is to find meaning. I saw it is to find joy. But what if we are both right? By finding the meaning, we find the joy.  

Today I am wearing this new t-shirt, “In a world full of darkness, be a light.” I challenge each of you to figure out how you can be a light. How your little light, will bring us out of darkness. Maybe in combination with others.

Our portion end with this: 

“Then he explained to me as follows:  

“This is the word of GOD to Zerubbabel: Not by might, nor by power, but by My spirit—said GOD of Hosts. 

Whoever you are, O great mountain in the path of Zerubbabel, turn into level ground! For he shall produce that excellent stone; it shall be greeted with shouts of ‘Beautiful! Beautiful!’” 

You have undoubtably seen those stickers often on bank or fast food drive thrus: “You are beautiful.” Like the menorot in our windows, each different, each of you is beautiful. Very beautiful. You and you and you and you.