This Shabbat has been designated, #ShowUpForShabbat and #PauseforPittsburgh.

Organized by American Jewish Committee and local federations, we read these words penned especially for this evening:

https://www.ajc.org/renew-our-days-as-of-old

And we thank the Seigles for making sure this evening happened, both the spiritual nourishment and the physical sustenance to follow.

One year ago we were horrified at the massacre of 11 Jews as they worshipped on Shabbat just like we are doing today. We join with 18 other congregations in the Midwest, with hundreds across the country, doing precisely this…ShowUpForShabbat.

We opened our doors. Had visitors join us. Some even became members. We held a vigil in the middle of our street, Unity on Division Street, together with Holy Trinity Lutheran Church and their pastor Rev. Jeff Mikyska as well as other clergy and city leaders. We had over 600 people show up. We had painful conversations—around safety and security, around whether to open the front door or just the back door, whether sitting in a coffee shop with my kippah makes every body in the coffee shop less safe.

Much has been written about rising anti-semitism. Just this week there was a new study published by American Jewish Committee, AJC, the national organizers of tonight, https://www.ajc.org/AntisemitismSurvey2019

They headline it that 88% of American Jews believe that anti-semitism is a problem and the 84% believe it has increased in the last 5 years. However, if you keep reading, you find that very few, only 2% have been the target of a physical attack and only 23% have been the recipient of an anti-semitic joke or remark online or in person. That is 2% and 23% too many. But it is not 88%.

Nonetheless, the statistics coming out of the FBI, the ADL and the Southern Poverty Law Center are clear, anti-semetic hate crimes are on the rise. A look at recent media—whichever source you choose, includes these kinds of acts of vandalism and hate on an almost daily basis. The vast majority of hate crimes, 56% are directed at Jews. The congregation that I grew up in, Temple Emanuel in Grand Rapids, had anti-semetic posters delivered a couple of Sundays ago. I learned about it first from my Holocaust teacher in Boston who read about it in the Jerusalem Post. I am not naïve. In the current environment, it can happen anywhere. Any time. Any place. Even Grand Rapids, Even Brooklyn. Even here.

But this Shabbat has a different name. This is Shabbat Bereshit. The Shabbat of the Beginning. Where we begin the reading of the Torah again.

Last Sunday we had two new kids consecrated. Two new families who are willing to be here and celebrate being Jewish. We unrolled the whole Torah. At the end of the Torah the last word is Yisrael, Israel. Ending in a lamed. At the beginning is Bereshit, beginning with a bet. Together that spells Lev. Heart. We encircled these new students with heart. With love.

In today’s Torah portion we learn about love. G-d made Eve, Chava, which means life because it was not good for man to be alone. Adam needed a helpmate. Someone to partner with him. That’s love.

Love. It is a very important Jewish concept…and it is what I really want to talk about tonight. We are commanded to love. Love G-d. V’ahavata et Adonai Elohecha. With all our heart, with all our soul. With all our might. We are commanded to love our neighbors as ourselves. V’ahavta l’rayecha kamocha. And we are commanded to love the stranger in our gates.

But wait, you say, you can’t command an emotion. That’s true. But we demonstrate that love in lots of ways. That’s leadership. When we hear the call. When we answer hinini, here am I. When we show up at the soup kettle or the lunch program at Holy Trinity. That’s love. When we collect food for the Crisis Center, that’s love. When we grow vegetables for ECM that’s love. And it is all mandated. When we go to city council and pray for our government, that’s love. When we visit someone in the hospital or take a shut-in flowers, that’s love.

And love is reciprocal. That’s why we have guests sitting amongst us this evening/morning. People from Greater Elgin who care about us. Who love us. City Councilors. Members of other congregations. Clergy.

That’s why when something happens in Germany, on Yom Kippur no less, the police department is here before we are, making sure we are safe, half a world away. That’s why when we have kids drinking in our parking lot, our neighbor Maria calls me. That’s why when we have hosted National Night Out, we are now joined by our friends at Holy Trinity and at Kingdom Advancement Center. That’s why when anti-semitism first started to rise and there was a rash of bomb threats, and here’s where I get teary eyed every single time I tell this story, Pastor Jeff went to his board and we have the key and the code to his building—G-d forbid we need it.

That’s why we, here at CKI, wanted to take this Shabbat to #PauseforPittsburgh…but also to say thank you. We cannot say it enough. Thank you for standing with us. To Holy Trinity. To Kingdom Advancement Center. To CERL. To Maria. To the EPD. To the mayor and city councilors. To the Chamber of Commerce. To all who are willing to show up and show the love…and stand with us.

But if we as a congregation only focus on fear and anti-semitism, thinking they are all out to get us, we would be wrong. There is so much more to Judaism. So much more to our spiritual roots, to our legacy. I cannot cower in fear. Our doors are open. We have much to give. So much more to who we are. What is it that we want the world to know about us…

These are the words of last year’s Confirmation Class, based on a text by Edmund Flegg who wrote to his grandchildren in France in another scary time and place:

I am a Jew because my parents wanted me to be.
I am a Jew because I wanted to be and I enjoy being Jewish.
I am a Jew because it is in my blood.
I am a Jew because I believe in one G-d.
I am a Jew because my fellow Jews wrestle with G-d.
I am a Jew because I like the traditions and everything I grew up with
I am a Jew because I enjoy being a Jew.
I am a Jew because Jewish communities are nice communities.
I am a Jew because we are accepting of other people and we embrace diversity.
I am a Jew because of our commitment to tzedakah and gimilut chasidim, acts of love and kindness.
I am a Jew because we value knowledge, debate and free thinking.
I am a Jew because I am the last of our kind, since only 3% of the world is Jewish
I am a Jew because we never give up. We’re still here.
I am a Jew because the ethics of Judaism help us to understand morality and right and wrong.
I am a Jew because it gives me new perspective.

Confirmation 5779

All was not perfect. Even in Biblical times. The Garden of Eden didn’t last. Love was not perfect. And so Cain killed Abel. That’s in the longer version of this week’s portion as well. Listen how the Talmud retells it:

It says in the Talmud, Sanhedrin 4:5 to be precise:

Therefore but a single person was created in the world, to teach that if any man has caused a single life to perish from Israel, he is deemed by Scripture as if he had caused a whole world to perish; and anyone who saves a single soul from Israel, he is deemed by Scripture as if he had saved a whole world. Again [but a single person was created] for the sake of peace among humankind, that one should not say to another, “My father was greater than your father”.

This is the very text I took with me to jail yesterday to study with some inmates who are learning about Judaism.

This is the same text that is essentially repeated in the Quran:

Now listen: For this reason we have ordained for the Children of Israel that whoever kills a person, unless it be for manslaughter or for mischief in the land, it as though he had killed all men. And whoever saves a life, it is as though he had saved the lives of all men. And certainly our messengers came to them with clear arguments, but even after that many of them commit excesses in the land. 32nd verse of the fifth Sura, or chapter, of the Quran

Our text tonight tells us we are all created b’tzelem elohim. In the image of G-d. But that doesn’t mean we all look alike. Once I had a confirmation class with a kid from a multi-racial family, one with Central American roots and one who was adopted from China. The black kid said, “All Jews look alike”. I just looked at him, mystified. The white kid said, “Yeah all Jews have big noses.” Still stumped I talked about Jews and stereotypes. I then took them into my office to show them themselves in the full length mirror. Tzelem, image, really is closer to mirror. None of them looked alike. All of them were created b’tzelem elohim, in the image of G-d. It was a Mr. Rogers moment. The same Mr. Rogers who lived and worked in the Squirrel Hill neighborhood of Pittsburgh.

Each of you is created in the image of G-d too, with a divine spark within each of you. Finding that divine spark is our obligation. Having the courage to love is our obligation. That’s leadership.

So as Lin Manuel Miranda said after the massacre at the Pulse Nightclub, that I repeated at another vigil:

“Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love, cannot be killed or swept aside.”

I hope I never need to lead another vigil. But I know here in Elgin there will be others standing with us expressing that sentiment and working for the time where we can live in Mr. Roger’s neighborhood. He told people, “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’”

That’s what I want to take away from this evening. Love is love is love. The helpers who surround us. And the image of those two young girls and their proud mothers encircled by the Torah.

Other readings we used:

“They Sat in the Back”: A Poem for Those Killed in Pittsburgh
BY HANNAH DANIEL , 10/24/2019

We sat in the back.
We were 13 years old, itchy, tired, and we didn’t want to be there.
We were anxious to leave our seats—
we sat in the back to sulk,
to count on our fingers how many more Saturday morning services
we would have to endure before we could check
the box for our b’nai mitzvot.
We picked at our nails,
but we sang the blessings because we loved them even still.
The minutes limped along.
We shifted in our dresses and our ballet flats that were getting a little too small.
Our stomachs rumbled as we waited for kiddush
and we sat in the back of the room.

They also sat in the back.
Our matriarchs, our door-holders,
the ones who had prepared our kiddush that morning.
The ones who knew the code to the building was the same year it was built,
the ones who drove us to this service.
They were the ones who sang in the choir,
the ones who taught your children their aleph bets.
They sat nearest to the entrance, the ones who walked with walkers.
The ones who parked right outside the temple doors to rest
their stiff backs on stiffer benches each Saturday morning.
The ones who have seen their children
and their children’s children
through the sanctuary’s doors.
They built this place up from the ground
and they sat in the back.

We did not want to sit in the front, where we might catch the eye of the rabbi,
where God might see our lips stumble on our prayers.
We sat in the back so we might easily slip out to use the bathroom,
to get a drink of water, to check the broken clock in the hall.
We sat in the back so that we could be the first to leave.

They sat in the back because they arrived early.
They were our living ancestors, our minyan makers.
They sat in the back and they knew your name
because they had been the first ones to welcome your family into the synagogue
with a warm hug and boker tov.

We sat in the back; we wanted to leave.
They sat in the back; they didn’t have time.

The author would like to dedicate this work to Joyce Fienberg, Rose Mallinger, Richard Gottfried, Jerry Rabinowitz, Cecil Rosenthal, David Rosenthal, Bernice Simon, Sylvan Simon, Daniel Stein, Irving Younger, and Melvin Wax.

Hannah Daniel is a junior studying biology and creative writing at Carnegie Mellon University. Her poem, “They Sat in the Back,” was the recipient of the first prize in college poetry at the 20th Annual Martin Luther King Jr. Writing Awards. Her home congregation is Temple Beth El in Harrisonburg, VA, and she is a member of the Union for Reform Judaism (URJ) College Leadership Team and an alumna of NFTY-MAR and URJ Mitzvah Corps.

Wherever I go, I hear footsteps:
My brothers on the road, in swamps, in forests,
Swept along in darkness, trembling from cold
Fugitives from flames, plagues and terrors.
Wherever I stand, I hear rattling:
My brothers in chains, in chambers of the stricken.
They pierce the walls and burst the silence.
Through the generations their echoes cry out
In torture camps, in pits of the dead.
Wherever I lie, I hear voices:
My brothers herded to slaughter
Out of burning embers, out of ruins,
Out of cities and villages, altars for burnt offerings.
The groaning in their destruction haunts my nights.
My eyes will never stop seeing them
And my heart will never stop crying “outrage”;
Every one will be called to account for their death.
The heavens will descend to mourn for them,
The world and all that is therein will be a monument
on their grave.

Dear God, so much innocent bloodshed!
We are supposed to be created in Your image,
But O How we have distorted it.
When we recall the beastly acts of people,
We are ashamed to be human.
When we read of the nobility of their victims,
We are proud to be Jews.
Teach us, O God, to honor our martyrs,
By being vigilant in defense of our people everywhere,
And by fighting cruelty, persecution and H.
But must cruelty always be?
Must viciousness ever be the signature of humanity?
No! No! We refuse to accept that!
We refuse to give H the last word,
Because we have known the power of love.
We refuse to believe that cruelty will prevail,
Because we have felt the strength of kindness.

We refuse to award the ultimate victory to evil,
Because we believe in You.
So help us, O God, to draw strength from our faith,
And help us, our Father, to live by our faith.
Where there is H, may we bring love.
Where there is pain, may we bring healing.
Where there is darkness, may we bring light.
Where there is despair, may we bring hope.
Where there is discord, may we bring harmony.
Where there is strife, may we bring peace.
Make this a better world and begin with us.
We mourn them and vow not to forget them.
We are heirs to their horror, their heroism, their hopes.
We see no reason, we sense no purpose, we claim no justice in this vast martyrdom.
Yet, weeping, we affirm the sanctity of life,
God’s elusive wisdom and compassion,
The hidden, waiting goodness within Man,

The eternal destiny of the House of Israel.

            Rabbi Jeffrey Myers, Tree of Life Synagogue, Pittsburgh

Tree of Life, Pittsburgh
Tree of Life,
Revive our souls,
Enrich our days,
Entreating Your blessings.
O, God of Peace,
Fill our hearts with comfort,
Letting Your Torah shine,
In the fullness of our love.
Faith in You, our God,
Eternal Source of blessings.
Praying for healing
In the depths of despair,
Thanking God for the survivors,
Thanking God for the first responders,
Sorrow crushing our hearts,
Bereaved beyond belief,
United in our love,
Returning to You in faith,
God of Israel,
Healer of generations.
Tree of Life,
Redeemer of Israel,
Enliven this moment with healing,
Enliven this moment with hope.
Oh, Rock of Israel,
Forget not the Jews of Pittsburgh.
Let Your love flow
In the days ahead
For justice and peace
Everlasting.

© 2018 Alden Solovy and tobendlight.com.

In the beginning G-d created the heavens and earth.
Then G-d created people, male and female, G-d created them.
Then even though they were created in the image of G-d.
That’s when the problems began.
I sat on my deck.
Watching night descend. The sky was beautiful
Intensely orange and pink
Firey yellow searing against the red maples

Why can’t we just live this way?
Why must there be anger and animosity?
Why do we live in fear?
Why can’t there be peace?

For 25 hours, on this Shabbat of Creation
I want to return, return to days of old.
Not to some nostalgic view of the shtetl
It was never so good.
Not to the days of the Temple.
Even if I like steak and barbecue
That’s not how I draw close to G-d.

Not to Sinai
With its rules and regulations.
No, I want to return to a simpler time
To the Garden of Eden
To Paradise
To a time of peace.
Shabbat is that time of peace.
Shabbat is a foretaste of the world to come.

Help me be ready
Help me to live without fear.
Help me to be a messenger of peace
An angel of peace.
Your angel of peace.
Welcoming and unafraid.

Margaret Frisch Klein, Shabbat Bereshit 5780