Today’s portion is about birth, and calling and hope. It seems especially apt on a morning where the world is focused on a different ancient birth. It seems necessary when the world is focused on a global pandemic that has taken so many lives, over 800K in the US and almost 5M worldwide.  

Of course, in today’s portion, there is the obvious call of Moses and the story of the burning bush. G-d says to Moses, Eyeh asher Eyeh—I will be what I will be or I am that I am. Hebrew that is very difficult to translate—but that provides an expansiveness that G-d is everything. That is hope. Those are the very words that Moses heard when he stood on holy ground.  Then G-d insists that Moses go back to Egypt to demand that Pharaoh let the Israelites go. No easy task. And not one Moses wants to do. 

But our story begins before that. And it begins with smaller characters that rise above and do the unexpected, the unthinkable, the unimaginable. That they existed and rose to the occasion, provides hope, even today. 

After a 400-year interlude between last week’s portion and today’s, our story at the very beginning of Exodus, begins with the Israelites being enslaved. “A new ruler arose who knew not Joseph.” This new Pharaoh decreed that every baby boy born to an Israelite woman, be killed.  But two women, Shifra and Puah, did not do as the king commanded and let the boys live.  

They have a bit part in the Torah. And their names have come down to us, Shifra and Puah. There are other women who make the birth of Moses and the continuation of the Jewish people possible. Yochebed, Moses’s mother, Miriam, his sister, Batya, the daughter of Pharaoh, Zipporah, his wife. Each of them rose up and did something courageous and brave.  

Did they hear a calling? Did they have an internal sense of what they needed to do? 

Yocheved risked everything by getting pregnant despite the risks. She hid baby Moses from the authorities and then as he grew and she could no longer conceal him, she gave him up to save him and then she became his nursemaid. 

Miriam hid that baby Moses, then watched as Pharaoh’s daughter, Batya found him in the basket, drew him out of the water and rescued him, raising him as her own. Zipporah, not born an Israelite, grabbed a flint and circumcised her son, not even knowing what circumcision was.  

These women risked all. This brings me hope. 

In the book, The Light of Days, which the book group just finished reading this week, other women during the Holocaust, also rose up and seemed to do the unimaginable, Were they courageous and brave or did they just do what had to be done in order to survive?  

We are living through unprecedented times. Are we called to do something courageous and brave, something unexpected, unthinkable, unimaginable. I believe we are. Like the women we have been discussing, and in the face of ongoing fear and tragedy, we are called on to live with hope.  

When a new baby is born, there is that sense of hope and optimism. We have so many dreams for this new child. Sometimes in the Jewish tradition, we even think, this child will be the one. This child we be the moshiach, the messiah, the anointed one, the one chosen to be the savior, the one who rescues us and who redeems the world and makes the world whole and at peace.   

Any one of us could be that baby, that child. But we lose that hope as the child grows. The task seems too big, too daunting, too impossible. Perhaps the message then is that each of us has a role to play—and no role is too small. 

So let’s think back to these women who rose up and just did their part. Their small part. Say their names—Shifra, Puah, Yocheved, Miriam, Batya, Zipporah. Each of them took matters into their own hands and rose above the expectations of the day. Each of them made life itself possible. 

Do we have modern equivalents? I believe yes. Health care workers, research scientists, teachers, police and fire, even grocery store clerks. The people who have put their own lives at risk to make sure that life is possible. 

Sometimes teachers, doctors, nurses use the language of calling to describe their work. It is a sacred calling, a noble profession. But calling is not limited to those types of professions. Each of us has a unique role to play, a unique calling, one important task that can be completed only by us. 

When then do we know what it is that G-d wants us to do? That G-d wants us to be? How do we know if we are hearing G-d’s voice, like Moses at the bush? Or Jeremiah in today’s haftarah? 

Jim Wallis, the founder of Soujourners and now a professor at Georgetown’s Center on Faith and Justice, asks this very question  

Is there a reliable guide to when we are really hearing the voice of God, or just a self-interested or even quite ungodly voice in the language of heaven? I think there is. Who speaks for God? When the voice of God is invoked on behalf of those who have no voice, it is time to listen. But when the name of God is used to benefit the interests of those who are speaking, it is time to be very careful.”
― Jim Wallis, Who Speaks for God? 

He provides one answer. A prophet is someone who speaks out for the marginalized. The widow, the orphan, the stranger. So when we work at the Soup Kettle or donate blood we being prophets. Even more so if we work on advocacy for the food insecure or for access to healthcare.  

Sometimes Jews say that prophecy ceased with Ezra and Nehemiah, that way we don’t have to deal another prophet whose birth is celebrated today. How then can we hear G-d’s voice today? 

Psalm 29 talks about G-d’s powerful voice 7 times. We know that song…Havu L’adonai. Seven times it repeats, Kol Adonai. We sing it on Friday night and as part of the Torah service. This is G-d’s booming voice thundering above all, shattering cedars and splitting rocks. We also have “bat kol” in the Talmud, the voice of G-d swooping down in some kind of “deus ex machina” manner. 

I prefer a gentler voice, one that is harder to discern:  the example of Elijah’s still, small voice, something internal, eternal, something inside of us. 

That seems to be what Jeremiah heard in today’s haftarah:
“Before I created you in the womb, I selected you; Before you were born, I consecrated you; I appointed you a prophet concerning the nations.” Jeremiah 1 

That sense of being called to something special even before we are born is echoed in Psalm 139:
“You shaped me inside and out. You have made my veins; You have knit me together in my mother’s womb.”  

Psalm 30, one of my personal favorites, pleads with G-d and demands: 
What profit if I am silenced. 
What benefit if I go to my grave in the pit? 
Will the dust praise You? 
Will it proclaim Your truth and faithfulness? 

It would suggest that we each have something important to say, just like Shifra and Puah. And if we die we can no longer speak truth to power. 

It ends by saying:
You turned my mourning into dancing,
My sackcloth into robes of  joy, 
That my whole being might sing hymns to You unceasingly
That I might praise You forever.  

That can seem difficult to do in the middle of a health care crisis, to praise G-d unceasingly. Yet that is one measure of what we are called to do. And it brings me hope. We’re not finished here. We have a job to do, a role to play. 

Sometimes people have the sense that there is something G-d wants them to do. That they were fortunate to be born with certain intrinsic traits. Frederick Buechner talks about call this way: “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” Let me repeat that, “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” So our job is to figure out where the intersection between the world’s great need and our own joy intersect. That is our individual calling. 

Rabbi Jeffrey Salkin, author of Putting G-d of the Guest List for Bar Mitzvah families and Being G-d’s Partner, the What Color is Your Parachute for Jews. tells an important, poignant story,  

“The boss of the moving crew was a delightful, crusty gentleman, a dead ringer for Willie Nelson. I had never met anyone so enthusiastic about his or her work, and I asked him the source of that enthusiasm. 

“‘Well, you see, I’m a religious man,’ he answered, ‘and my work is part of my religious mission.’ 

“‘What do you mean?’ I asked. 

“‘Well, it is like this. Moving is hard for most people. It’s a very vulnerable time for them. People are nervous about going to a new community, and about having strangers pack their most precious possessions. So, I think God wants me to treat my customers with love and to make them feel that I care about their things and their life. God wants me to help make their changes go smoothly. If I can be happy about it, maybe they can be, too’” 

The mover plays a small role in a person’s life. But it does it with compassion and empathy. With love. He has found his unique niche. His calling. 

What does life want from me? For each of you? Figuring out the answer to that question is figuring out what your unique call might be. Figuring that out is what this week’s Torah portion and haftarah portion are about. 

A baby was born. People worked to make sure that that baby lived. That is all part of our call. That is what brings me hope. 

Vayechi—And he lived. Jacob lived. This is the last portion of the book of Genesis. This is about living (and dying) and legacy. How do we live? How do we dye and what blessings. 

With apologies to Broadway, which once again seems to be shutting down due to the spread of COVID-19: 

“May you be like Ruth and Esther.
May you be deserving of praise.” 

Yet when Harnick and Bock, two of the great Broadway (and Jewish) piyutim, lyricists, they changed the traditional blessing for Friday nights. It is actually: 

“May you be like Sarah Rebekah, Rachel and Leah,” for girls. And for boys it comes right out of today’s portion:
“May you be like Ephraim and Manesseh” 

These are blessings. What we hope for our children, every Friday night as part of the traditional Shabbat table service.  

“May you be like Ephraim and Manesseh.” Say what? Who? 

Ephraim and Maneseh were Joseph’s children. Jacob’s grandchildren. And when Jacob was about to die, he called Joseph to his bedside and he blessed his grandsons sitting on his knee. “Ephraim and Mansseh shall be mine like Reuben and Simeon.” Essentially he adopted them. The grandfather adopted them. That could be a sermon for another year, but I will point out that this still happens today with lots of grandparents raising grandchildren as their own that they never expected to have to do. I am grateful for those grandparents who have stepped up to do that—whether it is because of parental illness, drug addiction, violence, imprisonment, military service or whatever. Grandparents who willingly take on this role of parent in their “golden years” are to be praised. There are organizations that can help support like “Grandparents as Parents.” 

Back to our story today. Manasseh and Ephraim become two independent tribes with their own “standard” or “flag” and their own portion of land when the Israelites inherit the Land of Israel. That is one kind of legacy.  

But in this blessing of Jacob to Joseph and Jospeh’s sons, he used these very words:  “May G‑d make you like Ephraim and like Manasseh.'” These are the very words we still use today on Friday night.  

Children are indeed a blessing. Some say grandchildren even more so. Often people add because we can spoil them and then give them back to their parents—but that is also a sermon for another time.  

Children are indeed a blessing. And our children didn’t know that recently. When we asked them how they are a blessing, they told us how to bless candles, and wine and challah. They know how to say the blessing of hearing the shofar or doing something new for the first time. But they had never thought that they themselves could be blessings. We stumped them.  

Now I know that…if for no other reason then I learned it in Brownies. In the Brownie story. You remember…twist me and turn me and show me the elf…I looked in the mirror and saw myself.” There are multiple versions of this story but it begins with the father saying, “Children are a burden” because apparently his two children weren’t doing anything to help around the house. The mother or the grandmother answers, “Children are a blessing.” 

So today I want to talk about blessings—and the legacy we leave behind—with our children and grandchildren. Some people, using Jacob in this portion as a model, actually write an ethical will which we have talked about before. But as we approach the secular new year, I encourage you to write one. There are models available here: https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/writing-and-reading-ethical-wills/ This is separate from your health care proxy and power of attorney or your will that disperses your property. Those are important too. 

But really telling people what your values are and how you expect or hope people to live them out after you are gone is important. 

Maybe even more important is telling them before you die.  

What is a blessing? How are each of you a blessing? Because, make no mistake…each of you is a blessing. To this congregation—to your families, to the wider community, to this very congregation, to the world at large and to me personally. We did this a few weeks ago. I want each of you to say one blessing to one other person. That way each of you will have a turn to say a blessing and each of you will know that you are a blessing. Really know it, in your kishkes. 

So that is precisely what we did. Every person received a blessing and gave a blessing. It was poignant, joyful, beautiful and at times even funny. At the very end of services, one person blessed me (not part of the plan) but worthy of me putting here, in case I forget. “Rabbi, we bless you with our respect and love for what a magnificent spiritual leader – and human being – you are. Your knowledge, guidance, passion, and care for all, both inside CKI and outside in our community, are beyond outstanding.  We appreciate you SO very much!  We all are blessed to have you as our rabbi.” 

This portion and this process brings me hope. As we leave our imperfect matriarchs and patriarchs for another year, we can move forward assured of our blessing and our legacy. Hope is our way forward, even in what is becoming a difficult end of the secular year.  

Another rabbi picked up a similar idea to mine. Rabbi Michael Dolgrin in Toronto put it: 

“ Jacob says that this is how we shall bless our descendants. Perhaps this means that we must be open and thoughtful about the blessings that we offer, that we cannot always control our situations. Still, despite all of this, we must have the courage to go forward and offer blessing. We must hope that those whom we have lost are not entirely gone; that family can surprise us in good ways. We must hope that blessings are available even when we are sure that the window for holiness and goodness has closed. We must hope that we can see the generations after us, whether they be our genetic descendants or not, acting on the ideals and values that we hold dear. We must hope that even when we and those we love make mistakes, they can still lead to sweet or bittersweet possibilities.” 

We end the reading of a book of Torah with this blessing: Chazak, chazak v’ntichazek. Be strong, be strong and be strengthened. This morning’s exercise has strengthened us all. It enables us to enter the next book, Exodus, and the next year, stronger, as individuals and as a community. Vayechi—And we lived. And we blessed. This is our legacy. 

Close every door to me,
Hide all the world from me
Bar all the windows
And shut out the light 

Do what you want with me,
Hate me and laugh at me
Darken my daytime
And torture my night 

If my life were important I
Would ask will I live or die
But I know the answers lie
Far from this world 

Close every door to me,
Keep those I love from me
Children of Israel
Are never alone 

The lyrics from the haunting song about Joseph in jail from Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. 

Joseph was thrown in jail, falsely imprisoned by Potiphar and as a “self made man” he rose to power to be the viceroy of Egypt because of his ability to interpret dreams.  

This weekend is Human Rights Shabbat, something we have participated in at CKI since I have been here. One of the areas that Tru’ah, Rabbis for Human Rights has worked on consistently, are the inequities in our justice system.  

Sadly, there are still inequities in our justice system often down economic and racial lines. Here in Kane County, Sherrif Ron Hain has been working on this very problem. 

As his bio says: “Ron was elected as Kane County Sheriff in November of 2018 and his team immediately implemented employment diversion programs into the jail, along with medically assisted treatment to support and redirect inmates with drug addiction issues. Sheriff Hain’s focus is to take a zero tolerance approach to street crime while providing positive life paths for incarcerated Kane County residents in an effort to drive down recidivism and crime rates.” https://www.kanesheriff.com/Pages/Message-from-the-Sheriff.aspx  

What does that mean? His goal was to reduce the prison population 20%. He has exceeded that goal to 35%. It is an important goal to him because people who are imprisoned get tagged for life. It really wrecks havoc with the underlying fabric of society. There are other books that illustrate this point even more eloquently and well researched than I can ever do: Locked Down and Locked Out, Just Mercy and the New Jim Crow for starters. These books illustrate all too painfully what happens in a legal plagued by inequity systemic racism. 

My former student, Tony award winning sound designer, Rob Kaplowitz recently said this: “One of my gigs requires me to re-apply for it every once in a while. Recently, they added Background Checks, which include criminal history stuff. Took me 6 minutes and I was done. I have good friends and admired colleagues with misdemeanors and felonies – some earned, some hung on them because they are Black Men in America. If I had checked the box, I would have had to provide a detailed report on my entire criminal history, including documents I’d probably have to pay to obtain. It would have taken up the majority of my night, if not more, and made me sweat bullets, wondering if a gig I thought I’d already gotten would be taken away from me. Those who have served their time and been released? Those who had their charges reduced or just accepted misdemeanor judgements because they were told “just plea guilty and you’ll walk away with a fine?” This idea of punishing someone for life – especially now that we can all agree that many Black Men get arrested for simply wearing the skin into which they were born? It’s straight bullshit.” 

This can affect every area of life: employment as Rob has described. Housing—not just for you but for your family. Securing a loan. Education. Access to health care. Things that many of us take for granted in our privileged world. The very things that our holiness code, Kedoshim, Leviticus 19 told us we needed to guard against:
 

“You shall not render an unfair decision: do not favor the poor or show deference to the rich; judge your kinsman fairly.” (Lev 19:15) 

Once people who are imprisoned, like Joseph, falsely, even if the government attempts restitution in a wrongful conviction, it is difficult maybe impossible to rebuild your life. https://www.chicagotribune.com/news/criminal-justice/ct-chicago-police-wrongful-conviction-lawsuit-verdict-eddie-bolden-20211029-oj7wm5vadzeazmndcdsscyscni-story.html 

What price can you put on losing 30 or 40 years behind bars for a crime you did not commit? 

All of this has been exacerbated by COVID-19. My own nephew, Dr. Brennan Klein, recently published an academic paper on the inequities of who was released from prison as a way to stem the spread of COVID-19. Here is the abstract: 

“During the first year of the COVID-19 pandemic, the number of incarcerated people 

in the United States decreased by at least 16%—the largest, fastest reduction in prison 

population in American history. Using publicly available data on prison demographics 

across all 50 states and the District of Columbia, we show that incarcerated white people 

benefited disproportionately from the resulting decrease in the U.S. prison population, 

and the fraction of incarcerated Black and Latino people sharply increased. This pattern 

deviates from a decade-long trend before 2020 and the onset of COVID-19, when the 

proportion of incarcerated Black people was declining. Using case studies of several 

states, we explore and quantify multiple systemic mechanisms that could explain the 

disparities we identify: temporary court closures that led to fewer prison admissions, 

state-level prison release policies that sought to de-densify congregate settings, and 

changes in the frequency of police interactions. Ultimately, these findings illuminate 

how systemic racism pervades juridical and penal institutions and is the engine of mass 

incarceration in America.” The full paper is available upon request. 

 Joseph was falsely accused and falsely imprisoned. Our tradition commands us to pursue justice. Tzedek, tzedek tirdof. It is our obligation as Jews to stand up and to fight against the inquities in our justice system. 

According to Lord Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, of blessed memory, this morning’s portion changes the trajectory of the world. It is the first time in all of the book of Genesis with it’s imperfect people, where we meet the concept of forgiveness. This happens when Josepeh reveals himself to his brothers.  

“I am your brother Joseph, whom you sold into Egypt! And now, do not be distressed and do not be angry with yourselves for selling me here, because it was to save lives that God sent me ahead of you… it was not you who sent me here, but God.” (Gen. 45:4-8) 

Instead of blaming his brother’s for throwing him in the pit, which causes him to be sold to the Ishmaelites, who sold him to Potipher who threw him in jail, which caused him to interpret Pharoah’s dream’s which caused him to rise to the highest ranks of government which is causing him to provide food for his family who now meets him in Egypt. My Hebrew class that is a whole bunch of hipheal verbs… 

But can you forgive the brothers for throwing him in the pit? Sacks argues that’s exactly what Joseph does:  “According to the Midrash, God had forgiven before this, but not according to the plain sense of the text. Forgiveness is conspicuously lacking as an element in the stories of the Flood, the Tower of Babel, and Sodom. When Abraham prayed his audacious prayer for the people of Sodom, he did not ask God to forgive them. His argument was about justice, not forgiveness. Perhaps there were innocent people there, fifty or even ten. It would be unjust for them to die. Their merit should therefore save the others, says Abraham. That is quite different from asking God to forgive.” 

Note, that it seems in these examples that even G-d has a hard time forgiving:  Think Adam and Eve expelled from the Garden of Eden, Cain forced to wander for the rest of his life, the destruction of the world by flood,  the Tower of Babel, and then Sodom and Gemorah. 

Now, this is Judaism, and some other rabbis argued that really the concept of forgiveness began in the story of Abraham and Abimelech. Nonetheless, the concept of forgiveness is something that Judaism gave to world and is part of what sets us apart as a moral people.  

And yet, in next week’s parsha, the brother’s actual asked for forgiveness: 

They sent word to Joseph, saying, “Your father left these instructions before he died: ‘This is what you are to say to Joseph: I ask you to forgive your brothers for the sins and the wrongs they committed in treating you so badly.’ Now please forgive the sins of the servants of the God of your father.” When their message came to him, Joseph wept. (Gen. 50:16-18) 

Now, I want to be clear. Forgiveness isn’t forgetting. It is isn’t easy. It can be more like an onion, with layers and layers and needed to do it over and over again. So why bother?  

We had a very rich discussion last night. One person said that after holding a grudge for 10 years they offered forgiveness to someone and felt a huge wait lift off of them. Another person who forgave because she felt it was too toxic to hold onto the anger really worked on it. She totally forgave the person but may never quite trust the person again.  

The Templeton Foundation, that offers the Templeton prize and also is the foundation that funds the Scientists in the Synagogue grant that we are finishing up, has spent roughly $10M on the Science of Forgiveness. Coming out of that is a 55 page document written by Everett Worthington on the Science of Forgiveness. https://www.templeton.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/06/Forgiveness_final.pdf  

However, our congregants are on to something. We forgive because we need to do it more for ourselves than for the person or persons we are forgiving. Rabbi Harold Kusher has much to say about this.  

“The embarrassing secret is that many of us are reluctant to forgive.  We nurture grievances because that makes us feel morally superior.  Withholding forgiveness gives us a sense of power, often power over someone who otherwise leaves us feeling powerless.  The only power we have over them is the power to remain angry at them. There may be a certain emotional satisfaction in claiming the role of victim, but it is a bad idea for two reasons.  First, it estranges you from a person you could be close to.  (And if it becomes a habit, as it all too often does, it estranges you from many people you could be close to.)  And secondly, it accustoms you to seeing yourself in the role of victim—helpless, passive, preyed upon by others.  Is that shallow feeling of moral superiority worth learning to see yourself that way?” 

Kushner counseled a woman still angry with the husband who left her years ago.  He said, “I’m not asking you to forgive him because what he did wasn’t so terrible; it was terrible.  I’m suggesting that you forgive him because he doesn’t deserve to have this power to turn you into a bitter, resentful woman.  When he left, he gave up the right to inhabit your life and mind to the degree that you’re letting him.  Your being angry at him doesn’t harm him, but it hurts you.  It’s turning you into someone you don’t really want to be.  Release that anger, not for his sake—he probably doesn’t deserve it—but for your sake, so that the real you can reemerge.” 

This fits with what Worthington says in his work at the Templeton Foundation.  

The next question then becomes are there limits to forgiveness. Yes. “Our own tradition says that there are some limits to forgiveness. At the individual level there are also some sins that seem to be beyond forgiveness. In my thesis, “Citing Maimonides, Dorff lists several categories of sinners who permanently lose their place in the world to come, heretics and those who deny the authority of the Torah, those who cause a multitude to sin, who secede from the community, who commits sins in a high-handed fashion, informers against the Jewish community, those who terrorize a community other than for religious purposes, murderers and slanders and those who remove the mark of their circumcision .” 

At the end of the Torah, in the book of Deuteronomy we are told to “Remember never forget Amalek.” Why, the Amalekites attacked the rear guard when the Israelites were wandering in the wilderness on their way to Israel. The women, the children the old.  And our tradition teaches that Amalek’s line leads to Haman that may lead to Hitler. Is it possible to ever forgive Hitler. That’s hard. Perhaps impossible.  

In Simon Weisenthal’s book, The Sunflower, that I gave to every commander at the Elgin Police Department several years ago, the famous Nazi hunter was confronted with a choice, a moral dilemma. A wounded Nazi officer who had driven hundreds of Jewish families into a house and set it on fire wanted absolution.  

Rabbi David Markus points out that forgiveness is not absolution: “But “forgiveness” isn’t absolution. We can “forgive” even if someone doesn’t deserve it—because we ourselves deserve the peace that can come by releasing pain and grudges. That’s forgiveness. It doesn’t absolve wrongs or withhold justice, but helps us live resiliently amid brokenness. It’s among our most powerful spiritual tools—and sometimes difficult to use.”–David Markus  

Could Weisenthal actually forgive the soldier? Weisenthal decided no, Judaism teaches that only the victims can grant forgiveness. The rest of the book, the rest of his life, he wrestles with this decision. The back of the book is a symposium on this topic with many famous scholars and leaders weighing in on Weisenthal’s discussion. It seems to split down Jewish and Christian understandings of forgiveness.  

Forgiveness only exists in a culture in which repentance exists. Repentance presupposes that we are free and morally responsible agents who are capable of change, specifically the change that comes about when we recognise that something we have done is wrong and we are responsible for it and we must never do it again.” Says Sacks.  

The person that we forgive then needs to go through the process of t’shuvah–repentance. We talk a lot about this during the High Holy Day season. As part of the steps of t’shuvah you must admit or confess you did something wrong, promise to never do it again, make restitution and then when confronted with the same circumstances, not do it again. T’shuvah isn’t easy either. And then if someone offers you forgiveness and you are, shall we say stubborn and you don’t accept the offer of forgiveness…three times according to Maimonides, then it is on you.  

When I looked at forgiveness for the thesis, I came to the conclusion that in order to forgive you need to feel safe. Therefore, victims of domestic violence for instance should not forgive until they are safe. We should not be telling victims to go back to their perpetrators and make up for instance.  

The 13 attributes of the divine, teach that G-d is a forgiving G-d, forgiving iniquity, transgression and sin. That’s why we sing it on the High Holy Days. We are told to be like G-d, so therefore we too should be forgiving, for us, for the world, but only if we are safe when we are doing it. Jospeh when forgiving his brothers, showing us a higher moral compass, was already safe. May we become like G-d and like Jospeh.  

“It was a miracle…wonder of wonder, miracle of miracles,” so begins a lyric from  Fiddler on the Roof. It is all about love. Then the song goes on to list some of the BIG miracles outlined in the Bible.  

God took up Daniel once again
Stood by his and side and miracle of miracles
Walked him through the lions den

Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles
I was afraid that God would frown
But like he did so long ago, at Jericho
God just made a wall fall down

When Moses softened Pharaohs heart
That was a miracle
When God made the waters of the red sea part
That was a miracle too

But of all God’s miracles large and small
The most miraculous one of all
Is that out of a worthless lump of clay
God has made a man today 

Hanukkah is all about miracles. There is the story of the oil. Or maybe the miracle is that the ragtag group of Maccabees using some form of guerrilla warfare managed to turn over a very large, organized military force.  Our job, our obligation is to publicize the miracle. That’s why some families put the chanukiah in the window or on the porch or in a courtyard. 

In our liturgy we talk about miracles. In the full Song at the Sea, we explore the miracle of the parting of the See of Reeds. Portrayed in this song, which we use parts of every week in the Mi Chamocha, we praise G-d for being on our side. Horse and Rider, He has thrown into the sea.  

The midrash teaches us that when the Israelites saw the power of G-d at the parting of the sea, in one voice they exclaimed, “Ze Eli, This is my G-d.” Another midrash says that even a lowly bondswoman, a slave saw G-d, saw the miracle in that instant while Isaiah and Ezekiel, two of our greatest prophets only had visions of G-d, not first-hand direct experience. 

In the Modim Anachnu prayer we thank G-d for all the miracles we experience and we say:
“We shall thank You and declare Your praise—for our lives which are in Your hand, for our souls which are in Your care, for Your miracles that are with us every day and for Your wondrous deeds and favors at all times: evening, morning and noon. O Good One, whose mercies never fail, O Compassionate One, whose kindnesses never cease: forever do we put our hope in You.” 

To this prayer we add an extra prayer specifically for Hanukkah:
“And for the miracles and for the wonders and for the mighty deeds and for the salvations and for the victories that you wrought for our ancestors in their days and in this day.” 

There seems to be a difference between wonders and miracles.  

The language of Al Hanisim parallels the blessing for the Hannukah candles:
Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech Ha’olam she’asa nisum l’avoteinu, bayamim hahem bazman hazeh.  

Blessed are You, Lord our G‑d, Ruler of the universe, who performed miracles for our ancestors in those days, and… 

And what? In some versions this prayer ends “bayamim hahem bazman hazeh”. In others “bayamin hahem uzman hazeh,” including our own Siddur Sim Shalom. What’s the difference? 

The first says that G-d performed miracles for our ancestors in those days. The second says that G-d performed miracles in days of yore and in these days. G-d still performs miracles. Today. Right now. If only we would open our eyes.  

Earlier this week, I asked people what miracles they have experienced in their lives. Sunrise, sunset, the birth of a child were the most common responses. So, I ask you today…when have you experienced a miracle? Other answers included working through infertility. Healing from a disease. One person described falling off a horse. She couldn’t feel anything but knew she wanted to hold a grandchild. Then the feeling returned. Another said, ‘The way everything works. The variety and diversity of people and animals.” 

I wrestle some with miracles. I am not sure that it is appropriate to pray for a miracle or to wish that G-d is on our side. How do we explain how some people were shall we say lucky to survive 9/11 but other people did not “deserve” a miracle. Or survived the Holocaust but 6 million Jews, 13 million people and 1M children, what was the reason they did not survive? It seems like a slippery slope. What do we do with all the recent COVID deaths? 

Was it a miracle that I survived that car crash at this season in days of yore? I could have been killed in that seven car pile up? Or was it the first responders and then the medical care I received at Saint Vincents in New York? Was it a miracle that I survived that violent attack in Israel? Some would like to think so. Was G-d present that night. I believe so. But miracle, not so clear to me? Is it a miracle I found Simon, my bashert?  

Nor does it bring me much comfort to apply the theory that G-d helps them that help themselves. I can think that the medical science that has brought us vaccines and cures for various diseases, not just COVID is a series of miracles. 

For me then, miracles happen. Not because I as an individual necessarily deserve one, because most assuredly I do not. No, rather because of the chanun, the grace and compassion of G-d, the chesed, the lovingkindness of G-d. I am no more deserving than the next person or visa versa. A miracle just is. Something to relish. Something to cherish. Something that just is. 

Later today, we will be watching the Michigan-Iowa Big 10 championship game, I am sure that there will be some who pray. On both sides. Mine are always for a clean game, good officiating and that no one gets hurt. May the better team win.  

When my mother was still alive, we had a unique tradition that we have kept going to this day. After the candles are lit, we name them. Often names that coordinate with the colors, so  a yellow one might be sunshine, a green one nature, a blue one, peace, a white one holiness. You get the idea. And then we would bet on the candles. Which one will go out last. Which one will most closely repeat the miracle of the oil. It causes us to slow down and really look at those candles. Maybe that is the miracle.  Slow down. Open your eyes and find your miracle.

Adding this lovely poem about miracles and light that I found later. My dear friend, Alden Solovy, wrote beautifully. Again.

Meditation for the End of Chanukah