One of the interesting things about the beginning of Haye Sarah is the small kaf in the word לבכתה, to cry on behalf of her passing.^[1] Why is the kaf smaller? Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch suggests the small letter symbolizes that Abraham’s deepest grief was internal, intimate, and kept private within his home rather than being a public, theatrical display.^[2] I don’t like this explanation because grief comes at different times to different people and one should not need to restrain one’s mourning to the private domain. A different explanation is that the kaf is small to emphasize לבתה, and her daughter. The Talmud teaches that Abraham and Sarah had a daughter named Bakol who died at the same time as Sarah. Therefore, Abraham mourned both Sarah and Bakol.^[3]

Whatever the reason, this week’s portion is the first mention of eulogizing and burying the deceased. Abraham makes sure to acquire the gravesite with his own money and to ensure that Sarah has a proper burial. A lesson for us to take with that is the importance of taking care of our loved ones at the end of their lives. It is our responsibility and our privilege to engage in this final act of lovingkindness, as difficult as it is. At the same time, we must honor whatever it is we are feeling. Let us not feel that we need to minimize our crying in public but rather honor our emotions as they are during a time of great loss.

^[1] Genesis 23:2

^[2] Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch on Genesis 23:2 ד״ה ולבכתה

^[3] Babylonian Talmud Bava Batra 16b

Many a scholar has struggled with the concept of the Akeidah, the binding of Isaac. Rabbi Shalom Spiegel, who taught at the Jewish Theological Seminary, wrote a book entitled The Last Trial: On the Legends and Lore of the Command to Abraham to Offer Isaac as a Sacrifice. In that light I want to bring up the wording used at the beginning of the passage.

God tells Abraham “Go forth and take your son, your only son, that you loved, Isaac.”^[1] A question asked by many commentators is why was Isaac’s name not said at the beginning? The medieval commentator Rashi cites a midrash from Genesis Rabbah asserting that Abraham stalled. When God said “your son,” he replied, “I have two sons: Isaac and Ishmael.” When God said your only son,” Abraham replied “This is the only son to his mother, and that is the only son to his mother.” God says “the one you love,” to which Abraham said, “I love both of them.” Finally God specifies Isaac. In this Midrash, Abraham argued for his sons, trying to stall the sacrifice, just as he had argued for the people of Sodom and Gemorah in Genesis 18.

The Midrash continues, though in a different vein. “Why did He not reveal the son’s name initially? So as not to confuse him abruptly, with the result of sending him of our his mind and driving him mad.”^[2] The concept of tiruf daat that Rashi refers to is described by the commentator Aviva Zornberg as “an experience of sharp dislocation and discontinuity.”^[3] Rather than have Abraham go through a brain shock, God according to Rashi has him ease into the idea of sacrificing his son.

The lesson I take from this is that words matter and that rabbinic teaching asserts that no word is extraneous. Your son, that you love, Isaac was not using extraneous words or words that were there for only poetics but rather words which took into account Abraham’s psychological state. Of course we can always overanalyze matters, which is dangerous. We cannot find an answer for everything and must be comfortable with ambiguity, which I will speak about tomorrow. At the same time, there is wonder and beauty in finding reasons for word order having been chosen in the Bible, especially when it is viewed from the perspective of the character’s psyche.

^[1] Genesis 22:2

^[2] Rashi on Genesis 22:2 citing Genesis Rabbah 55:7

^[3] Aviva Zornberg “Lekh Lekha: Travails of Faith,” in Genesis: the Beginning of Desire. (Philadelphia: JPS, 1995), pg. 90.

It is now 16 years since I gave the Senior Sermon as a 5^th Year rabbinical student at the Jewish Theological Seminary. In honor of that event, I want to share one piece of my sermon this evening.

On his comment on the first verse “Go forth for yourself,” Rabbi Sholom Noach Berezovsky in his book Netivot Shalom comments “no person is like another” — from the moment of Adam’s creation, each person has their own destiny and role, and no one can fix what is the responsibility of another. In other words, each of us has our own, personal mission to fulfill in the world.

This text has brought me great comfort over the years, especially when I feel that I am in the midst of doldrum or stagnation. Remembering that we each are unique and have our own personal mission in this world often brings me energy. It reminds me of Pirkei Avot, the Ethics of the Fathers, that each of us must do our own portion of the work.

The next time you feel monotony or you are stuck, I hope you will reflect on this teaching of Rabbi Berezovsky and that it will help jumpstart you in life’s challenging moments.

With appreciation to Rabbi Philip Weintraub

In addition to being the 30^th anniversary of my Bar Mitzvah, it is first Yahrzeit of my hevruta, or study partner, Rabbi Mitch Chefitz, who began the Havurah of South Florida and who I met during my time in Miami. This is his most famous story, The Curse of Blessings, and also the title of his book. I shared several of his stories during the first 30 days after his passing, yet I saved this one for the High Holy Days. As Jews are often known by the most famous book they wrote, he said he would therefore be known as The Curse of Blessings.

The Curse of Blessings
 There was an Officer of the Law, a recent graduate, proud as you can imagine, in his uniform of blue with brass buttons and gold epaulets. He wore a hat with a plume and a sword with a gold and ivory handle. He was as pompous as could be. He was arrogant and bold and callous. Every letter of the alphabet served only to demonstrate his authority and exalt his being.

One day he was walking his beat and heard a commotion in an alley. He ventured into the darkness, and there in the distance saw a man in rags. “Come forward,” he commanded. “Come forward now!” But the man in rags did not come forward. “I am an Officer of the Law, and I command you, come forward!” 

The man in rags did not move. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and spoke, “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”

 “Do with me?” the Officer of the Law mocked. “Do with me? You don’t do with me! I do with you! I am an Officer of the Law, and I command you to come forward.”

“Now I know what to do with you,” the man in rags said, and as he spoke, he drew his sword. “Now I know what to do. Without further word he moved to attack. 

The Officer of the Law drew his own sword in defense. “Stop that!” he ordered. “Put your sword down right now!” But the man in rags did not stop. The officer of the Law had to parry thrusts left and right. “Stop!” he said again, but to no avail. The officer of the Law was forced to retreat. 

When it seemed the man in rags would prevail, he lowered his guard, and what the Officer of the Law had intended as a parry became a thrust. His sword ran through the man in rags. “I didn’t mean that,” the Officer of the Law said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Why didn’t you stop when I ordered you to? Why did you attack me?”

The man in rags waved the words away. “I am leaving you,” he said, “and as I do, I put upon you the Curse of Blessings.”

“What do you mean?” asked the Officer of the Law, now quite confused.

“The Curse of the Blessings. Every day you must say a new blessing, one you have never said before. On the day you do not say a new blessing, on that day you will die.”

The man in rags closed his eyes. The Officer of the Law looked about for help. There was none to be found. When he turned back, the man in rags had disappeared. He was gone. 

“It was a dream,” the Officer of the Law thought. “Only a dream, I imagined it.”

The time was late in the afternoon. The sun was setting. As much as the Officer of the Law tried to ignore his experience, he could not. The Jewish day ends with the sunset. The Officer of the Law felt his body growing cold and knew from the chill that his life was leaving him. In a panic, he uttered these words of blessing: “You are blessed, Lord our God, ruler of the universe, who has created such a beautiful sunset.” At once warmth and life flowed back into him. He realized, with both shock and relief, the curse had been for real. 

The next morning, he did not delay. He woke with words of blessing. “You are blessed that You allowed me to wake up this morning.” His life felt secure the entire day. The next morning, he blessed his ability to rise from his bed, the following day, that he could tie his shoes. 

Day after day he found abilities he could bless. That he could go to the bathroom, that he had teeth to brush, that each finger of his hands still worked, that he had toes on his feet and hair on his head. He blessed his clothes, every garment. He blessed his house, the roof and floor, his furniture, every table and chair. 

At last, he ran out of things to bless, so he began to bless relationships. He blessed his family and friends, fellow workers, and those who worked for him. He blessed the mailman and the clerks. He was surprised to find they appreciated the blessings. His words had power. They drew family and friends closer to him. Word went out that the Officer of the Law was a source of blessing. 

Years passed, decades. The Officer of the Law had to go farther afield to find new sources of blessing. He blessed city councils and university buildings, scientists, and their discoveries. As he traveled through the world he became in awe of its balance and beauty and blessed that. The more he learned, the more he had to bless. His life was long, and he had the opportunity to learn in every field. 

He passed the age of one hundred. Most of his friends were long gone. His time was relegated to searching for the purpose in his life and the one source from which all blessings flow. He had long since realized he was not the source but only the conduit, and even that realization was welcomed with a blessing that sustained him for yet another day. 

As he approached the age of one hundred and twenty, he considered that his life was long enough. Even Moses had not lived longer. On his birthday he made a conscious decision to utter no new blessing and allow his life to come to an end. Still, he could recite old blessings, and throughout the day, he received them, all the blessings for his body and his possessions, for relationships that spread throughout the world, for the awesome beauty and balance of creation, and for the deep resonance, the pulse of purpose that pervaded his very being. But no new blessing passed his lips. 

As the sun was setting, a chill progressed inward from his extremities. He did not resist it. In the twilight a figure appeared, the man in rags. “You!” the Officer of the Law exclaimed. “I have thought about you every day for a hundred years! I never meant to harm you. Please, forgive me.”

“You don’t understand,” said the man in rags. “You don’t know who I am, do you? I am the angel who was sent a hundred years ago to harvest your soul, but when I looked at you, so pompous and proud, there was nothing there to harvest. An empty uniform was all I saw. So, I put upon you the Curse of Blessings, and now look what you’ve become!”

The Officer of the Law grasped in an instant all that had happened and why. Overwhelmed he said, “You are blessed, my God, ruler of the universe, that You have kept me alive and sustained me so I could attain this moment.”

“Now look what you’ve done!” the man in rags said in frustration. “A new blessing!”

Life flowed back into the Officer of the Law, and he and the man in rags looked to each other, neither of them knowing quite what to do.

         What does this story teach us?  What lessons do we hear from these words?  While there are many, we could consider, the power of blessings, the influence of gratitude, the strength of attitude, the importance of kindness and humility, or even the danger of prejudice, I think the importance of gratitude might be the most important.

         We currently live in a world that seems “less than.”  Those retired on fixed income haver experienced the belt-tightening imposed by constant inflation, especially in grocery and gas prices.  Those working have seen raises disappear or even worse jobs, business and opportunities crumble.  We live in a world where college graduates have difficulty finding employment and spend more time in their childhood rooms than their parents expected. Some wonder if they will ever be able to afford the American Dream of buying a home.

         Yet amidst all this turmoil and uncertainty, we must remember how blessed we are. Without comparing ourselves to the huge numbers of people in this country and around the world with far greater difficulties, we can see in our own lives how blessed we are. 

         What I see in this story is the recognition of all the good in our lives.  While we may think of ourselves as optimists, pessimists, or realists, we have agency in how we respond to what is happening in our lives. Will we live longer if we say a blessing every day? Not necessarily, but how much more grateful we will feel! How much better our lives might seem! What will life be like if we say a blessing every day? Or 18 blessings? Or 100 blessings? This gratitude challenge is ours as we begin the new month or Marheshvan.

A television show entitled Crossing Over features John Edward, a self-proclaimed psychic medium, who says that his encounters between humans and those who have gone to the spirit world “is ‘driven by a belief in God: it’s energy from that force that allows us to connect with this energy.’^[1] Edward was convinced of his mediumship after a childhood encounter with a psychic reader. As he said,  “She told me things that there is no way she could have known. And the first part of the reading was that this was the path that I was supposed to be on and that I was supposed to be a teacher and help people-and I thought she was nuts.”^[2] I had a similar encounter with psychic John Roncz z”l which I spoke about 4 years ago on Shemini Atzeret Yizkor. Whether or not we believe in psychics, mediums, clairvoyance, clairsentience or signs or whether we think it’s all a hoax is not what is important to me. What is important is that not everything in our lives can be scientifically explained and the more scientists discover, the more they realize they don’t understand.

I chose this introduction because it reminded me of a story from Rachel Goldberg-Polin’s book When We See You Again that deeply connects to Yizkor. Rachel writes: Hersh was always curious about Germany and how it had changed since the war… [When] Hersh was sixteen and already involved with the Hapoel Jerusalem soccer team’s fan club, he was eager to meet the sister-city fan club members of the Werder Bremen soccer team, from Germany, when they came to Jerusalem for some collaborative programs with Hapoel.

Hersh was excited that he was part of the language glue connecting the Germans, Jews, and Arabs. The Germans all spoke English. The Jews and Arabs spoke Hebrew. But not everyone could translate between everyone. Hersh was the youngest, but fluent in both Hebrew and English, so he made many new friends that week. One of the projects the two clubs did together was to paint a giant mural with youth in the Arab neighborhood near our house in Jerusalem. It still stands there, on the wall under the bridge connecting Beit Safafa to Talpiot. …

Those friendships lasted and grew. The Germans [from Bremen] came back to Jerusalem regularly, and Hersh went to Bremen several times on his European adventures. 

In the summer of 2023, one of the Hapoel fan club members was getting married. About twenty of the Germans came for the wedding. Hersh asked if we could host a group of them for dinner one weeknight. 

It was a beautiful evening with perfect weather. We set a long table outside. Hersh and I cooked in the afternoon…. it was Hersh and me hosting a bevy of soccer fans from Bremen, and some of Hersh’s Hapoel pals came as well. 

We had such a lovely evening together. At one point the young German man across from me said how meaningful it was for all of them to have Jewish friends, and that no one eighty years ago in Bremen would have imagined it possible. 

Hersh had told me that on each of his four trips to Germany, it would inevitably come up that he was Jewish, and all of his non-Jewish German friends would talk about the Holocaust with such complicated feelings. He commented that they should not feel remorse for something their grandparents did, and that he was sad, but touched, that they felt the need to bring it up to him. Two of them had asked him to forgive them for “the sins of our grandfathers.” Hersh was insistent that he was not the right addressee and they were not the ones needing to ask forgiveness. I thought it was moving and sensitive of all of them. 

There is a gorgeous photo from the night of our dinner in August 2023. Hersh looks glorious, as do all those healthy and vibrant young people brimming with potential….  

Recently, on a Tuesday at two in the afternoon, [my husband] Jon, [our daughters] Leebie, Orly, and I… decided to go visit Hersh’s grave. I don’t go there often. I don’t need to go there to feel Hersh. And going to a child’s grave is puzzling, upside down and unraveling. But we went. 

As we were parking, we looked at the large area where Hersh is buried and saw two people standing over Hersh’s grave. They were putting something there. They were unfamiliar to us. I said I would wait in the car. 

Jon, Leebie, and Orly walked over to Hersh’s grave. Orly texted me right away, “Come.”… 

The young man and woman introduced themselves. They were Leonard and Alex, on vacation from Germany. They were staying in Tel Aviv, but had come that day for a Hapoel Jerusalem soccer game in the evening. So they came early to see Hersh. 

Leonard said, “We came to say thank you to Hersh for being our matchmaker.” 

Alex went on to explain, “When October 7th happened, one of my closest friends…. told me all about Hersh. I joined her from the start, attending vigils and gatherings to bring awareness about the hostages and specifically about Hersh.” 

…. Leonard went on to share that he had read articles about Hersh and started to come to the gatherings for the hostages [in Bremen]. It was there that he met Alex and heard more about Hersh. They would hold the poster with Hersh’s huge smile shining, with the word underneath: Entführt. Kidnapped. 

It was through the committed struggle to free Hersh that Alex and Leonard became close, and now they are a couple. 

In the Talmud it says that successful matchmaking is harder than the miracle of splitting the sea. Jewish folklore says that if someone matches three couples, that matchmaker gets a bonus place in the Garden of Eden when they go to The World to Come. 

Even though neither [Leonard nor Alex] … is Jewish, Leonard said he knew about that idea. He continued, “We know Hersh is already in the Garden of Eden, but because he successfully brought Alex and me together, we also know he has at least a third more of a portion.” 

Later, …we went back and read the note they had left on Hersh’s grave. [I]t had messages from each of them: 

[From Alex]: Dear Hersh, What a beautiful view you got from your place of rest. Wherever you are in spirit, I hope you are happy and that you get good reception to watch the soccer games. 

[From Leonard]: Thank you for inspiring me to fight for light, love and peace. 

[Rachel continues]: I imagine Alex and Leonard one day telling their grandchildren about the forever boy who was their matchmaker. Those grandchildren who would not be if they had not met during a dark time when the world was breaking. And I imagine that one day, those grandchildren will save the world, and then all will be illuminated. 

Hersh managed to do something harder than splitting the sea, all the way from the Garden of Eden.    

Well done, sweet boy. What else will you do from there?^[3]

I share Rachel’s story because it reminds us that those taken from us might be able to make profound impacts through their legacies. One of the central teachings of Judaism, and one that I find challenging, is that things happen for a reason, even if we don’t know what that reason is until years later…or even if we never know. One of the best ways by which to remember our loved ones is to tell their stories, share their values and keep their legacies alive. That is what I hope we will strive to do when these holidays end tomorrow night. Through honoring the lives they lived, we keep them alive, near and dear in our hearts.

^[1] Edward, John (2001). Crossing Over. Jodere Group. p. 21. ISBN 1-58872-002-0.

^[2] “John Edward: An Alleged Psychic Who Claims to Communicate With the Dead”. CNN. Larry King Live. June 19, 1998. Archived from the original on February 20, 2003.

^[3] Rachel Goldberg Polin, When We See You Again (New York: Random House, 2026), pgs. 246-52.

There’s something about the sunflower. Something wild and something free. Something beautiful to learn and something beautiful to see.

There’s something about the way her eyes stay fixed upon the light. As though she knows she needs her Maker and it brings Him great delight.

And I think God knew a yellow flower would remind us we’re enough. That a joyful disposition can get us through the rough.

And even in her final days when her head is hung down low, she’s preparing all her little seeds to scatter and regrow.^[1]

Life’s not fair. I wish it were otherwise, but it’s not. You can be in your 20s, the prime of life, and fatally hit by a car. You can be in your 60s, completely healthy, and then be diagnosed with metastatic cancer. Where is God in this? Does God really exist?

I will not be using examples from our congregation because they are too raw. Instead with the permission of a family, I will be going back in time 15 years to my first year working full-time as a rabbi. In my first three months of work I had 2 congregants and a fellow clergy diagnosed with serious medical conditions. All of them were under the age of 30. With the permission of the parents of one of them, I will tell her story. Anna was a woman with a larger-than-life personality. When I met her she lad lost 90 pounds and taken up running. I remember going with her one Sunday morning and getting discouraged by Sabino Canyon. As I was still going up, she started heading down. I said “I’m going to turn back” to which she replied “The turnaround is right around that bend.” That was Anna. She ran the Saguaro 8 mile run with me and then ran the Tucson half marathon the day after Yom Kippur. On Yom Kippur she discovered a protrusion on her leg, which she had checked out after the half marathon. To her shock it was rhabdomyosarcoma, a rare, aggressive soft-tissue cancer that generally formed in children. Had Anna not lost the weight, she likely would not have noticed the protrusion.

         I visited Anna in the hospital numerous times over the next year and a half. I remember the sign on her door, “No pity parties.” As she weakened her Annatude, a term Rabbi Yisroel “Billy” Lewkowicz coined based on her positivity and strength,^[2] never wavered. That term, while still not adopted into Webster’s Dictionary, became part of the tikkun middot program at Tucson Hebrew Academy, helping students work on managing their emotions through social-emotional learning.

         I found out that Anna died just before I had to go to afternoon minyan after which another congregant “redeemed himself” in a ceremony called pidyon haben. His parents did not know about such a ceremony so they did not do it for him when he was 31 days old as is customary. Therefore he did it for himself, exchanging 5 silver dollars with a Kohen in order to be “redeemed.” I had to figure out how to be present at this joyous moment in this congregant’s life while dealing with the shock of Anna’s passing at 28 years of age. I struggle with compartmentalization and do not have a poker face, qualities which would be ideal for a rabbi to have, but I did my best.

         At Anna’s funeral I read the poem “The Sunflower” you just heard, after her favorite flower. Anna’s family at the end of her life gave me a book entitled Friends: The Family We Choose for Ourselves, which I still have here. The inscription reads as follows “I love you forever and forever. You are loved.” Anna Greenberg 2013. I treasure this book to this day.

         So much of life is beyond our control. We hate uncertainty, like making meaning and creating rationalizations. Yet despite great advances of knowledge there will always be things that don’t make sense. In the story The Odyssey by Homer, Odysseus killed the cyclops, son of Poseidon, the God of the ocean. Poseidon took vengeance on Odysseus’ men until Odysseus was the only one left. He landed on an island with the goddess Calypso, where he stayed for 7 years. When he wanted to leave, Calypso said the following to him, as adapted in the new Christopher Nolan adaptation: “You’re a man who needs to control his fate. But you cannot control this. You must give yourself to the storm. Give yourself to Poseidon. Zeus won’t let him kill you. Give up the fight. Give up control and live. It’s a leap of faith you’ve never yet made Odysseus.”

         Does this justify the death of all of Odysseus’ death? Absolutely not, just as it is blasphemous for us to justify the death of all our loved ones. We see the condemnation that comes from the Almighty when Job’s friends attempt to rationalize his fate. Surrendering to the unknown is very difficult to do especially when one is angry or when s/he does not believe in God. Yet surrendering to a higher authority is what Yom Kippur is all about. When we prostrate ourselves in the grand Aleinu, we declare in Rabbi Mordecai Kaplan’s words a “declaration of dependence.”^[3] We recognize our own mortality and do a dress rehearsal for death, not eating or drinking, having sex or putting on perfume. We recognize that life, with all the wonder and privileges it offers, may be taken from us the next day. It is crucial for us to never take things for granted and to live each and every day to the fullest.

This past December, former Congressman and President of the University of Florida Ben Sasse wrote the following: “”This is a tough note to write, but since a bunch of you have started to suspect something, I’ll cut to the chase: Last week I was diagnosed with metastasized, stage-four pancreatic cancer, and am gonna die.”^[4] Towards the end of his post, Ben wrote the following: “I’ll have more to say. I’m not going down without a fight. One sub-part of God’s grace is found in the jawdropping advances science has made the past few years in immunotherapy and more. Death and dying aren’t the same-the process of dying is still something to be lived.”^[5] An important lesson. Yes stage 4 pancreatic cancer is a death sentence. At the same time, Ben Sasse has committed to living each moment to the fullest extent possible, even when directly in the process of dying.

For when someone dies I turn to words by Rachel Goldberg-Polin Rachel Goldberg-Polin in her book When We See You Again writes that the best words of comfort came from a Jerusalem college student, “What can we do to ease your pain?”^[6] Some would not find these words comforting, for the one thing that would ease the pain is to bring a loved one back, and that is not something that can be done. Yet Rachel comes back to that theme when she discusses shiva when someone asked her “what can we do to be helpful?”^[7]Perhaps the answer is nothing at the moment, perhaps it is that one’s mere presence is a source of comfort. In either event, Rachel’s main point, as echoed through the Mussar master Shlomo Wolbe, is that the most complicated of disciplines is seeing “what does this person need?” rather than “what do I imagine I would need in that person’s situation?”^[8]

         What does this have to do with us you might ask. For that I need to take you back 22 years when my parents asked the rabbi of my home congregation to do a mock interview with me for rabbinical school. It was not a positive experience, yet one question he asked while modeling for an interviewer I will never forget. It was “Suppose a woman comes to you and says ‘Rabbi I have cancer. Why did God do this to me? I’m a good person, and I see all these bad people who were are prospering. Where’s God?’” I was flummoxed and responded poorly, perhaps trying to rationalize the situation. The rabbi said, “No! You say the following: ‘I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but I’m here for you.’ Let religion be part of the solution rather than part of the problem.” I was choking back tears after this answer as I am very sensitive by nature and struggle with feedback. Yet 22 years later I see that he was right. There are no words other than “I’m here for you.” No advising, fixing or correcting. What matters is being present.

         This is what we do when we come together for Yizkor. We mourn as a community for the lives loss and hold each other, whether physically with loved ones or spiritually as a congregational family.

         I would be remiss if I ended the sermon here. We are a diverse congregation, and we come to this service in a myriad of personal and emotional states. Now I want to speak to those to whom my comments did not relate. Perhaps you are over the moon, whether from being in a serious relationship, a new job, a new child. In which case-mazal tov! I’d love to know about your simcha to the extent which you feel comfortable sharing.

Perhaps you are struggling but in a different way: you can’t economically make things meet despite prudent budgeting or you are at a crossroads in life and don’t know which way to go. Perhaps you are struggling because of domestic abuse, infertility or contemplation of a divorce. Perhaps you bring to this moment something I did not mention yet which is equally important. Whatever the situation, I want you to know that I am here for you as your rabbi to the extent you want to let me in. Some people are private, and that is to be respected. With that being said, if you ever feel you have nowhere to turn I want you to know that you can come to me on a confidential basis, and if it is beyond my knowledge I would refer you to someone else, perhaps someone in our Nehama group or another trained professional. You do not need to suffer alone. If I learned anything from community organizing while in rabbinical school and in my early years as a rabbi, it is that society often makes us feel that we are the only ones with a particular problem, and that is rarely the case.

As we prepare to say Yizkor I want to conclude with words from Mary Oliver from her poem “The Summer Day.”

Who made the world?

Who made the swan, and the black bear?

Who made the grasshopper?

This grasshopper, I mean—

the one who has flung herself out of the grass,

the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,

who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—

who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.

Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.

Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.

I don't know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

—Mary Oliver

^[1] Ullie-Kaye, “The Sunflower”

^[2] The term “Annatude” was coined on September 26, 2012, the Yom Kippur after Anna discovered the protrusion in her leg. After the Neilah service, Rabbi Billy said “More than an amazing attitude, Ann, you have ANNATUDE!”

^[3] Rabbi Mordecai M. Kaplan The Condition of Jewish Belief: A Symposium (NY: Macmillan, 1966), pg. 130.

^[4] Ben Sasse note on X.

^[5] Ibid

^[6] Page 59

^[7] Page 92

^[8] Page 101.

Do our lives have meaning? We are blessed to live at a time when technology and innovation are developing at a rapid rate-so much so that a prominent scientist argues that in 19 years we will reach the singularity, where artificial intelligence (AI) will improve itself autonomously, past any rate of human control and prediction.^[1] As scary as this might be, look at the advancements in the past couple of years. We have the blessing (or curse, depending on your perspective) of self-driving cars on our roads in Sacramento. We have AI as the go-to for questions we type into our search engines. The newest version of the iPhone or Android has features that couldn’t have been dreamed of 5-7 years ago. Yet I must ask again-do our lives have meaning? Do we wake up in the morning feeling that we have purpose in what we are doing?

One of the most mind-blowing conversations I had this year was during Shabbat Torah Study. It was about the neuroscience of hard determinism, that while our choices feel free, they are actually the result of our brain chemistry, past experiences and genes. In Germany, when people were hooked up to electrodes, the scientists could see their neurons making a signal before a choice was made.^[2] This idea of determinism was foreign to me because the vast majority of Jewish philosophers throughout history have believed in free will, or at the very least, compatibilism between free will and determinism. After the Torah Study, I read a sizable portion of Robert Sapolsky’s book Determined: A Science of Life without Free Will.^[3] The most compelling part of the discussion for me was someone asserting, “I still live my life as if I have free will.” This was compelling because if I live my life as if it’s predetermined, rather than as each moment having multiple possibilities, I personally would see every single choice as being arbitrary or insignificant, and I would very quickly go down the rabbit hole of “What’s this life for?” 

In her new book The Mattering Instinct: How Our Deepest Longing Drives Us and Divides Us, Rebecca Newberger Goldstein, who grew up in an Orthodox Jewish family and now describes herself as “an atheist with a soul,”^[4] writes that “we are creatures of matter who long to matter.”^[5] She discusses the human desire to resist entropy. Entropy was defined by the German physicist Rudolph Clausius not as chaos or disorder but rather as change from within. In Greek, “Trope” means transformation and “en” means within. Transformation from within is what this High Holy Day Season is all about. 

 Newberger Goldstein determines 4 archetypes through which individuals seek to matter: the socializer, the heroic striver, the competitive striver, and the spiritualist transcender. Note that spiritualist is only 1 of her 4 paths through which to find meaning in the world. Many nonbelievers have done much good in the world, an example being Jonah Platt, who enhances Jewish pride in his podcast Being Jewish. In a recent episode, Platt said, “I wish I believed in God completely. I recognize the great comfort believing in the divine presence provides. Who wouldn’t want to feel guided by a sense of order in a chaotic universe? A higher power in a world full of trials and dangers? Our mortality can be terrifying to face. So who wouldn’t want to believe in a spiritual realm waiting for us on the other side? I wish I did. But at least today, I don’t. I believe when the lights go out, that’s it.”^[6] I have no basis by which to argue with Platt, nor do I with a Holocaust survivor in our congregation who told me emphatically that there is no God. I respect everyone’s right to believe what they believe.

At the beginning of my remarks I asked do our lives have meaning? The answer is that they have whatever meaning we ascribe to them. As Newberger Goldstein asserts, part of the human condition is not only striving to survive and thrive but also “striving after an existence that we deem to be meaningful in our own eyes.”^[7] Whatever you believe, I hope you find comfort here at Mosaic Law Congregation, where we certainly don’t have all the answers for seekers yet we are striving to grow in our learning and have it lead us toward becoming better versions of ourselves.

^[1] See Ray Kurzweil, The Singularity is Near  and The Singularity is Nearer.

^[2] Do We Have Free Will? The Brain-Computer Duel – Neuroscience News

^[3] Published by Penguin Random House LLC in 2023

^[4] In Closer to Truth PBS Series hosted by Robert Lawrence Kuhn. April 26, 2026,  “Why Mattering Matters” https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=REB2DCjIGxE&ra=m

^[5] Rebecca Neuberger Goldstein The Mattering Instinct: How Our Deepest Longing Drives Us and Divides Us (NY: Liveright Publishing Corporation, 2026), pg. 29.

^[6] Being Jewish with Jonah Platt: Can You Be Jewish and NOT Believe in God? (Replay), Aug 13, 2026 https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/being-jewish-with-jonah-platt/id1767185986?i=1000783090413&r=102

^[7] The Mattering Instinct, pg. 1.