Year: 2026

Comforting the Afflicted and Afflicting the Comfortable

Rabbi Ben Herman

What would it mean to live
in a city whose people were changing
each other’s despair into hope? –
You yourself must change it. –
What would it feel like to know
your country was changing? –
You yourself must change it. –
Though your life felt arduous
new and unmapped and strange
what would it mean to stand on the first
page of the end of despair?[1]

A rabbi’s job sometimes reflects a quotation that the fictional Irish immigrant bartender Mr. Dooley gave about newspapers: “to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.”[2] In this sermon I am going to start with the latter and then end with the former.

 It’s not an easy time to be Jewish. During the past year, we saw a truck ramming at a large suburban synagogue in Michigan. We witnessed a gentleman accost worshippers on a Friday night at a Manhattan synagogue. We recoiled at the stabbing of a Jew with a screwdriver outside a synagogue on Tisha B’Av, one of the 70 percent of July New York City hate crimes targeted against Jews.[3] Closer to home, we saw a man enter a Carmichael synagogue on a Friday night and put a box with wires on the bimah during the silent Amidah. No synagogue is safe from this hatred, which is why we now have 2 guards, one of whom is armed, every week at Shabbat services and whenever children are present. 

We know that this is not a new phenomenon, yet we might be surprised that antisemitism, while found more in the open now than it was for a long time, always existed in America. Pamela Nadell in her new book Antisemitism: An American Tradition, starts with Dutch politician Peter Stuyvesant wanting to kick out the first Jews to arrive in New Amsterdam, now known as New York, from Recife, Brazil in 1654. As Stuyvesant wrote, this “deceitful race, such hateful enemies and blasphemers of the name of Christ, be not allowed further to infect and trouble this new colony.”[4] Stuyvesant tried to expel the Jewish immigrants, but he was overruled. Ironically, Stuyvesant high school in Manhattan was 90 percent Jewish in the 1950s.

 Of course, this didn’t begin with Stuyvesant. Jews were kicked out of England, France, Portugal and Spain, among others, all of which utilized prejudices from the Christian Bible to demonize and distort our people, who better convert to be saved from the fires of Hell.[5] The blood libel, stemming from Thomas of Monmouth in 1144, that Jews killed children and baked their blood into matzah,[6] found its way into Trent and Damascus, amongst other places, and led to organized pogroms against Jewish communities. This claim might sound ludicrous but was bolstered by Jewish apostates wanting to appease their new co-religionists. 

 Nadell continues that we cannot forget antisemitic tropes related to Jewish avarice and money, stemming from Jesus seeing Jewish money changers turning the Temple into “a den of thieves” and decisively knocking over their tables and kicking them out.[7] Judas the Jew would betray Jesus and get thirty pieces of silver for his evil deed.[8] It doesn’t take much to see the Shylock demanding his “pound of flesh” from Antonio for the money he lent.

This American tradition of antisemitism morphed over the years. It was certainly masked by the establishment clause in the first amendment and by Washington’s letter to the Touro Synagogue, part of which I read during our semiquincentennial celebration on July 4th Shabbat

Above all. We are blessed to live in a country that established freedom of religion in its first clause of the Bill of Rights. Yet we cannot forget that Alexander Hamilton, of musical and $10 bill fame, smeared an opponent as “Shylock the Jew,” and authors like Maria Edgeworth who in her book The Absentee portrayed Jews as “cruel and rapacious” with a villain Mr. Mordicai chasing debtors to their deathbeds.[9] Baron Rothschild was accused by Mississippi’s governor of having “the blood of Judas and of Shylock flow in his veins.”[10] I could go on with Professor Nadell’s examples, including General and Future President Ulysses S Grant expelling Jews from his military district of parts of Tennessee, Missouri and Kentucky during the Civil War or of the newspaper articles of “Jewish criminals who would not hesitate to break into houses and stores, pluck Gentiles’ pockets, or even ‘plunge a knife into the breast of his fellow.’”[11] Don’t get me started on Henry Ford, who became fodder for Adolf Hitler, may his name be obliterated. I could also give a whole sermon on the disgraceful comparisons between Israel and the Nazis. Israel is a country that is flawed like any other, and I will give a critique of an action taken by Israeli settlers in my remarks tomorrow. With that being said, it is most certainly not engaging in a genocide or final solution, as one might see on Tik Tok or through the algorithms developed by generative AI.

All is not lost, however. Dara Horn, who likes bold, provocative titles for her books, recently wrote a new one entitled The Final Solution to the Jewish Question: A Love Story for the Living. She recalls having been asked by many people after her previous book what to do about the increasing antisemitism and strives to give answers here, though she admits the title is sardonic.[12] The problem Dara sees is that American Jews have chosen to define Judaism as a religion rather than as a people. While not proposing any one solution, Horn advocates that we must reframe Jewish civilization as “a 3000-year-old anti-tyrannical movement.”[13] She wants us to teach Jewish living identity, rather than outsourcing Jewish education to passive trends or hiding behind universal safety nets. One of the dangers she sees with assimilation is trying to accommodate antisemitism in hopes we will be liked by others; instead, we should focus on fighting the lies that are behind antisemitism. Horn argues that the American Jewish community has “unconsciously accepted the assumption that we need to have no agency, but in reality, agency is the only reason we’re here today.”[14]

Above all, Horn asserts that we need to reject fatalism-the idea that antisemitism is predetermined and will always be there. Her solution is not a list of policy points but rather about the story we need to tell about how Judaism has survived by defying the dominant empires of the day through maintaining our faith, our culture, and our peoplehood. While she admits the battles are difficult, Horn believes we can fight against “the world’s oldest hatred” which is predicated on “the big lie” that “Jews destroy whatever you value the most.”[15]

Horn’s words remind me a statement Rabbi Shaul Robinson made at the Zionist Rabbis’ seminar. He asserted, “We must not internalise antisemitism and antizionism [16]״.When we hear the same lie time and time again we become victims of the illusory truth effect, that we believe the lie is real. As Dara Horn reminded me, many of the phrases heard by antizionists today, that “Zionism is racism, genocide, apartheid and colonialism” originated in the Soviet Union during the 1960s and 70s as part of its Cold War propaganda. She implores us to step away from the lachrymose version of Jewish history and an overemphasis on Holocaust education because that is a the least interesting thing about us; what is far more interesting is Jewish resilience through conscious choices against the dominant society. As Horn asserts, “we are actually the choosing people”[17] and those who choose to embrace Judaism are the ones who have survived.

Now that I’ve afflicted the comfortable it’s time to comfort the afflicted. How can we feel hope with the rise of antisemitism? In past years I spoke about maintaining Jewish pride and resilience, which remain important topics. This year, I want to focus on recognizing that we have friends in unexpected places, and we play a role in cultivating allies. In July, the British singer Boy George released a pro-Israel AI-generated reggae song “We Will Dance Again,” inspired by the Nova music festival. His song begins, “You say genocide, I say war” and continues “Does it get ugly? Yes, it does. When I know you want to kill every last one of us.” Boy George continues, “But if you’re ever confused, I stand with the truth. I don’t feel brave I just need to behave like a human.” Wonderful Jewish words, except Boy George is not Jewish. George Alan O’Dowd was raised Irish Catholic and has since embraced Nichiren Buddhism. Since creating the song, Boy George has faced dire consequences, having to step down from a West End role in (ironically) Jesus Christ Superstar, losing his record label manager and getting banned from the music platform Bandcamp. Yet he has cast his lot with the Jewish people.

We also cannot forget that when the antisemites strike, people in unexpected places sometimes stand up. Remember the first night of Hanukkah celebration last December at Bondi Beach. 15 people lost their lives, and it would have almost certainly been dozens more had it not been for a 42-year-old Muslim fruit seller and father of two named Ahmed al-Ahmed. Ahmed jumped on the back of one of the two gunmen, tackled him and wrestled away his long-barrelled gun. The price he paid was multiple arm wounds from the other assailant. His goal, as he asserted when interviewed, was to “stop the terrorism and stop the hate.”[18]

What are the simple steps that we can take in 5787 to cultivate more allies like Boy George and Ahmed al-Ahmed? There are genuine fears with the rise of antisemitism, which is often couched behind antizionism. Rather than focus on those detractors who offer hate, I choose to concentrate on those who can offer love. That is why it is so important to me to participate in the Sacramento Act Clergy Council as well as to meet with clergy leaders from the Interfaith Council of Greater Sacramento and give tours of our campus to those from other faith traditions. Boy George on his own will not save us, but maybe 1 million, 2 million or 10 million Boy Georges might. In the spirit of afflicting the comfortable, what is our responsibility in that direction, and what steps will we take in 5787 to join the Jewish Community Relations Council in building relationships with philosemites? 

I ask each of us to commit to this cause. My classmate Philip Weintraub is giving out to his congregation this year this lapel pin (show pin) stating הנני. I choose to translate as “HERE I AM-ready, willing and able.”  I am considering purchasing similar pins for Mosaic Law Congregation if there is sufficient interest. Regardless, may we proudly come forward and say הנני, building bridges with others during Jewish New Year 5787. Speaking of which, please stay and hear Rabbi Cantor Reuven Taff beautifully chant the הנני prayer.

[1] “Dreams Before Waking” by Adrienne Rich FEBRUARY 10, 2021 / JANFALLS

[2] Mr. Dooley is a fictional character created by journalist and humorist Finley Peter Dunne. This quotation comes from one of Dunne’s newspaper columns in 1902.

[3] Times of Israel Daily Briefing Aug 17, 2026

[4] Pamala S. Nadell Antisemitism: An American Tradition (New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 2025), pg. 12-13.

[5] Ibid, pg. 29.

[6] Ibid, 30.

[7] Ibid. 31

[8] Ibid

[9] Ibid, 522-53.

[10] Ibid, 56.

[11] Ibid, 63.

[12] Identity Crisis podcast with Yehuda Kurtzer September 1, 2026.

[13] Ask Haviv Anything podcast August 19, 2026.

[14] Dara Horn, Rabbinical Assembly Talk, August 25, 2026.

[15] Ibid

[16] Zionist Rabbis High Holiday Seminar August 17, 2026.

[17] Rabbinical Assembly Webinar with Dara Horn, 8/25/26

[18] Bondi Beach hero Ahmed al Ahmed: I just wanted to protect ‘innocent people’ | The Times of Israel

25th Anniversary of 9/11

Rabbi Ben Herman , , , , ,

         I will never forget that fateful Tuesday morning. I was walking down B-wing at Nicolet High School in Milwaukee between 1st and 2nd periods during my senior year. I noticed that there were televisions outside classrooms-very odd as I had never seen that before-and there were people standing outside the classrooms watching. I started watching just as the 2nd tower was hit, recoiling at seeing the fire and smoke. Since then I have lived in New York City and have visited the Freedom Tower and the 9/11 Memorial and Museum.

         September 11th impacts people differently. When I lived on Long Island, a young man was memorialized every year, the son of congregants who worked at Cantor-Fitzgerald law firm. Many New Yorkers were struggling with survivors’ guilt, as they were a few minutes late to work that day. Others were in the wrong place at the wrong time. I remember the valiant first responders, the firefighters and EMTs, who ran into the inferno to try to save people’s lives. I remember the hospital workers who worked tirelessly to save lives. We must honor our heroes, including those who perished on that infamous day.

         Rosh Hashanah is an opportunity to strive to find a balance between remembering the past while concurrently being in the here-and-now. That is what we are asked to do every year, especially so when our very freedom as proud Americans came under attack. Each year before this one I have told a story on Erev Rosh Hashanah. The story I was planning to tell this year is my mentor’s magnum opus, I will save it for his first Yahrzeit, Shabbat Bereshit. Tonight, I want to leave us with how we should move forward in a world that reminds us that people hate us and want to take away many of the freedoms that we cherish. 

The poem “Walking a Narrow Bridge,” by Rabbi Joy Levitt, was written 1 year after the attack on the Twin Towers. I have chosen to conclude tonight’s remarks with it because in a world full of uncertainty, the most important thing is, as Rabbi Levitt asserts, “to find the very best within all of us” rather than giving into fear or despair.

Walking a Narrow Bridge

Rabbi Joy Levitt

Kol ha-olam kulo gesher tzar m’od

The whole world is a narrow bridge.

Today we walk that narrow bridge,

ever aware of the chasms on either side of us.

We know what is below us, around us.

It is violence, hopelessness, the death of the future.

Kol ha-olam kulo gesher tzar m’od 
The whole world is a narrow bridge.

We know how narrow is the pathway on which we walk,

how rickety the bridge feels under our step.

How little room there seems to be to maneuver; to change direction.

Kol ha-olam kulo gesher tzar m’od 
The whole world is a narrow bridge.

And we are all on it. The whole world.

Our friends and our enemies and all of our children.

All of our Children.

Kol ha-olam kulo gesher tzar m’od.

V’ha-ikar lo lifachayd klal

The whole world is a narrow bridge.

And the ikar — and the essential thing — is not to be afraid at all.

Because a greater danger than everything that lies around us and beneath us is the fear that paralyzes us, that causes us to stop in our tracks, unable to go back, afraid to go forward.

At this moment when we are most afraid,

when everything we see and hear is so very frightening,

when we are on the narrowest of narrow bridges,

it is at this moment that we hold onto the ikar,

the essential truth that fear robs us of hope.

Fear stops us from moving forward.

Kol ha-olam kulo gesher tzar m’od.

V’ha-ikar lo lifachayd klal.

The whole world is a narrow bridge.

And the essential thing is not to be afraid at all.

To find the very best within us.

To find the very best within all of us.

However hard it is. However long it takes.

Eglah Arufah

Rabbi Ben Herman , , , , , ,

         Our Torah portion, Shoftim, ends on a strange hypothetical situation. A person is slain and found lying in the open with the slayer unknown. In such a situation, the elders and magistrates were commanded to go out to measure the distance from the corpse to the nearby towns. Then they took a heifer, which had never worked and brought it to an everflowing wadi, which had never been tilled or sown. There they broke the heifer’s neck. All the elders of the town nearest to the corpse washed their hands over the heifer and declared, “Our hands did not shed this blood, nor did our eyes see it done. Absolve, O God, Your people Israel whom You redeemed, and do not let guilt for the blood of the innocent remain among your people Israel.” Those elders were then absolved for the death of the corpse in their midst.[1]

         These 9 verses are very mystifying. Why did this ritual of the eglah arufah, the calf with the broken neck, have to be done? How did the killing of an animal in such a vicious fashion expiate for the killing of a person? Why were the elders of the nearest town, which might be quite a distance away, presumed to be at fault for the death of an unknown individual?

         The rabbis of Talmud Sotah were perplexed by the last question. They asked, “How would it rise on our hearts that the elders of the court are bloodshedders?!” The answer given is that the elders asserted that they did not see a stranger walking alone and not offer him an escort.[2] That by itself makes sense. What is perplexing is that 8 folio pages later, Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi said, “a man who no is walking on the road and does not have an escort should occupy himself with Torah.”[3] Does that mean that Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi considered the deceased to not have been studying Torah? What hutzpah to presume this and what nivul hameit, desecration of the dead!

         But wait-there’s more! Rabbi Yohanan said in the name of Rabbi Meir, “Anyone who does not accompany another or who does not permit himself to be accompanied is as if he spills blood. For if indeed the men of Jericho had accompanied Elisha (the prophet), he would not have incited the bears against the children. As it is said, ‘From there he went up to Beitel. As he was going up the road, some little boys came out of the town and jeered at him saying ‘Go away, baldhead! Go away, baldhead!’”[4] That’s boys being boys right? Not from Elisha’s perspective. He did not take kindly to being insulted by these youths, and he cursed them in God’s name. Two she-bears came out of the woods and mauled 24 of the children. Rabbi Meir opines that Elisha’s wrath would have been averted if there had been someone going with him who would have stayed his hand.

         What lesson do we take from these texts as we enter the month of Elul? This is a time to be mindful of our actions, especially those which lead to bad habits and destructive outcomes. Are there modifications we can make so that the outcome might be different? Perhaps we are going it alone in a difficult moment and could turn to someone to accompany us. Maybe we habitually respond out of accusation or out of anger like Elisha did and can engage help to become more skillful. One of life’s greatest challenges is to recognize that how we react and what we do is far more in our control than we think. It is easier said than done, yet by taking small steps throughout this month, we can gradually change for the better and influence the outcome. Above all, let us strive that no negligence occurs on our account, like the situation in our portion that led to the death of a man and a calf being killed to make atonement for it. While we thankfully do not sacrifice animals in this way today, we still need to compensate to rectify damage which was done on our watch. May we learn from this lesson and make it our own as we approach new year 5787.

[1] Deuteronomy 21:1-9

[2] Bavli Sotah 38a

[3] Bavli Sotah 46b

[4] 2 Kings 2:23

Humanity is the Trees of the Field

Rabbi Ben Herman

         An interesting ruling in this week’s parsha is “when you siege a city you may eat of the fruit trees but not cut them down, for are the trees of the field like men who can flee from you before a siege?”[1] The Hebrew is כי האדם עץ השדה, and a beautiful Israeli song was produced by Shalom Hanoch with that as the chorus in 1983.[2] Once can wish (as I do) that the Bible voiced the same level of concern about the other nations. Nevertheless, I think there is a lesson to be learned in being mindful of our environment and not needlessly destroying, especially items that bear fruit. We live in a state that produces over one-third of the United States’ total fruit, vegetables and nuts, and it is important that we maintain that beauty for generations yet to come. 

[1] Deuteronomy 20:19

[2]https://www.google.com/search?rlz=1C1CHBF_enUS1012US1012&sca_esv=c0e01933550a57b0&sxsrf=APpeQnvduJzNkGPLKo6XdqqwsYM8GoPnuA:1786127475656&q=%D7%9B%D7%99+%D7%94%D7%90%D7%93%D7%9D+%D7%A2%D7%A5+%D7%94%D7%A9%D7%93%D7%94+%D7%9E%D7%99%D7%9C%D7%99%D7%9D&si=APenkKnKBEUauq4uTtUY4jfHLnqFuwjYstKqhPBfybgq7STLIjPYw55Ta3dja4ujVQ8Hq9BgRKPtP-YW0fyMifnfwvdIm4IIS_NeKZdq7kizGrRV4IWUsEoVz9mhMwHs0mHVjwGSLG1_4_ilNPwSurYnok7YNR4IgqeOn64yuEfTX34SivTkykdfN2kVkz-naIbkW-k-XUo8TmGwH_0rDTMhcJRYu52VJw%3D%3D&sa=X&sqi=2&ved=2ahUKEwjg1tatk4-WAxUNCjQIHW8nGjAQyNoBKAB6BAgWEAA&ictx=1&biw=1920&bih=953&dpr=1

Equanimity

Rabbi Ben Herman , , , ,

         Parshat Eikev teaches us the importance of the Mussar midah, or character attribute, of השתלוות, having equanimity. Through Moses, God warns us not to say in one’s heart וְאָמַרְתָּ֖ בִּלְבָבֶ֑ךָ כֹּחִי֙ וְעֹ֣צֶם יָדִ֔י עָ֥שָׂה לִ֖י אֶת־הַחַ֥יִל הַזֶּֽה׃ “ My own power and the might of my own hand have won this wealth for me.”[1] What is the problem with saying this? After all, we were commanded to work by the sweat of our brows and look at all we have accomplished with our lives! Parshat Ekev warns us time and time again that we accomplish nothing without God’s will. One such verse reads “When God has thrust them (enemy nations) from your path, say not to yourselves, ‘God has enable us to possess this land because of our virtues’; it is rather because of the wickedness of those nations that God is dispossessing them before you.’”[2] Another verse asserts “as long as I have known you, you have been defiant towards God.”[3] One would conclude from these verses that we are problematic-just not as problematic as the other nations!

         Much of Deuteronomy centers on the same theme: if you obey God’s commandments you get rewarded; if you disobey, you get punished. The second paragraph of the Shema, excised from Reform prayerbooks, maintains this very theme. Regardless of whether we believe this, or rather that we should obey because it makes us feel better or because it’s the right thing to do, we need to reckon with this theme. The way I choose to do so is to remind myself not to let things get to my head.

         Ramban in his commentary on the verse writes as follows: “you should remember G-d Who brought you forth from Egypt where you had no power or might of hand at all. You should further remember that He provided all your needs for you in the wilderness, where you had nought in the power of thy hand to survive. If so [concerning] this wealth which you have won by your strength as well, [you should bear in mind that] it is G-d Who gave you the power [that was necessary for you] to accumulate the wealth.”[4] The Hasidic commentator Mei HaShiloach takes this idea further, asserting that the reason that God made us need to eat and drink is so that we will remember Him through blessings rather than think that it is only through our own strength that we have food on the table.[5]

         The other side of the coin, however, is towards the beginning of the portion, when we say in our hearts, ‘seeing that these nations are more numerous than I, how can I dispossess them?’ to which God replies through Moses, ‘Do not be afraid.’[6] Rashi points out that the word for ‘when’ כי has multiple uses, and that he thinks the better translation here is ‘maybe or perhaps’[7] that we become paralyzed and feel that we cannot accomplish things. The Hasidic commentator Kedushat Levi asserts that “Rashi has touched on an important psychological ‎principle, namely that whenever we encounter some difficulty in ‎carrying out God’s commandments, (i.e. serving God with all our ‎heart,) fear is the greatest enemy to serving G’d wholeheartedly. If ‎we can resist fear, God will help us to overcome any of these ‎supposed difficulties to serving God.[8] In other words, don’t say in your heart “I can’t do this” just as you should not say in your heart “I did this all by myself.”

         The middle path of equanimity is what is most important. Having calmness, composure and evenness of temper, rather than haughtiness or self-effacement is what we need to strive towards. As in the well-known axiom by Alan Morinis on humility, we should occupy “no more than our place, no less than our space. Whether or not one believes in the biblical system of reward and punishment, we can and should recognize the gift of life as coming from God as well as the fact that we can accomplish or endure far more than we believe. This is not meant as an excuse or as a rationalization for suffering but rather as being able to take the opportunity to find balance between hubris and self-effacement. As we see from life, when people get overconfident, bad things happen; when people get paralyzed and don’t act, it stops the potential good from occurring. The choice is in our hands-may it be our will to choose wisely.

[1] Deuteronomy 8:17

[2] Deuteronomy 9:4

[3] Deuteronomy 9:24

[4] Ramban on Deuteronomy 8:18 ד”ה וזכרת את ה אלקיך. Translation by Rabbi Elihu Munk.

[5] Mei HaShiloach on Deuteronomy 8:18 ד”ה וזכרת את ה אלקיך. Translated by Betzalel Edwards.

[6] Deuteronomy 7:17

[7] Rashi on Deuteronomy 7:17 ד”ה כי תאמר בלבביך

[8] Kedushat Levi on Deuteronomy 7:17 ד”ה כי תאמר בלבביך

Ripening Almonds

Rabbi Ben Herman

          Any Central Valley almond farmers here today? If so you’re in luck! After the incident with Korach, God’s new deterrent against the Israelites’ complaining is to take 12 staffs, 1 from each tribe, and put them in a pile. The staff of the person God will choose will sprout almonds (ויגמול שקדים). Aaron’s staff blossomed.[1] God then said, “put Aaron’s staff back before the community, to be kept as a lesson to the rebels, so that their mutterings against Me may cease, lest they die.”[2]

          Rashi points out that the word ויגמולused for sprout or ripen is the same as the word for wean when Isaac is weaned from Sarah.[3] I love this image. When Isaac was weaned, Abraham threw a big party to mark this life transition.[4] Today most of us do nothing to mark this independence of a child being able to eat on his/her own, yet biblically it was of great significance. Similarly, the “weaning of almonds” from Aaron’s staff symbolizes a transition that maybe now the people will independently recognize Aaron as the High Priest rather than as a usurper of power, as Korach claimed. Sure enough, Aaron is never challenged again as the priest-especially at the end of next week’s double parsha when his grandson Pinhas took matters into his own hands.[5] Rashi also asserts that almonds ripen more rapidly than other fruit.

          This also brings extra meaning to the almonds which blossomed. Almonds can represent breasts, the source of sustenance. Chizkuni uses the term “gamal” (to ripen) as alluding to maturity and diligence. The ripe almonds representkohanim shokdim al avodatam—priests who are watchful and dedicated in their Divine service.[6] It is like the line in our daily liturgy אשירה ליי כי גמל עלי “I will sing to God for God bestows kindness onto me,” using a third definition of the verb גמל, which we also see in the Amidah (גומל חסדים טובים) and in the prayer about being saved from danger (ברכת הגומל)

Rabbi Menachem Mendl Schneerson, whose Yahrzeit was 2 days ago, addresses a deeper question: Why was this miracle even necessary, given that G‑d had already demonstrated that Korah was in the wrong?

He explained that the earth swallowing Korach and the fire that consumed his followers proved that dissent against G‑d leads to harsh punishment. But those events did not resolve the people’s doubts about Aaron’s legitimacy or clarify why he was chosen.

The miracle of the blossoming staff answered that question by revealing Aaron’s uniqueness in two powerful ways. First, a dry, dead staff has no potential for life or fruit; its sudden blossoming could only have come from G‑d’s will, proving that Aaron’s appointment was not the result of Moses’ favoritism or political maneuvering, but a direct act of Divine selection: “The man whom I shall choose.”    

Second, the miracle didn’t happen all at once. The staff followed a natural growth process—first a flower, then a bud, then ripe almonds. This demonstrated that G‑d’s choice was not just a miraculous imposition but something that became internal and lasting. Just as the staff behaved like a living tree, so did the priesthood become something woven into the very essence of Aaron and his descendants—not a temporary role, but an enduring spiritual identity that is part and parcel of who they are.[7]         

As we reach the summer solstice, many strive to take a break from hard work, and one should take breaks from time to time. At the same time, I’d like you to think about who or what are you blossoming into right now? Are you learning a new skill? Are you working on an aspect of yourself? I hope we will use the summer as a time for self-reflection and growth, in addition to appreciating all that life has to offer us.

[1] Numbers 17:16-23

[2] Numbers 17:25

[3] Rashi on Exodus 17:23 ד”ה ויגמול שקדים

[4] Gensis 21:8

[5] See Numbers 25:7-8

[6] Chizkuni on Exodus 17:23 ד”ה ויגמול שקדים

[7] Likkutei Sichot vol 23, p 113.

Cloud and Fire

Rabbi Ben Herman , , , ,

          What an honor to be here for MLC Pride Shabbat 2026. I look forward to hearing Kay’s remarks tomorrow.

          The book that I acquired this week, Two Minute Torah by my colleague Rabbi Perry Raphael Rank, contains two two-minute teachings for each day of the Hebrew year. In looking through the teachings for this month, Sivan, I came across this week’s portion.

The day the Tabernacle was erected, a cloud covered the Tabernacle, the Tent of Testimony, and at night until the morning, a vision of fired hovered over the Tabernacle.[1]

On this topic Rabbi Rank writes the following:

The cloud and the fire, the one by day and the other by night, represent the eternal presence of God. They were both symbols of holiness. Both are as elusive and indeterminate as holiness itself. Neither substance can be held, neither one a solid, both move continuously, yet both were eerily stationed over the Tent of Testimony. The Israelites could not be certain that either were indicative of God’s presence. Sometimes a cloud is just a cloud and a fire is just a fire. And so the cloud and the fire are fitting, representations of holiness, because to sense God’s presence is a matter of faith. We are unable to grasp God, yet we are able to invite God into our lives…[2]

          This is a perfect message for Pride Shabbat. Rather than memorializing those who were injured on that fateful day at Stonewall in June 1969, we celebrate that they had the guts to fight back against injustice and outdated laws-and we see how the law has changed in the 57 years since. The same is true for all of us, whether we are part of the LGBTQ+ community or a dear ally. We do not know why God made us as we are, why we love who we love, why we are in the particular body we are in. Yet we have faith in who we are, and we use this month to celebrate it. We might never have the answers for which we are seeking, and it is a scary time for many in the LGBTQ+ community, some of whom are planning to leave the country because of safety concerns. Yet we know that who we are and what we stand for matters dearly, and cannot be taken away by outside forces. We are like the fire, burning brightly, and like the cloud, offering protection to those who have been marginalized. This weekend is the time to have Pride in who we are, both as Jews and as supporters of LGBTQ+ rights.

[1] Numbers 9:15

[2] Rabbi Perry Raphael Rank, Two Minute Torah (Pittsburgh, PA: Dorrance Publishing Co., 2025), pg. 71.

Aaron’s Transformation

Rabbi Ben Herman , , , , ,

          When Aaron built the golden calf at Israel’s command, Moses became enraged. He asked Aaron “What did this people do to you, that you led them into such great sin?”[1] Rather than take responsibility for his actions, Aaron blamed it on the people, proclaiming “surely this people is bent on evil”[2] and later that he threw the gold into the fire and “out came this calf.”[3] Moses does not even dignify Aaron with a response; after all, he is trying to save Israel from God’s wrath whereas Aaron is content to throw them under the bus. Rabbi Shai Held points out the contrast, asserting “Aaron was too weak to restrain the people; Moses was strong enough to restrain God.”[4]

          Fast forward to this week’s Torah portion, beginning with Aaron being asked to kindle the lights for the Menorah. Aaron was worthy that he was worthy of such a task. In Midrash Tanhuma, Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi asserts that Aaron and his tribe had not undergone slavery-for since the Levites were a priestly class, even in Egypt, the Egyptians allowed them complete freedom.[5] Were Aaron and the Levites worthy of redemption? God tells Aaron not to worry-that the light for which he is responsible is all of Israel’s light and that all of Israel is in exile outside of the land of Israel.[6] Therefore Aaron is equal to the others and and his light would be a beacon for the entire people of Israel.

          Before we saw an Aaron who acted without thinking of the consequences and who exonerated himself from responsibility at the expense of other Israelites. Now we see an Aaron who is thinking before he acts and is considerate of his fellow Israelites. This transformation should give each of us hope that we can transform ourselves. When we feel defensive or impulsive, let us consider the example of Aaron before we make a statement we will regret or leap into a rash situation without being aware of the consequences. After all, one of the definitions for “who is wise” is הרואה את הנולד, one who foresees the consequences of their actions.[7] Let us learn from Aaron that true, full transformation is possible.

[1] Exodus 32:21

[2] Exodus 32:22

[3] Exodus 32:24

[4] Rabbi Shai Held, The Heart of Torah (JPS: Philadelphia, 2013), pg. 122.

[5] Tanhuma, VaEra 6

[6] Laurence S. Kushner and Kerry M. Olitzky, Sparks Beneath the Surface (Northvale, NJ: Aronson, 1993), pg. 183.

[7] Babylonian Talmud Tamid 32a

Love and Pursue Peace

Rabbi Ben Herman , , , ,

          When I lead the preliminary service, after studying a text, I choose the Yehi Ratzon (May it be God’s will) text that asks that we be like Aaron’s students: loving and pursuing peace, loving humanity, and bringing it closer to Torah. It’s not as much that I’m against the return of a Temple in Jerusalem; rather it’s that I love what this text exemplifies. Aaron was one who not only loved peace-he actively worked to create a more peaceful reality. It was his peaceful nature that merited him being the High Priest of Israel, just like it was Solomon’s peaceful disposition that merited him building the First Temple in Jerusalem.

          How did Aaron pursue peace? The commentary on Pirkei Avot, called Avot D’Rebbe Natan, teaches us Aaron’s approach:

When Aaron was walking down the road, and he came upon a wicked person, he would wish him Shalom. The next day, when that man wanted to sin, he would [stop himself and] say: “Alas! How will I be able to look Aaron in the face? I will be so embarrassed when he wishes me Shalom.” And so, this man would stop himself from sinning.

Similarly, when two people were fighting with one another, Aaron would go and sit next to one of them and say: “Look at the anguish your friend is going through! His heart is ripped apart and he is tearing at his clothes. He is saying, ‘How can I face my old friend? I am so ashamed, for I betrayed his trust.’” 

Aaron would sit with him until his rage subsided. Then Aaron would go to the other person in the fight and say: “Look at the anguish your friend is going through! His heart is ripped apart and he is tearing at his clothes. He is saying, ‘How can I face my old friend? I am so ashamed, for I betrayed his trust.’” 

Aaron would sit with him until his rage subsided. When the two people saw each other, they would embrace and kiss one another.[1]

          The Seer of Lublin in his book Divrei Emet wrote the following about Aaron’s pursuit of peace:

          We know that Aaron’s actions brought him to his rung. Because he loved peace and was always trying to make peace between people, he merited to bring about peace between Israel and their Father in heaven, as the Zohar teaches.[2] All this came about because he loved God and therefore loved His creatures. He always wanted them to be at peace and to love one another. This all derived from the root of love.

          That was how he came to bless Israel, because of his great love. This is to Aaron and his song, saying, “Thus shall you bless the children of Israel. Say to them…”[3] Aaron and his children, meaning his followers, have it in their very nature to bless (they do not have to be commanded to do so.)[4]

          Rabbi Art Green remarks “we have all met such people in our lives, those whose very nature brings them to bless others. All they need to be taught is how to do it in such a way that the blessings will be heard and uplift those who receive them. This in itself is no small task”[5]

          Every morning, we have the opportunity to be like Aaron’s disciples: loving peace and pursuing it, loving all creations, and bringing them close to Torah. This is especially reticent 1 week after we have celebrated the giving of the Torah on Shavuot. The opportunity is in our hands: will our actions lead to greater distance from others or will they bring us closer to them? Will we use Torah as a bridge to pursue “our Truth” at the exclusion of all others or will we use it to connect with those in our midst? The choice to be like the disciples of Aaron is in our midst.

[1] Avot D’Rebbe Natan Version A, Chapter 2.

[2] Zohar 3:88a

[3] Numbers 6:25

[4] Seer of Lublin, Divrey Emet on Numbers 6:23.

[5] Rabbi Art Green, Speaking Torah: Spiritual Teachings from around the Maggid’s Table (Woodstock, VT: Jewish Lights publishing, 2013), pg. 11.

Quality Over Quantity

Rabbi Ben Herman , , , ,

          Parshat B’Midbar is often described as “a mathematician’s dream.” It features lots of numbers with the census of the Israelites to prepare them from entering the Land of Israel. It’s essential to account for every person, whether it is 10 (as we need for a minyan) or 100,000. Every ten years we have a new population census which directly affects states’ electoral votes. For the Israelites’ sake they needed to be counted in order to make preparations for war and for the districting of the Land of Canaan. At the same time, how can we read this list of population without glossing over sections or becoming distracted? How do we impart meaning to each detail of the list?

          Rashi gives a very interesting take on this. He comments מתוך חיבתן לפניו, מונה אותם כל שעה[1]  “Because of their (Israel’s) dearness to Him, He counts them at every moment.” What is most dear to us is what we count, whether it is our money or the number of grandchildren we have. For G-d, what is most dear is the Jewish people so they merit counting.

          It is important to note, however, that while G-d can count us, we cannot count ourselves. Our portion begins with G-d saying to Moses to speak to Israel take a census. It was not initiated by Moses but rather by G-d. In 1 Samuel, when King David decides to take a census of the Israelites, it brings about seven years of famine.[2] Why would this be the case? Perhaps because G-d’s motivation for counting Israel is to delight in our growing numbers and in His chosen people whereas our motivation for counting might only be pride or curiosity. Therefore, we cannot be the ones to count.

          In Parshat Shekalim, Israel was counted not by number of people but by the number of half shekels received. In other words, each person was counted by virtue of his/her contribution as opposed to by number. This demonstrated that our value is not just a number (ie I’m number 798 to be counted) but by what we brought to make G-d’s home. Of course, the numbering of people often has disastrous consequences, as we saw in the Shoah. We are so much more than a number: we are a person with unique talents and gifts to contribute to better humanity and the world.

          We also do not count Jews during minyan. To ensure there are ten, we use a roundabout technique: reciting a biblical verse of ten words and ascribing to each person present one of those words. A common one is הושיעה את עמך וברך את נחלתך ורעם ונשאם עד עולם, “bring salvation to your nation and bless your inheritance rejoice and lift us up forever.”[3] By counting with this verse, we raise people’s spirits; that as we call out to G-d to save us so too are we saying that each person’s presence is qualitatively lifting up our congregation.

          This is a good lesson for an aufruf. Ryan and Liz, we are so delighted in your choosing to build a Jewish home together. Marriage often starts out easy in the honeymoon phase; over time, however, couples tend to argue, often vehemently disagreeing. At such times, it is important NOT to count the amount of times you are “right” (by the way, Ryan, Liz is always right 😊) or the amount of times s/he said __________. Rather the importance is recognizing who your partner truly is. No one said marriage was easy-in fact, the biblical term for a partner is עזר כנגדו, one to help in opposition to you. By having different perspectives, you make the other better, completing him/her in a sense.  

Liz and Ryan, my prayer is that you always celebrate together and that you remain one another’s best friends, supporting each other through life’s opportunities and challenges. As you will get married immediately following Shavuot, when we rejoice in the giving of the Torah, we pray that Judaism will always imbibe every fiber of your being as it has with your roles in Shalom School, The Sacramento Jewish Federation, and, most importantly, Sac BAD Jews which brought you together. May you find the joy in each and every moment of life together, recognizing that the qualitative uniqueness of the other far exceeds any quantity-it is priceless. Mazal Tov on this special day!

[1] Rashi on Numbers 1:1 ד”ה וידבר, במדבר סיני, באחד לחדש

[2] 2 Samuel 24

[3] Psalms 28:9