To be honest, I have not wanted to read Dara Horn’s People Love Dead Jews: Reflections of a Haunted Present. I have Holocaust educators in my family and it has been dwelled into my head to never forget. I also am astutely aware of the rise in antisemitic attacks in the United States. At the same time, to read a book with that title makes me recoil. It is the same reason I have not been able to bring myself to go on the March of the Living, although I do plan to go when the COVID numbers go down. I finally purchased a Kindle copy on Amazon and will read it. I’ve learned from the Institute of Jewish Spirituality about the importance of acknowledging one’s fears, especially what makes him/her recoil, yet concurrently having the courage to face them.

What concerns me most about this book knowing not much more than the title is how we want to perceive ourselves as a Jewish people. Do we want to be loved as martyrs, as victims of antisemitic hate crimes, or do we want to be loved because of all of the joy, positivity, learning and spirituality that Judaism has to offer? People Love Dead Jews won the National Jewish Book Award in 2021 and the positive reviews abound. At the same time, in his book review entitled KEEP JEWS INTERESTING: IT’S TIME TO STOP BEING DEFINED BY ANTI-SEMITISM, Professor Shaul Magid quotes Professor Salo Baron z”l who wrote “All my life I have been struggling against the hitherto dominant lachrymose conception of Jewish history because I have felt that an overemphasis on Jewish sufferings distorted the whole picture of the Jewish historic evolution and, at the same time, badly served a generation which had become impatient with the nightmare of endless persecutions and massacres.” Do we want to be defined by antisemitism, by pogroms, persecutions and Jew-hatred, or by who we are as the Jewish people and all that we offer. Magid ends his review by quoting Jacob Neusner, “If the Jews can’t somehow get beyond the Holocaust they will survive. But they just won’t be a very interesting people.”

Interestingly Dara Horn, as quoted by Haaretz, said about her book that she “wishes people liked it a little bit less, because that would make its depressing points less true.” Horn’s accounts certainly have veracity to them and on one hand it’s important for people to know how strong antisemitism is in the United States. On the other hand, I certainly do not want my work as a rabbi to be defined by antisemitism.

As I have not yet read the book, but intend to over the weekend, I will comment more after I read it about its specific aspects. I hope to finish it before Adar Rishon, a month in which our joy is supposed to increase, not to be in denial of the truthtelling that I am certain it contains but rather to be able to focus on bringing joyful Judaism into Bet Shira and South Dade, while concurrently being vigilant and aware of the antisemitism in our midst.

I have not had the privilege of meeting Rabbi Cytron-Walker. However, I saw him being interviewed as well as speaking at the healing service last night. Here are seven things as a colleague that I have learned and/or which have been reinforced for me.

1.) More emergency preparedness trainings for all situations. The last training I have had was fall 2019 just before the High Holy Days. While we are blessed to have a Security Guard and Police Officer, we saw at Beth Israel how a person with a motive can sweet-talk their way past a guard. I was amazed that among the trainings Rabbi Cytron-Walker had was how to handle oneself in a hostage situation. I recognize the need for more trainings, included but not limited to active shooter/lockdown, hostage, fire and flooding, among others. I need to learn or relearn best practices for each of these situations as well as make sure my congregation has an emergency preparedness plan for all of the above that is regularly reviewed in staff meetings.

2.) Regularly reminding congregants where the exits are in the event of an emergency.

3.) Always working to deepen our relationship with local police officers and fire fighters. Making sure that they have a plan of our building. I have a panic button and have learned how to lock off the Sanctuary, yet it is equally important to have a strong relationship with local law enforcement.

4.) Staying calm when under attack. This is one of the most difficult of all. I don’t know how Rabbi Cytron-Walker remained calm with Malik Faisal Akram pointing a gun at him. His calm demeanor enabled one hostage to go free and worked to lower the tension in a situation that could have been much worse. He gave in to the gunman’s request to speak with Rabbi Buchdahl and was also calm when speaking with the FBI. Just thinking about what he went through makes me anxious so I don’t know how he did it.

5.) Looking for an opportunity to get out of the situation. When Rabbi Cytron-Walker saw Akram distracted, he has the remaining two hostages run and then threw a chair at Akram. He then ran out of the building as well. By being vigilant he was able to save himself and his fellow parishoners.

6.) Being vigilant at all times. Extremely difficult to do. Rabbi Cytron-Walker saw a man who said he needed help and he did what Abraham would have done, what every mentschlach rabbi would do: he sat with him and offered him a cup of tea. He had no idea that this man would point a gun at him minutes later. The vast majority of my colleagues and I did not become rabbis to be suspicious of people’s motives, to think that someone would manipulate us into welcoming us in only to later take us hostage. As hard as it is to turn people away we don’t recognize, I’m saddened to say that might be in the future. I hope that we don’t need to become hardened to the degree of European synagogues, where one needs to make a reservation in advance, and in some cases bring two forms of photo ID. In 2005 I went to the New London Synagogue, showed my passport and was still denied entrance because a background check was not done. In 2009 my classmate Phil and I visited the Jewish Museum in Istanbul, and we had to be led by two separate sets of security guards, turning three different directions before passing through metal detectors and then seeing a sign for a museum. We couldn’t find the synagogue we had a reservation for that Friday evening and had to do services on our own. While one does not want to overreact, we also need to take an abundance of caution and at times suspicion, especially when we are interacting with people we are just meeting for the first time.

7.) Having faith. This is the hardest of all. With another antisemitic attack and the Omicron virus surging, many clergy are saying they didn’t sign up for this, as I heard multiple times on a zoom meeting yesterday evening. A number of my younger colleagues are leaving the pulpit and a number of older colleagues are retiring early. There are at least 25-30 more Conservative pulpits available than candidates. When I saw Rabbi Cytron-Walker last night, I saw a man who is able to have the courage of his convictions, who knows that love triumphs over fear, who is able to build community and bring community together towards a common goal. That is to me what being a pulpit rabbi is all about, and that pastoral, kind presence is the type of leader who I would want as my rabbi.

As we prepare for Parshat Yitro, I want to echo Yitro’s words, Baruch Adonai, Blessed is God. I believe that there is more good than evil in the world and that we need to show gratitude to God for all our blessings. We cannot let the bad guys win by hanging our heads or giving up, yet we can also not be naive. Antisemitism is alive and well in the United States of America and we must always be vigilant and not let our guard down. It is a sad but true reality. At the same time, we must always keep hope for a better future, that together with God we will bring peace and equanimity, both to us and to the world.

What’s so great about Moses? Last week God told him, “I appeared unto Abraham, unto Isaac and unto Jacob as El Shaddai but I did not make myself known to them by my name Adonai.”[1] That is factually inaccurate.[2] My belief is that God said this to Moses in order to build up his confidence during a difficult moment. If you recall from Parshat Shemot, Moses’ first visit to Pharaoh didn’t go so well. Pharoah not only didn’t let Israel go, he also made them gather their own straw![3] When the Israelites accost Moses, he exclaims to God “Why have you done evil to this people? Did you send me for this?!” למה הרעותה לעם הזה למה זה שלחתני[4]

         At this point God indicates to Moses how special he is, that he received a gift that even Abraham, Isaac and Jacob did not: God’s special name becoming revealed to him. He will serve as judge[5] to Pharaoh, subjecting him to ten plagues including the worst of all-the death of his firstborn child.[6]

         From Shemot to Bo, we see a great evolution in Moses, indicating why he is truly a special leader. At the beginning of the Torah portion, Pharaoh, says to go and then asks Moses “who should go?”[7] He will only let the men go, but that’s a no-go for Moses. The man who once was so timid, refusing to serve God four times in Parshat Shemot and once in Parshat VaEra, here makes the ultimate statement of a leader. וַיֹּ֣אמֶר מֹשֶׁ֔ה בִּנְעָרֵ֥ינוּ וּבִזְקֵנֵ֖ינוּ נֵלֵ֑ךְ בְּבָנֵ֨ינוּ וּבִבְנוֹתֵ֜נוּ בְּצֹאנֵ֤נוּ וּבִבְקָרֵ֙נוּ֙ נֵלֵ֔ךְ כִּ֥י חַג־יְהֹוָ֖ה לָֽנוּ׃ Moses said “We will go with our young and our old, our sons and our daughters, our flocks and our herds-for it is a holiday of God for all of us.[8] Moses refused to leave anyone behind. He would not accept a partial exodus-rather the entire Israelite community needed to be free. The very people Pharaoh was afraid of[9] becomes a people in the fullest sense with these words of Moses.

         We learn three crucial lessons from Moses that should be applied to leaders today. First, it’s ok to be afraid of stepping up, as long as one eventually does the right thing and leads when s/he needs to. Moses’ fear dissipates when push comes to shove. He does not take a plea bargain or a settlement but, recognizing he has the upper hand and that the most vulnerable of Israel need to be protective, takes an all-or-nothing stance. Second, at times a leader will fail and the point is to learn from one’s failures. Moses’ first attempt to lead ended in disaster-the Israelites had to procure their own straw, working even harder than before. It took learning from his mistake and going back before Pharoah again and again for Moses to develop the confidence he exudes in Parshat Bo. Third and most important, all leaders need cheerleaders to encourage us to stay the course, especially when the going gets rough. Two weeks ago Moses was discouraged, doubting himself and his abilities, believing that his mission would never succeed. With God as his cheerleader, bolstering his confidence by telling him how special his role truly is, Moses developed the courage to go return to Pharaoh. He also had the aid of his brother Aaron, and the two of them together succeeded where one alone might have failed.

         In our new secular year 2022, it is my hope that each of us will look at situations in which we are a leader and evaluate how we might be more effective. Perhaps we need to find supporting hands to help us when we are afraid to try again. Maybe we need to learn a lesson from a past struggle. Whatever the case may be, let us recognize that we are not alone and that together, with the right partners, we can work together to make a positive difference in our communities. Ken Yhi Ratzon, may it be our will to do so.

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[1] Exodus 6:3

[2] See Genesis 16:7 and 24:3

[3] Exodus 5:6

[4] Exodus 5:22

[5] Exodus 7:1. Interestingly the word for judge, אלהים, is the same as the word for God, perhaps indicating that Moses, the foundling adopted by Pharaoh, will in fact hold up a mirror to him as God’s designee, showing who the true God is.

[6] Exodus 11:29

[7] Exodus 10:8

[8] Exodus 10:9

[9] Pharaoh is the first person to define Israel as עם, a people or a nation, in Exodus 1:9

A picture is worth a thousand words. Look at the cartoon by Charles Schultz, זכרונו לברכה, between Lucy and Charlie Brown.

How does one get an “upper up” to use Lucy’s words, in Judaism? Life is not only about ups: Chris Daughtry sings “Everyone knows life has its ups and downs.”[1] Getting an up requires being willing to embrace the downs, learn from them and try again. This is why we are called Jews, descendants of Judah. When Jacob blesses Judah, he calls himגור אריה, a lion’s cub, continues מטרף בני עלית, you have ascended from amidst the prey,[2] and concludes לא יסור שבט מיהודה, the scepter shall not depart from Judah.[3]  The French biblical commentor par excellence, Rashi, states that this means that the line of Jewish leaders will never depart from the tribe of Judah. Wherever Jews live, the leader, and eventually the Messiah, will descend from Judah.[4]

          Why did Judah merit this ascent? Let’s review the cliff notes version of the story of Judah. Picture the scene with Joseph in the pit, his brothers’ desiring to kill him. Then off in a distance, there is a caravan of traders. Judah craftily says, “What benefit is there if we kill our brother and hide his blood?[5] Let’s go instead and sell him to the Ishmaelites for he is our brother, our flesh.”[6]       What cruel words disguised within compassion: we won’t receive any money from killing Joseph, so let’s sell him and let him rot away in Egypt.[7]

          Let’s descend even further into Judah’s story, where he separates from his brothers and takes a Canaanite wife.[8] He also had intimate relations with his daughter-in-law (albeit unknowingly) and when he found out she is with child he proclaimed הוציאוה ותשרף, “take her out and burn her!”[9] He’s quickly ready to dispatch a relative again. When he realizes that Tamar is pregnant with his child, he says צדקה ממני, she is more righteous than me.[10] This is the defining moment of our story: Judah begins to ascend through doing תשובה, repentance, recognizing that past actions were wrong and it’s time to change course.

          Fast forward to Joseph accusing the brothers of being spies. Judah tells Father Jacob “I will function as Benjamin’s guarantor when he goes into Egypt.”[11] When Joseph accuses Benjamin of thievery, Judah finds himself at a crossroads: let another brother go into slavery or speak up and save him. This time he chooses the latter, begging Joseph to spare his brother. He proclaims, “let your servant remain as a slave instead of the boy.”[12] Judah has gone from devaluation and degradation of human life, treating a brother as an object off which to profit or a daughter-in-law as one to be burnt, to pledging his life on behalf of a younger, innocent brother. He took a roundabout, circuitous way to get there, but the fact that he changed and evolved is why he is the ones we need to emulate. G-d looked at Judah’s תשובה and said, ‘I want that to be what leads the Jewish people forward.’

We might think the most righteous are those who have yichus, pedigree, or are “Frum from birth.” That’s not true in our tradition. The Talmud teaches that in the place of a baal teshuva (one who has undergone repentance) a tsadik cannot stand.[13] There is also the story of a Jew asking his rabbi about who is more holy, who is higher on the ladder in God’s judgment: A person beginning to observe the commandments or a person who had been observant who is now moving away from observance? The rabbi replied that God’s judgment is not based on how high they are on the ladder of observance, but on whether one is ascending or descending the ladder. Let’s return to the Peanuts comic. What Lucy failed to recognize is the embodiment of what it means to be a Jew, a descendant of Judah. To be Jewish means to take on the ebb and flow of the roller-coaster we call life, to find the willpower to move forward even when one feels discouraged or in despair over where his/her life is at currently. In addition, being Jewish means to be able to admit when one made a mistake, as Judah did to Tamar, and more importantly, to take a different path in those moments where one is on the verge of making the same mistake again. It requires the one who sold a brother into slavery to, at a latter point in his life, say ‘No-take me instead.’ What makes Judah great is he learns from his past, changes course and, in one of the downward moments of his family’s history, can atone for past behavior. This is a vital lesson for each of us as we conclude the Book of Genesis. My prayer on this Shabbat is to take this to heart-to look at our lives and see the opportunities for personal growth and the lessons to learn at this moment in time. If we are at a “down” period, one of “descent” may we recognize that it might be for the sake of a great “ascent” in days to come. Ken Yhi Ratzon, may it be our will to do so as descendants of Judah.

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[1] Daughtry, “The Start of Something Good”

[2] Genesis 49:9

[3] Genesis 49:10

[4] Rashi on Genesis 49:10 ד”ה לא-יסור שבט מיהודה

[5] Genesis 37:26

[6] Genesis 37:27

[7] See Rashi on Genesis 37:26 ד”ה מה בצע, ד”ה וכסינו

[8] Genesis 38:1-2

[9] Genesis 38:24

[10] Genesis 38:26

[11] Genesis 43:9

[12] Genesis 44:32, 33

[13] Talmud Berachot 38b

Have you been the recipient of a spiritual legacy? Perhaps it is making haroset with a parent or grandparent before Passover. Maybe it is lighting Hanukkah candles as a family. For me one of the core parts of my spiritual legacy was having a family Passover Seder where everyone at the table got the opportunity to have a role. Picture me reclining on my Green Bay Packers pillow while drinking sparkling grape juice (Bartenura wine when I was of age), following the Afghani custom of lightly hitting my brother with scallions as we sang Dayenu. One year I wore a Where’s Waldo mask and went outside just before it was time to open the door for Elijah. You can imagine my family’s surprise as I entered the room.

          It is December and many of us are thinking about our financial legacy: which charities are deserving of our end of year financial contributions. That is holy work: it demonstrates what we value and care most deeply about. It is equally holy to look at this week’s Torah portion, where Jacob bequeathed on his grandchildren Ephraim and Manasseh a spiritual legacy. He says, “The Angel who has redeemed me from all harm bless these kids and call them by my name.”[1] Jacob’s blessing presupposes that there is a guardian angel sent to us when we are in trouble.[2] God’s actions are performed by intermediaries-it might feel like a chance encounter or feel like a coincidence, but each of us has guardian angels or messengers (מלאכים).[3]

          Jacob here is imparting on his grandchildren his spiritual legacy-that they will truly be בני ישראל, guided by the example that he, Israel, has set. As the secular year nears its end, in addition to thinking about our financial legacies my hope is that we take the time to think about our spiritual legacies: how we will encourage our children and grandchildren to follow in our footsteps, valuing Judaism in all its beauty. At Generations Day at Bet Shira Congregation, I worked with grandparents of preschool students on writing their spiritual legacies, both in the forms of a spiritual autobiography and an ethical will. To those of us who do not have children, there is still the opportunity for us to create a spiritual legacy-how do we want our fellow congregants at Mosaic Law Congregation to remember us and what do we want our students or those we work with to understand in terms of our core beliefs. That is holy work for us to engage in both this Shabbat and beyond.

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[1] Genesis 48:16

[2] Rashi on Genesis 48:16 ד”ה המלאך הגואל אותי מכל רע

[3] Radak on Genesis 49:16 ד”ה ויקרא בהם שמי

         How often in life have we questioned where we are at only later to realize “I’m exactly where I need to be at this given moment?” Hindsight is always 20/20 and while some are critical of the Monday Morning Quarterback, it is human nature to look back at what was and try to connect the dots-whether one can do so or not.

         In this week’s Torah portion, Joseph revealed his identity to his brothers. Afterwards he says ועתה אל-תעצבנו ואל-יחר בעיניכם כי-מכרתם אותי הנה כי למחיה שלחני אלהים לפניהם. “Do not distress and do not be angry with yourselves, that you sold me here. For God sent me before you to preserve life.”[1] Rashbam, an 11^th century French commentator, says “The Holy One arranged this for your own good.”[2] How could this be 3030for their own good? After all, the brothers went down to Egypt famished, they were accused of being spies, brother Shimon was taken into slavery and brother Benjamin was accused of thievery.

In Hasidic writings, there is a concept of Yeridah L’Tzorech Aliyah, descent for the sake of ascent. Rabbi Menachem Nachum of Chernobyl, in his book Meor Eynaim, writes, “Why does a person have to fall? The meaning of this contains secrets of Torah. One of these is the possibility of attaining a yet higher rung than one had previously reached. Every act of being is preceded by an absence of being. When you want to proceed to a higher rung, you need to lack for something first. Therefore, you have to fall from your prior rung.”[3] We cannot stay constantly in one place. The prophet Ezekiel teaches us “the life-force ebbs and flows.”[4]  We are either in a state of rising (Aliyah) or falling (Yeridah). If the latter, it is up to us to reflect on what we can do to rise again. The life force does not go in a straight line but takes a zigzag or circuitous route. Yet somehow, as Joseph intuits, we end up where we need to be in that given moment.            It is our challenge and our opportunity, when things aren’t going the way, we would like or had originally planned, to find the Holy One in those moments. In those states of descent, when we feel frustrated or depressed, may we find a way to learn from our situation and chart a course of ascent. This is not to ignore tragedies that happen, situations for which there is no rationalization or explanation. It entails, in the ebb and flow of the roller-coaster we call life, finding ways to connect to God during difficulty and challenges. Ken Yhi Ratzon, may each of us have the willpower to engage in this holy work

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[1] Genesis 45:5

[2] Rashbam on Genesis 45:5 ד”ה כי למחיה שלחני

[3] Meor Eynaim Yitro

[4] Ezekiel 1:14

          Of the three patriarchs, Isaac gets the short stick. He is passive and manipulated by others. Similarly, of the three prayer services of the day, Mincha gets the short stick. It is often a rushed prayer service in the middle of the afternoon, without the time and attention given to it of Shacharit when we wake up and Maariv before we go to sleep.
          At the same time there is something significant about the Mincha prayer. In our Torah portion it says that Isaac went out לשוח בשדה, to walk/meditate in the field.[1] Rashi says this means he prayed, pointing out that the same root is used in the psalm תפילה לעני: “a poor man when he is faint and pours forth his plea before God.”[2]

          Isaac poured forth his plea in the field. Perhaps he was brimming with anticipation, filled with both excitement and anxiety, about the woman coming who he was going to marry. His prayer was so powerful that when Rebecca glimpsed him from a distance she fell from her camel.[3] She then veiled herself,[4] the origin of the bride’s bedeken for Ashkenazi Jews before a wedding. The sources used for Abraham creating Shacharit and Jacob creating Maariv, that Abraham “arose early in the morning”[5] and Jacob “arrived at the place and stayed the night”[6] pale in comparison to the one for Isaac. Here is someone calling out to God before meeting his wife.

          Rebbe Nahman of Bratslav began the practice of hitbodedut. It is like a walking meditation, only during it one is conversing with God, saying whatever comes to his/her mind without filter. The first time I did this I thought it was strange but afterwards I enjoyed being able to speak with the Holy One without a filter; that in that moment it was just me and God. I also found that verbalizing my thoughts cleared my mind and had a freeing effect. I imagine Isaac doing the same thing, pouring out his soul to God at a pivotal afternoon in his life.

          For those of us who do not pray Mincha on a regular basis, I challenge us to, whether through the traditional liturgy or pouring out one’s heart to God. In the midst of the afternoon, when we can often feel a lull or just a desire to finish what we are doing, it is pivotal to set time to take a break and have time just to commune with the Holy One. If we do so, we might even lose track of time, getting engrossed in our hitbodedut, our solitary conversation with God. I hope that we will take time out of our busy schedules, not only on Shabbat but also during the week, לשוח בשדה, to meditate in the fields as we strengthen our connection with the Holy One.

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[1] Genesis 24:63

[2] Rashi on Genesis 24:63 ד”ה לשוח בשדה based off Psalm 102:1.

[3] Genesis 24:64

[4] Genesis 24:65

[5] Genesis 19:27 Abraham arose early the day Sodom and Gomorrah were destroyed.

[6] Genesis 27:11

        This week we read about the first arranged marriage in Judaism. Abraham makes his servant swear to find a wife for Isaac, and we find out that Rebecca is the ideal candidate. Not only does she give the servant water but also gives to his camels.[1]

          In contrast, next week Jacob chooses his own wife: Rachel. He did obey his parents’ wishes by going to the land of Haran rather than marrying a Hittite, yet he chose the woman he wanted to marry, even kissing her.[2]

          Which is better: arranged marriages or marriages based on love? I suppose it depends what one’s cultural background is. Interestingly, Sir Rabbi Jonathan Sacks z”l cites Rabbi Joseph Kolon the Maharik, who comments “The command to love your neighbor overrides the command to obey your parents. Since the love of husband and wife3030 is a supreme example of love of neighbor, it too takes priority over a parents’ wishes.”[3] The word for neighbor, רע, is the same word used in the שבע ברכות, the seven marital blessings, where spouses are referred to as רעים האהובים.

          The lesson for us today is sometimes we as parents want things for our children that they do not want for themselves. We might have increased vision as a result of our experiences. Yet, as Rabbi Sacks writes, “to be a Jewish parent is to make space for your child, as God makes space for us, His children.”[4] May we work on making space for our children, especially when they make choices we’d rather they not make. Let us have the confidence in how we raised them that they will do fine and if they make a mistake, they will learn and grow from it.

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[1] Genesis 23:19

[2] Genesis 26:11

[3] Rabbi Joseph Kolon, Responsa 164:3. In Jonathan Sacks Covenant & Conversation Genesis: The Book of Beginnings (New Milford, CT: Maggid Books, 2009), pg. 137.

[4] Sacks, pg. 140.

As the musical Hamilton teaches us, “You have no control who lives who dies who tells your story.” Death is one of the most difficult topics. Yet it is one we are reminded of every Yizkor. As former Miamian Rabbi Rami Shapiro writes, “Reality shows you time and again that you have no control.”[1] He continues, “Every landing gives you the illusion of liberation, but every landing is followed by another tumble.”[2]

We have had so many tumbles this year as a Bet Shira community. We have lost many prominent members, including David Mermelstein z” l, whose El Malei Rahamim for the 6 million will be seen via a video recording from last year. Many congregants have lost friends from the Champlain Towers South collapse. Others are mourning losses from COVID-19.

         The Institute of Jewish Spirituality has taught me that the best way to deal with death is to honor and befriend it and the feelings that come with it, rather than throwing them under the rug or pretending that they don’t exist.  As Rebbe Nahman teaches, “There is no happiness without sadness; no pleasure without pain; no fullness without loss. They are inseparable.”[3] We recognize that feelings, like so much of life, are messy and complicated and that they are not easy to decipher. Rabbi Irwin Kula writes, “In the Jewish tradition there are no sayings like ‘passed away’ or ‘final resting place.’ We are to call death by its real name-feel the blow, sink into the loss, let it subsume us-and we’re to do it in the first twenty-four hours after someone dies. We need to deepen, rather than minimize, our sorrow and express our anger. Only then can we hope for reconciliation and return.”[4]

         Yom Kippur is the day on which we acknowledge our mortality and rehearse our own death. Not literally as Rabbi Zalman Schachter-Shalomi did, lying in a casket with the Hevra Kadisha doing a tahara on him while alive, but spiritually. We do not eat or drink, engage in sexual relations, wash, wear perfumes or oils. We wear a kittel, the plain white robe in which we will be buried, saying that no one is better than anyone else-we all came from the same origin, and we will all pass away. Rabbi Irwin Kula puts it as follows: “The opening practice of Yom Kippur frees us from all our promises and obligations. We imagine ourselves as no longer married, a parent, holding a job that we’re responsible for. These parts of ourselves die, and we’re left alone to contemplate what life would be like without its usual trappings and delights. Who are we without them? The next evening, we are, in a sense, born again. We accept our obligations back, hopefully at a higher or deeper level of appreciation and meaning. Or we recognise that we need to let go of obligations that have distorted or confined us. It’s like when I go on a spiritual retreat, time just to reflect and contemplate, and then return thinking, ‘How can I be a better husband, a better father, a better son?’”[5] Mitch Albom writes in The Five People You Meet in Heaven, “The most painful events have a meaning we never could have understood at the time. There’s also a sense that we can have heaven right here. Heaven is the moments when we can hold it all together, even when it’s almost too much to bear.”[6]

         In a class on resilience for rabbis of the Rabbinical Assembly, Rabbi Mychal Springer, my former Assistant Dean at the Jewish Theological Seminary and currently the Director of Clinical Pastoral Education at New York Presbyterian Hospital, talked about her early experiences with COVID patients.[7] She was speaking about March 2020, immediately after COVID had been labelled a pandemic and before the CDC had come out with recommending masking for the common person. Rabbi Springer recalled walking to work at New York Presbyterian and seeing refrigerator trucks outside of the hospital because the morgue was full. One day she was working with a nurse when a code blue came over the loudspeaker. The nurse jumped up, rushed over, and said, “I was just with that patient yesterday.” Mychal said she recognized that “even though we were swimming in death, she had to go to her patient.” That is precisely what Yom Kippur is about-the preciousness of every life and not taking any moment in life for granted. We put on our kittels, and we draw close to death. It reminds us to take seriously our “one wild and precious life.”[8]

Rabbi Springer was on my interview committee when I applied for rabbinical school at JTS. In the interview, she asked me “Do you have any doubts?” and when I said “No,” she followed up with “What would you do if you developed doubts?” This time it was my turn to ask her a question. I asked how she personally stayed sane and remained resilient when encountering death so palpably each day. She responded that she walked to the hospital through crossing Central Park and made sure to intentionally walk each day hearing the birds, as well as using that time to call friends and others she cared about. The people on the other line would often remark in surprise, “Is that a bird?” By taking the time to connect with nature and with loved ones, she was able to maintain some semblance of normalcy in an unprecedented time.

The lesson Rabbi Springer taught me as I encounter death is to acknowledge the brokenness of life. Out of the brokenness comes the agency that is resilience. We must make choices in the limited time we have to be present and continue forward. While there is much we cannot do, yet we must do the best we can to be present where we need to be at any given moment. In so doing, we reinforce the message that every life is precious to us, and each moment is sacred.

         As we approach Yizkor, we acknowledge that we don’t know why things happen. We don’t know why we are sometimes in the right place at the right time and others are in the wrong place at the wrong time. We can’t answer why Theresa Velasquez, who had just flown in from LAX to see her parents, perished in the Champlain Towers, whereas Sharon Schechter was able to survive by climbing through the rubble with her dog. Similar questions were asked during 9/11 and the shooting at the Tree of Life Synagogue Complex: why were some late to work or to shul that day or didn’t come in at all, whereas others came earlier than they were accustomed and perished? It is not for us to ask Who Shall Live and Who Shall Die. Instead, what we need to do is to recognize that life is messy and that we should view each moment as a gift rather than taking it for granted. In doing this work, however, we must acknowledge our own mortality rather than denying it. Rabbi Jack Riemer writes, “No one can claim to be wise about life whose wisdom does not include a relationship with death.”[9]

         What we must do when encountering death is twofold: first, we need to recognize that our feelings about death and those who have passed on change over time. It is human to have “moments of acceptance and moments of resistance; moments of fighting and moments of softening.”[10] Second, we must understand that when one’s life has been completely shattered, there’s no way to imagine wholeness, and trying to do so can short-circuit one’s grief. As SY Agnon writes, “Kaddish is not to God but for God; it’s a way to reconstruct God, to rebuild reality after it’s been torn asunder. God has been diminished by this death, and so needs to be magnified. It’s a practice for building back a sense of meaning in the face of devastation.”[11]

         This is an especially difficult year to find meaning in life, with so many deaths of loved ones, those who have passed from COVID, hurricanes, flooding, fires and the collapse of Champlain Towers South. Yet what we can do is choose how to respond. Either we can be saddened and angry and stop there, or we can use these encounters with death to remind us of the importance of making every moment count. As we remember our loved ones who have perished, may we choose to do exactly that-to make the most out of each precious moment that God gives us to strive to make a difference for ourselves and for our community. Ken Yhi Ratzon, may it be our will to do so.

         Sharon will sing for us Cry No More Yerushalayim by Yaakov Shwekey.

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[1] Rabbi Rami Shapiro, Surrendered-the Sacred Art: Shattering the Illusion of Control and Falling into Grace with Twelve-Step Spirituality (Nashville: Turner Publishing Company, 2019), pg. xvi

[2] Ibid, xviii

[3] In [3] Rabbi Irwin Kula, Yearnings: Embracing the Sacred Messiness of Life (New York: Hachette Books, 2006), pg. 252.

[4] Ibid, 275.

[5] Ibid, pg. 280.

[6] Mitch Albom, The Five People You Meet in Heaven in Kula, p. 280.

[7] Rabbi Mychal Springer, Class on Resilience Through Jewish Theological Seminary and Rabbinical Assembly, July 28, 2021.

[8] Mary Oliver, “The Summer Day.”

[9] In Kula, 266.

[10] Ibid, Pg. 269.

[11] In Kula, pg. 277.

Learning Never Ends. This was the line that Adon Morgan, my middle school Judaics teacher, wrote in my yearbook. It is so true. The minute we stop learning we become terminal. The rabbinate is one of the few fields with no mandatory continuing education, yet I have made a point of studying every week with two different hevrutot (study partners) to refine my knowledge and grow in my skills. I rarely use what I have learned in those sessions for sermons or classes. Rather it is Torah lishma, Torah study for its own sake.

One of the fun things I do, which perhaps I shouldn’t, is asking Bar/Bat Mitzvah kids what do you want to be when you grow up, knowing they’ll likely change their minds numerous times. “I think it’s one of the most pointless questions we ask children,” Michelle Obama writes. “What do you want to be when you grow up? As if growing up is finite. At some point you will become something and that’s the end.” As comedian Chris Rock asserts, “You can be anything you wanna be?!” “Tell the kids the truth…You can be anything you’re good at…as long as they’re hiring.” [1]

This reminds me of one the first conversations I had with a therapist. He asked me, “What will you be when you retire?” I looked at him incredulously and said, “I’m not retiring for decades.” He replied, “That’s the point-your identity has become so tied up in being Rabbi and not in being Ben Herman.”

Often, we think that our identities are fixed, whether professionally (the lawyer, accountant, engineer), personally (the cool guy, the nerd, the social butterfly) or by status (rich, poor, middle class). The truth is that very little is set in stone. Some of our personal makeup is genetic but other aspects are learned behavior based on grit, perseverance, and willpower, or lack thereof. Our roles as spouse, parent, child, and sibling are fixed, but we determine how we want to play those roles.

Yom Kippur reminds us that our story is not finished being written, and neither is our identity finished being formed. This is countercultural and powerful. It goes against the studies that our personalities become fixed and immutable by age 7, that by then we are magically hard-wired exactly as we are in that moment. Instead, we should ask ourselves the following: “Where did you form the aspirations you are currently pursuing, and how have you changed since then?”[2]

My teacher, Rabbi Aryeh Ben-David, formerly of the PARDES Institute and founder of Ayeka,[3] taught me that just as we have physical check-ups, so do we need identity check-ups (creating a personal mission statement which we re-examine and see if it’s still true or if our aspirations have changed), spiritual check-ups (how is our relationship with God right now?) and career check-ups (is my career still giving me satisfaction or is it time to pivot?). Bet Shira NetWORKS can help with the latter.

There’s a story by Israeli Nobel Laureate SY Agnon called “The Tallit.” A man is deciding which of two tallitot he should wear for Shabbat. The first tallit is from the old world, celebrating his European heritage. The second tallit is from the new world, honoring his new identity as an Israeli. He deliberates and deliberates, unable to make a choice, and in the end, he misses synagogue.

We relate to this story. How often have we been paralyzed, uncertain what to do or which path to follow? How many times have we been indecisive, missing out on opportunities? We need to recognize that while there are endless moments to reinvent ourselves over the course of the year, to try something new or make a difference, we must take a step forward to do so, jumping into the pool even without certainty as to what will follow. As the rock band Rush teaches, “if you choose not to decide you still have made a choice.”[4] We can examine this from so many angles: the political gridlock, the inability to move beyond our past into our present, the difficulty in making communal decisions. In the end, tension, uncertainty, and internal conflict are integral parts of reinventing ourselves. We will never have complete knowledge if a decision we make was the best possibility-all we can do is examine the situation at hand to determine where we are at and how we want to move forward. It’s ok to recognize that we don’t have the answer to the big questions of our lives, but that should not stop us from trying to reinvent ourselves when the moment is right.

Rabbi Irwin Kula writes in his book Yearnings, “Certainty is seductive; our culture rewards knowing and makes not-knowing a liability; but about the important things in life, it may well be the opposite. Certainty isn’t all it’s cracked up to be-it can lead to arrogance, boredom, complacency and dullness.”[5] We often adopt the adage ‘better the devil we know than the devil we don’t.’ Yet Estelle Frankel teaches us, “Fear of the unknown and unfamiliar is rooted in our uniquely human awareness of mortality. Our ability to remember and learn from the past is useful in many situations, but it can also be problematic, especially when fears rooted in the past prevent us from seeing clearly in the moment. Our tendency is to foreclose on the present moment by coloring it with fearful overlays from the past. It seems that the ancient mind would rather imagine the worst than wait and be surprised by what life actually presents.” [6]

This Yom Kippur, let us be open to trying new things in the journey of life. May we not be afraid to reinvent ourselves even when it means venturing into the unknown, for there is nothing certain about what the next day will bring. If we have fears from past failures, let us not let those define us but rather recognize the person we’ve grown into and are becoming (for we are always in the process of becoming) at this present moment. At times in life, one needs the courage not only to change but also to reinvent oneself to adapt to new situations. It might sound scary, but it’s part of the adventure of finding our mission and true purpose in life.

Sharon will sing When You Believe from The Prince of Egypt.

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[1] Adam Grant Think Again (New York: Viking, 2021), p. 230.

[2] Ibid, 233.

[3] Hebrew word meaning “Where are you?”

[4] Song “Freewill” by Rush

[5] Rabbi Irwin Kula, Yearnings: Embracing the Sacred Messiness of Life (New York: Hachette Books, 2006), pgs. 87-88.

[6] Estelle Frankel, The Wisdom of Not Knowing: Discovering a Life of Wonder and Embracing Uncertainty (Boulder: Shambhala, 2017), pg. 9.