In Tucson I had a congregant who was a pilot and was going to take me out on a Wednesday flight. He called me Tuesday evening to cancel because it was too windy. Impulsively, I thought, “What a great day for me to climb The Window,” a 4,200-foot elevation change climb in Ventana Canyon. I was trail running and made it up to the window (7.2 miles) in record time. I stopped to take pictures of the gorgeous view and then made my way back down. Upon commencing the descent, I realized I was heading down Esperero towards Sabino Canyon rather than the way I came. I turned around but could not find the window and became completely lost. I tried using a hiking GPS, but as someone who is spatially challenged, all it did was kill my phone battery. With 5 percent battery remaining, I phoned my friend Marty and said I needed help. Then I called 911 and attempted to give my coordinates as my phone died.

I waited by a ledge overlooking the mountain, realizing I was completely underdressed, up in the mountains wearing just running clothes, with cold wind permeating every bone in my body. Finally, I saw a helicopter patrolling the area. Excited, I began waving a stick in the air like that scene in The Life of Pi. The chopper didn’t see me and kept on going. The winds picked up, and I became colder and colder. My water and energy bars began running out.

The wind subsided and I did what one is not supposed to do: bushwhacking through brush to a clearing to become more visible. As soon as I reached it, a second helicopter came. I waved frantically, and it saw me. The chopper couldn’t get close enough to me and I heard someone radio in “the Blackhawk.” Half an hour later a Blackhawk helicopter arrived. What noise it made! What dust it kicked up! A rescuer hung down from the helicopter with a rope, reached me, put his legs around mine and then we were pulled up by the rope. We were brought to a base where my vitals were taken. I was told, “You were only 100 yards from the trail.” Go figure. That evening I went to see the play Clybourne Park, as if nothing had happened.

I learned two lessons from this story. One is to never hike alone. The other is that I can never complain again about paying state income taxes (which thankfully I don’t need to do here in Florida). Between three helicopters, one of which cost $1,300 an hour, and two groups of hiker rescuers, one going up Ventana Canyon, the other ascending Sabino Canyon, my rescue attempt must have cost over $10,000 in taxpayer money.

Thankfully our technology has improved since the days when I was search and rescued.

On April 15^th, a hiker missing in Los Angeles was rescued after a man cross-referenced a grainy photo of the mountaineer’s foot with satellite images.  Renee Compean, 46 years old, sent a photo to a friend of his legs hanging over a rocky cliff face in the Angeles National Forest to say he was lost, and his cell phone was dying. The friend passed on the photograph to the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department, who posted it to Twitter asking for help locating the missing man.

Using Google Earth and his knowledge of the hiking trails around California, GPS obsessive Ben Kuo was able to narrow down the location of the missing hiker to within a few kilometers. Kuo posted GPS coordinates of a possible location to grateful local search and rescue teams, who located Compean three quarters of a mile away. 

Compean and Kuo met virtually, at which point the hiker expressed his gratitude. ‘I crazy appreciate what you did…I really don’t know if I could make it there another day. It was just so cold,’ Compean told Kuo.[1]

Each of us has been rescued at some point in our life. We have felt that we are on the edge of a cliff, unable to continue forward. In those situations, someone has come to our aid. Perhaps it was a friend with words of wisdom. Maybe it was a stranger who was in the right place at the right time.

Having brought Bar Reuven, a leader in Israel’s elite Search and Rescue unit 669, to speak at Bet Shira, I was very familiar with advanced search and rescue techniques utilized in emergencies. Yet Search and Rescue took on new meaning for me on Thursday June 24^th with the collapse of the Champlain Towers South Building at 1:30 am. I still can’t get out of my head the image of Cassie Stratton calling her husband and saying, “Honey, the pool’s caving in!”[2] only to have the line become disconnected immediately after. I saw search and rescue workers doing grueling 12 hour shifts in the heat and rain, as well as putting out fires, and I personally got to meet some of them. These are true heroes-determined not to give up until the last body was found.

I was proud that Israel sent in a team right away along with Mexico, yet of course saddened that only one child was able to be rescued from so many trapped under the rubble of the pancaked building. Having visited the memorial and learned the stories of many of the victims, including the family of Arielle Penias, wife of Extreme Productions CEO Adam Penias, my heart has been broken. More recently we feel bereft by the 7.2 magnitude earthquake in Haiti seeing over 2200 people killed and watching search and rescue crews from Fairfax County, Virginia, and the country of and Columbia, amongst other places, sifting through the rubble looking for survivors. This past week brought Hurricane Ida, knocking out power to over 1 million in the greater New Orleans area, as well as a levee, with 25,000 clean up crews from over 30 states picking up the wreckage. Its remnants killed dozens in the greater New York City area.

How do we connect to the darkness of Surfside and these other tragic events and disasters, recognizing the truly unprecedented devastation caused by the collapse of a high rise building in the United States? We certainly don’t rationalize it. However, we gather together, spiritually and virtually, as a community, comforting one another. The High Holy Days are times when those of us who have felt lost are able to feel found. While we feel bereft at the tragic loss of life, from COVID, from Surfside, from Haiti and from so many prominent congregants who have passed away, we recognize that we are ultimately here to comfort one another.

 There is hope. Maybe we have doubts that have only grown since our lives were upended in March 2020 and with the proliferation of the Delta Variant, with a number of those hospitalized having been vaccinated. Yet perhaps we have reevaluated our purpose in this moment. Maybe we just need to be patient, calm and steadfast, seeing where 5782 will take us.

 As I reflect on the time when I was rescued by a Blackhawk helicopter, I question what are the Blackhawk helicopters in each of our lives? What are those things that have rescued us from making a bad mistake or those people who have come to our aid? I also think about situations like Surfside, or September 11^th, where people ended up being in the wrong place in the wrong time and had no chance whatsoever of being rescued. I’ll never have an answer for why those people were taken before their time. All I can do is thank the first responders, those search and rescue crews, who worked tirelessly day after day in brutal conditions to try to hear a knocking on the rebar or to find a void within the structure. Those who put their lives at risk, like those who go out to battle wildfires such as the Caldor and Dixie Fires, respond to hurricanes like Ida, and earthquakes like that in Haiti, leaving their families at a moment’s notice not knowing if or when they will return. We owe them a great debt of gratitude for all that they do. However, each of us can also be involved in aspects of search and rescue. It might not be sifting through concrete or putting out a fire, yet let us not shortchange when we sit and listen to a friend or a child who is in crisis, using the wisdom of our life experience to help guide them on a good path. We never know when we are a malach, an angel or messenger of God, in the right place at the right time to help a troubled soul. Let us be grateful for those who have been there to rescue us during our times of need, and may we be mindful to be there for others who need us.

Sharon will sing Shema Yisrael by Sarit Hadad. God, please hear our prayers on this holy day and especially at times in our lives when we are broken and bereft.

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[1] https://www.latimes.com/california/story/2021-04-15/lasd-finds-hiker-found-safe-in-angeles-national-forest-gps-expert

[2] https://www.insideedition.com/missing-model-called-to-tell-husband-the-pool-was-caving-in-before-miami-building-collapse-67996

At a meditation retreat with the Institute of Jewish Spirituality, Rabbi Jordan Bendat-Appell taught me a profound teaching based on a Zen koan. It is to meditate on the following saying: “Where am I going? Don’t know.” On Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, we admit all the times that we made mistakes. We are saying we were wrong and yet, in our imperfection, God will forgive us for the mistakes we’ve made. We also recognize that we often don’t know where we are headed in the rollercoaster of life and that’s ok. Uncertainty is a powerful force. Only in hindsight can we see when we’ve gone down a less than desirable path and make changes to steer us towards a more favorable course.

If COVID taught us one thing it’s that the world is completely unpredictable and that we need not mourn change but rather celebrate it. As I settled into Elul and extensive High Holy Day preparations, this is what came to mind. Often, we are so fixated on what we know that change frightens us into keeping the status quo-even when it is at our own peril. When something in the present just isn’t working for us anymore, rather than getting depressed and giving up or pushing ahead with tunnel vision, we need to recognize that we are going in the wrong direction and take steps towards making meaningful and significant change.

In his book Think Again, Adam Grant writes, “attachment. That’s what keeps us from recognizing when our opinions are off the mark and rethinking them. To unlock the joy of being wrong, we need to detach. I’ve learned that two types of detachment are particularly useful: detaching your present from your past and detaching your opinions from your identity.”[1]

Grant writes that the majority of people when proven wrong immediately become defensive. We can most certainly think of examples of this! That was not the case for Daniel Kahneman, the Nobel Prize winning psychologist. When proven wrong by Adam Grant, Kahneman said, “That’s wonderful-I was wrong.”[2] He went on to say, “Being wrong is the only way I feel sure I’ve learned anything.”

On Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, we recognize what we did wrong and strive to learn from it. We also see that we’re not the same person we were last year, let alone 5 or 10 years ago. Each of us always can learn new techniques for difficult situations or to unlearn mistaken assumptions that we have made. What’s wonderful about Judaism is that we not only recognize this, but we celebrate it. We rejoice in having the opportunity to begin again with a fresh mindset. We also celebrate the idea that God renews the works of creation each day. Every moment is a new opportunity for spiritual, personal, and intellectual growth, as well as for flexibility in how we view the world. They say only kids have flexibility whereas adults have rigidity. That is not true; we are able to change our worldview and even if we choose not to, “who we are should be a question of what we value, not what we believe.”[3]

               A goal in life is to celebrate our successes, while evaluating what went wrong and what we can learn from it. Rather than being emotionally invested in outcomes, we need to be “passionately dispassionate”[4]-able to divest our personal views and see what we can learn from where we are at right now. “When you’re wrong it’s not something to be depressed about. Say “hey I discovered something!”[5]

         This is a core teaching of Rosh Hashanah. Rosh HaShanah is also known as Rosh HaShinui, the beginning of change. So many Jewish sources reinforce the creative power of uncertainty and the positivity of change. Rabbi Hanina teaches us, “I have learned much from my teachers, more from my colleagues and most from students.”[6] If Rabbi Hanina was anti-change, he wouldn’t say he learns most from the next generation, his students. Those of us who took Mahloket Matters last winter from the PARDES Institute learned that the goal is to have 49-49 conversations, where one can see the other’s position through 49 prisms and one’s own position through 49 prisms.[7] Too often we see the world through binary lenses, right and wrong. Not only is this counterproductive but it also leads to developing the rigidity of our adversary, Pharaoh. Furthermore, we learn from Midrash that there are 70 faces to Torah,[8] meaning 70 diverse interpretations for any point. Ben Bag teaches us that we need to “turn it (Torah) over and turn it over, for everything is inside it.[9] In other words, there is always more to learn, and it is our job not to be an ideologue or inflexible in our beliefs and opinions but rather to be open to new interpretations.

Jeff Bezos points out that “people who are right a lot listen a lot and they change their minds a lot.”[10] We know that “changing your mind doesn’t make you a flip-flopper or a hypocrite. It means you were open to learning.”[11] Bezos is not describing a constant flip flopper; a hallmark of a credible leader is one who can invoke an opinion and stay the course amidst resistance. Rather, he is talking about one who holds a steadfast opinion only to have new information come out which changes one’s viewpoint. In life, “quality means rethinking, reworking and polishing. (People) need to feel they will be celebrated, not ridiculed, for going back to the drawing board.”[12] We must be able to “fail fast”[13]; to try new things, learn from them and move forward based on what we’ve learned.

This famous quotation from Michael Jordan was said at a Bar Mitzvah speech in May. “I’ve missed more than 9000 shots in my career. I’ve lost almost 300 games. 26 times, I’ve been trusted to take the game winning shot and missed. I’ve failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed.”[14] Very few mistakes in life are irreparable; on the contrary, most of them can make us stronger, if we take the time to evaluate what we did wrong and how to learn from them. There can be a joy in being wrong, in welcoming disagreement and debate. Rosh Hashanah gives us the opportunity to recognize that by virtue of being human, we are imperfect. We don’t have all the answers-not even close! The goal is to try our best each and every day, having the courage to admit our mistakes as they occur and learn from them how to act otherwise. Being wrong need not be an embarrassment but rather can be a source of joy as it involves learning something new about ourselves. In a rewriting of Descartes, “I err; therefore, I learn.”[15] In 5782 I hope each of us will evaluate our actions, celebrate what we are doing right, learn from what we are doing wrong and utilize it to make us better, stronger people. Ken Yhi Ratzon, may it be our will to do so.

Sharon will lead us in Bring Him Home from Les Miserables, featuring a beautiful Hebrew verse which she wrote and added to the song.

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[1] Adam Grant Think Again (New York: Viking, 2021), p. 62.

[2] Ibid, 60-61.

[3] Ibid, pg. 63.

[4] Ibid, pg. 64.

[5] Ibid, pg. 70.

[6] Babylonian Talmud Taanit 7a

[7] Midrash Tehilim 12

[8] Numbers Rabbah Naso 13:15

[9] Pirkei Avot 5:24

[10] Ibid, pg. 72.

[11] Ibid, pg. 101.

[12] Ibid, pg. 199-200.

[13] See Fail Fast and Fail Often: How Losing Can Help You Win by Ryan Babineaux and John Krumboltz

[14] Michael Jordan in Nike Commercial, 1997.

[15] Ibid, pg. 233.

Think back to where we were last Erev Rosh Hashanah. I was in an empty Sanctuary with Chelsea Rego in the back and Eddie from Extreme Productions doing video. It was overwhelming-Eddie had 200 videos to put in order. We didn’t have audio for me for half the service. I didn’t have anyone to look to for gauging reactions. After services, I learned that Ruth Bader Ginsburg died. Since I was live as opposed to prerecorded, I was able to address it on Rosh Hashanah Day 1. Little did I know we’d be in a similar situation the following year, with the onset of Delta. I miss seeing each and every one of you in person-your handshakes, embraces and warm smiles.

I was hoping this year would be an emergence from the cave like that of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai and his son.[1] However, that is not a realistic look at where we are now. A few of us are in the Sanctuary, most of us are at home. Each of us has been changed radically by the events of the past year. In any given year, if we are the same people, we were last Rosh Hashanah, it’s a tremendous loss of potential. We see that life is not to be taken for granted: just look at the over 600,000 Americans killed by COVID or the almost 100 killed by the collapse of the Champlain Towers, which I will address more tomorrow, the 2,200 killed in the earthquake in Haiti. We need to recognize that this year is not the same as last year, that some are gone forever, and that what is most important are people, as things can always be replaced.

There’s a great story by Elie Wiesel entitled “The Watch.” After the Holocaust, Elie snuck back into the garden at the home where he used to live to find his most treasured possession: a watch buried in the ground. He departed with the watch but soon after leaving the garden, he paused, returned, and put the watch back. Elie recognized that all he30 wanted was his family back and that this prized possession did not truly matter. Who he was and what he valued had changed dramatically.

Let us examine where we intend to be next year. We always must keep moving forward on this rollercoaster we call life. Many times, I’ve heard the phrase “get back to normal” reminding me of former President Warren Harding’s “Return to Normalcy” at the end of WWI. Every time I hear that, I ask two questions: 1.) What is normal? 2.) Is it really something we want to get back to? We’re in an age when many people feel more alone and isolated than ever before.[2] Community relationships have frayed, there is increased economic injustice, and mental illness is on the rise. I think of how Harding’s “return to normalcy” and the roaring 20’s was quickly followed by the Great Depression.

To move forward, there is a text from our tradition that we might find helpful.[3] Rabban Gamliel, Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah, Rabbi Yehoshua, and Rabbi Akiva were ascending to Jerusalem after the destruction of the Second Temple. When they arrived at Mount Scopus and saw the site of the Temple, they rent their garments in mourning. Upon arrival at the Temple Mount, they saw a fox emerging from the site of the Holy of Holies. They began weeping, yet Rabbi Akiva was laughing. They said to him: For what reason are you laughing? Rabbi Akiva replied: For what reason are you weeping? They answered: This is the place concerning which it is written: “And the non-priest who approaches shall die”[4]; now foxes walk in it; and shall we not weep?

Rabbi Akiva said to them: That is why I am laughing, as it is written: “And I will take to Me faithful witnesses to attest: Uriah the priest, and Zechariah.”[5] Uriah prophesied during the First Temple period, and Zechariah during the Second Temple period. Fulfillment of the prophecy of Zechariah is dependent on fulfillment of the prophecy of Uriah.

In the prophecy of Uriah, it is written: “Therefore, for your sake Zion shall be plowed as a field, and Jerusalem shall become rubble, and the Temple Mount as the high places of a forest,”[6] where foxes are found. In the prophecy of Zechariah, it is written: “There shall yet be elderly men and elderly women sitting in the streets of Jerusalem.”[7] Until the prophecy of Uriah was fulfilled, I was afraid that the prophecy of Zechariah would not be fulfilled, as the two prophecies are linked. Now that the prophecy of Uriah was fulfilled, it is evident that the prophecy of Zechariah remains valid. The Sages said to him: “Akiva, you have comforted us; Akiva, you have comforted us.”

We need to remember that where there’s destruction there’s also a new beginning, or as is often said, “When one door closes, another opens.” The past that we had doesn’t exist anymore. All that exists are new possibilities. We must be resilient like Rabbi Akiva and no matter how bleak things might look at times in our lives, we need to have optimism and hope in the creation of a “new normal.” We need to ask ourselves what society we wish to be creating and what role do we have to play in its formulation? If we are stuck in the past, whether it is mourning for the Temple or pining for the Jewish life of February 2020, we cannot write the next chapter in Jewish history. May God give us the strength and the tools to do our part these High Holy Days to reflect on our past, acknowledge where we are at in the present and determine what we need to do to move forward into a successful future.

Sharon will lead us in a song called Grateful by Beth Styles.

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[1] Babylonian Talmud Shabbat 33b

[2] See Robert Putnam’s book Bowling Alone

[3] Babylonian Talmud Makkot 24b

[4] Numbers 1:51

[5] Isaiah 8:2

[6] Micah 3:12

[7] Zechariah 8:4

    At the end of the weekday reading, we read הנסתרות לה אלקנו והנגלות [1]לנו ולבנינו עד עולם there are some dots about the words לנו ולבנינו עד. Why are those dots present? It’s because sins done in secret we leave to God to handle. Sins done in public, however, are our responsibility to address each and every generation. There is no such thing as an innocent bystander in Judaism. One is responsible for correcting injustices that are in their midst.

          This is an important lesson right before the High Holy Days. One of the hardest commandments to fulfill, especially in our contemporary era of rampant individualism, isתוכיח את עמיתך  הוכח,[2] you shall surely rebuke your fellow. How do we rebuke others doing wrong if there is no absolute standard of right and wrong? While we need to be careful and think before doing it if we see a blatant injustice, such as theft, bullying/abuse or destruction of property, it is our responsibility to address it in that moment and to rebuke the one committing the damage. If we do not than according to Judaism we are guilty-perhaps as guilty as the one who committed the offense.

          As we approach the High Holy Days and think about how we can better become the people we want to be in the world, I would urge us to think about this. Sometimes it’s not good to sit back and be the nice guy or girl-true leadership requires responding to injustices through rebuking the perpetrators. May we hear this lesson and take it to heart in 5782.

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[1] Deuteronomy 28:29

[2] Leviticus 19:17

          Parsht Ki Tavo begins with the offering of first fruits. Our ancestors were required to consecrate their first fruits in the Land of Israel to God by means of God’s representative, the Levites. This taught them two lessons: that the fruit and the trees on which they grow does not belong to them but rather to God and that they need to be grateful for having been given the privilege of entering the Land of Israel. I think about the latter often as I was privileged to go to Israel, to see firsthand Lod, Kibbutz Kfar Azza, Jerusalem and Sheikh Jarrah, while so many continue to be denied the opportunity to enter the Holy Land because of the spread of COVID.

          What we learn from Ki Tavo is to have gratitude for our lot and all our privileges in life, rather than taking them for granted. We also learn that our material possessions are not ours to exploit but rather a gift on loan from the Holy One. If utilized properly, we will feel the effects of their blessings; if not, they might become a curse unto us. I hope that as we read about entering Israel and showing gratitude through the gift of the first fruits to the Almighty that we will always appreciate all that we have and that we shall give of our gifts to spread godliness in the world and make it a better place.

          The Torah is an environmental document. The rabbinic statement בל תשחית, you shall not destroy, originates from this week’s Torah portion. We learn “when in war against a city you have to besiege…you must not destroy its trees, wielding the axe against them. You may eat of them, but you must not cut them down. Are trees of the field human to withdraw before you into the besieged city?”[1]

          The Torah acknowledges from the very beginning the need for human stewardship of the world. It says “the man was placed in the Garden of Eden to work it and tend to it (לעבדה ולשומרה).[2] Our role is to protect the earth. Parshat Shoftim reinforces it, saying that we cannot prey upon trees, deforesting entire populations so that they run out of produce. No matter whom we are fighting, we must protect their vegetation.

          With our seeing the impact of climate change in our own lifetime-larger fires, warmer temperatures, and more powerful hurricanes-this section of Shofetim serves as a wake-up call for us to do our part in being stewards of God’s world. On Shabbat we should recognize this even more than on other days. The prohibition against melacha (creative activity) on Shabbat is to teach that the productive manipulation of the environment is not an absolute right.[3]

          As we celebrate Jason’s Bar Mitzvah this weekend let us think about what we can do to fulfill our job as stewards of God’s world for future generations. In doing so, may we do our small but significant part in combating climate change.

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[1] Deuteronomy 20:19

[2] Genesis 2:15

[3] Dr. I. Grunfeld, The Sabbath, Feldheim Publishers, 1972, pp. 3-29. 9.

         How many times in life do we feel so hungry we can eat a horse? How often do we wolf down a meal without a second thought as to what we are eating. At the Institute for Jewish Spirituality, I learned the importance of mindful eating. We did a 10 minute raisin meditation, where we hold a raising in our hand, feel the texture, savor the smell, roll it in our mouths and chew it extremely slowly. Needless to say I have never eaten a raisin that way again, nor do I plan to. However, it taught an important lesson of not taking any food for granted-recognizing that even a little raisin is a great gift from the Holy One.

         In Parshat Ekev God tells us ואכלת ושבעת וברכת, “you shall eat, be satiated and then bless.”[1] The rabbis debate whether one has to bless if they did were unsatisfied by the food they ate.[2] What I prefer, however, is to examine the importance of this three step process. One cannot scarf down his/her food and then rush up from the table. Rather, one must each in a way that satisfies him/her and when one reaches that point of satiation, s/he must demonstrate gratitude to God for his/her bounty. Like the raisin, we must acknowledge that someone planted the seeds to make the grapevine flowers. Once the grapes were formed, someone picked them from the vine, put them on a big sheet and dried them in the sun, removing all the moisture from them. All this occurs before the raisins are put through an assembly line, packaged and shipped to Publix or Milam’s. By taking a step back to appreciate that which we are consuming (through a bracha as well as savoring the food we eat) we will become satiated with it and it will be food worthy of blessing, as opposed to the sandwich I might force down in the car or in front of my computer screen.

         Through this three step command, the Holy One is teaching us to be grateful for what we are privileged to consume, to take our time eating it and to say blessings thanking God for enabling us to have it. I hope that with this, as well as with so many things we take for granted, we will instead take a moment to fully experience our food, enjoying every bite, so that we will be satisfied and give it the blessing that it deserves.

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[1] Deuteronomy 8:10

[2] See Sifrei Devarim 8:10

Imagine you had 33 chapters to cement your legacy. How would you want people to remember you? What messages would you like to leave behind?

        The Book of Deuteronomy is Moses’ legacy. It is a repetition of events that already occurred as he remembers them years later. While it is known as Mishneh Torah, a repetition of the Torah, Moses puts his own spin on past events, from the sending of spies to why he was not allowed to enter the Land of Israel.

        I have led exercises both on writing a spiritual autobiography and on doing an ethical will. I believe it is important to do these sooner rather than later in order for future generations to understand who we are, what we value and what we’ve desired to contribute to the world. The Book of Deuteronomy is Moses cementing his legacy. As we read through it, may we find things which resonate with us and can help us in crafting our own spiritual autobiography and/or ethical will.

(CNN)When I went to Surfside, Florida, on Sunday, June 27 — a few short days after the tragic collapse of part of Champlain Towers South — I was not sure what I would find. It happened to be the 17th day of the Hebrew month of Tammuz, a fast day that marks the tragic breach of Jerusalem before the Romans destroyed the Holy Temple.

Biden opens up about grief at Surfside collapse visit 03:43I was headed to the site of another tragedy. While many of the residents who died or remain unaccounted for are Jewish, many others called the building home. Their friends and families, like those in the Jewish community in Surfside, are struggling to make sense of this tragedy, while grieving for the loss of their loved ones.

As a rabbi in the area, I view my role as helping the Jewish victims and their families respond to the collapse, relying on the principles and practices of our faith to do so. This task has proven to be nothing short of formidable.

But when I visited The Shul of Bal Harbour, one mile north of Champlain Towers, I heard the powerful words of Rabbi Sholom Lipskar, who reminded me of an essential truth about Judaism — our responsibility is to respond to whatever comes our way. As Rabbi Lipskar alluded to, we are all responsible for one another. It is our responsibility to provide for those undergoing trauma and to ensure that each of their needs are being met, both those grieving lost friends and family and those waiting painstakingly to hear news that was not coming — the torture of not knowing whether their loved ones were alive or dead.

At the family relocation center, I met with people who had lost everything. I had no words — all I could do was listen to their stories and be present in the moment. Many were holding out hope, even though only one survivor had been rescued from the rubble just hours after the collapse.And when Miami-Dade County Mayor Daniella Levine Cava announced that they were calling off the search for survivors last week, I could not imagine the grief and despair these families must have felt. The victims include newlyweds and seniors, along with those visiting from Paraguay, Argentina, and elsewhere. Others had just moved into what they thought were dream homes overlooking the ocean. Now, members of the clergy are performing funerals for multiple victims at a time.

In Judaism, funerals are conducted as soon as possible, with shiva, a week-long mourning period, beginning immediately after. When the remains have been found, they are buried at the funeral. If the head and most of the body are found later than the other limbs, for example, then they are buried in a separate grave.But what happens when the remains are never recovered? Judaism teaches us, as is affirmed by a response by Conservative Rabbis Kass Abelson and Meyer Rabinowitz , that the ritual of mourning beings when we reach the point of yeush, or despair. When the mayor called off the search and rescue operation this week, we began performing memorial services for those who had not been found and started observing shivah.

If the bodies are found later (may God help it be so, if and only if it helps the families gain a sense of closure), they will be buried, and the burial day will constitute the one and only day of shiva.The reason for such a quick funeral and for shiva is for the mourners to be comforted by their community — to know they are not alone at a moment of intense vulnerability. People bring food to each other’s homes and gather with prayers. It helps create a sense of closure.Without the body and burial, there is no closure, which is why many have done vigils and memorial services for all the deceased. On Thursday, there was an interfaith concert at Temple Emanuel of Miami Beach to raise money for the victims’ families as well as to lift people’s spirits. The most poignant moment for me was when Elizabeth Zito sang “I am not Alone,” and conductor Mark Rossi invited all the attendees to join in. We continue to pray every day for all those affected by the tragedy of Surfside. When we undergo trauma, as our community has, may we recognize the importance of taking care of ourselves. Being present for people, listening to their stories, or offering to get them what they need, be it an energy drink or some food, is such an important mitzvah (commandment).

I have great gratitude for the first responders, as well as the clergy, social workers and therapists who have helped people get through this trying time.

This coming week I will be returning to Surfside and seeing what I can do to continue to help. It is times like this, when the shock of the initial crisis has passed but the void is still much present, that those who have been displaced and are adrift need us the most. May God give each of us the strength to do all we can to help those impacted by this horrific event.

        There are some things for which there are no words. On Thursday I did two funerals where I spoke about why we thank God at times of tragedy-because when we feel vulnerable, that the world has slipped out from underneath our footsteps, we need to find some rock to anchor ourselves, and that rock with a capital R is God. However, how can we thank God in the midst of a tragedy: the structural collapse of the Champlain Towers South Building? How can we be thankful when people are missing and all that might remain of them are DNA traces under the rubble? How can we be grateful when so many don’t know if their loved ones are alive or dead?

        Unlike in my lengthy Israel sermon last week, this week I have very little to say. A presumed 99 victims in the middle of the night, unaware that the ground beneath their feet was crumbling. A community that I best knew for its kosher scene, especially Mendel’s Backyard BBQ, now in one of the most gripping, horrific and terrible tragedies our country has ever seen.

        In an emergency rabbi meeting on Thursday evening, Rabbi Jonathan Berkun spoke about the importance of being present at these moments. He had flown out to Pittsburgh where he father, Alvin Berkun, served as rabbi of Tree of Life Congregation. He was at Surfside Thursday along with Rabbi Fred Klein and countless others, seeing what they could do in a pastoral role. While my Thursday and Friday schedules preclude me from going, I plan to be at Surfside after Sunday minyan. The 17^th of Tammuz is the date on which we remember the beginning of the end of the Second Temple, with the Romans breaking through the walls of Jerusalem. It is certainly an appropriate day to respond pastorally to those who have undergone such a horrific tragedy-the destruction of their homes or the homes of their loved ones.

        In times of trauma, all one can do is listen and be present. I do not know what I will find tomorrow at Surfside. All I know is that just as it was my job as a rabbi to be in Israel after trauma so too is it my job to be at Surfside without an agenda, just to see who needs a listening ear. It is our job to help however we can. The Greater Miami Jewish Federation has a centralized fund for which they will use the monies collected to help meet the specific needs of those who lost their homes and who are currently living in two hotels in the area.

        I pray for those affected by this traumatic tragedy and that I can do my small part to attend to their needs. Often people have good intentions but don’t respond in the way most needed. Sometimes all that is needed is to be present and listen to one person rather than bringing in a truckload of food and clothes. I trust the Federation with the latter and I will engage in the former.