G’mar Hatima Tova. It’s so wonderful to see you on the holiest day of the year. Parents reunited with children, grandparents with grandchildren, uncles and aunts with nephews and nieces, cousins with one another.

For those with whom I have not yet had the chance to meet in person, I look forward to getting to know you over the course of 5784 and I also hope to deepen my connections with those who I had the privilege of meeting last year. With our new team in place, most notably with the arrival of Chazzan Noah Rachels but also recognizing the extraordinary work of our staff and volunteers, we’re building something special at Mosaic Law Congregation and I’m tremendously excited to begin the new year.

         In 5784 we have the opportunity to say, “This Year in Jerusalem!” Mosaic Law Congregation will be doing its first congregational Israel trip in over a decade, and I hope you will be able to join us. Please take one of the flyers outside with trip details and sign up after Yom Tov. You can direct any questions about the trip please to Bebe Halimi (our President’s wife) or me. I have some extra flyers up here if someone did not get one and would like to join us on the trip.

Join my family at our Sukkot Open House, Sunday October 1 from 2:00-4:00 pm. Please park at the west lot of the synagogue and walk over.

Last but not least please join us at 4:00 pm on Tuesday October 3 in the Center for guest speaker Henry Michaelski on his book Torn Lilacs. I heard him in Florida, and he’s outstanding.

Death-by Lucille Frenkel

Who can accept of its finality?

All of life’s complex, vast totality

Abruptly ended? What can be compared

Unto this moment, universally shared.

But who would agree such happening could be-

An end to being, mortal’s mortality!

Say no to it-a firm “No” bravely spoken.

Know bodies break, but lifesouls live unbroken.”[1]

What is your life story about? Each of us lives on this planet for an unspecified amount of time. Our job is to make the most out of the time that we have so that we can say we truly did our best to make a difference in the world.

Our life story can come to an end in a moment. There are so many losses in life which are inexplainable. Memorial Day Weekend I lost two former congregants from the Miami and Long Island congregations I served-one in her mid 30s from an aneurism while at her sister’s bridal shower weekend, and one who was in her later 40s and died from an accidental overdose on anti-anxiety medication upon returning from her niece’s graduation. There is no rational explanation for these events. God’s presence doesn’t justify the losses; it is there to console us at the difficult moments in our lives. Feeling a void from loved ones who have passed on while concurrently keeping them in mind is what living is all about.

This past winter and spring I spent 6 months in the JJ Greenberg Institute for the Advancement of Jewish Life with Mechon Hadar based in New York-though now with a West Coast Branch. The institute was named after Rabbi Irving “Yitz” Greenberg’s son JJ, who was fatally struck by a teen driver when he was biking in Israel. Rav Yitz’s ability to believe in a loving God with whom we are in continuous relationship after losing his son is incredible. Life requires us to pick up the pieces during times of brokenness. Rav Yitz has dedicated his life story to connecting people with God, especially at the times when it feels that God is distant from us. In so doing, he has taught over 2 generations his Torah, and we will pass it on to generations yet to come.

In Anderson Cooper’s podcast All There Is, there is an episode entitled “Grateful for Grief.” Anderson begins by discussing going through his childhood home and finding objects from when his mother had passed away two years prior and from his brother’s death from suicide at age 21 and his father’s death decades prior when Anderson was 10 years old. Anderson’s mother couldn’t emotionally handle going through the boxes, leaving it for him. After discussing his connection with these items, Anderson interviewed Stephen Colbert, who lost his father and two brothers in a plane crash when he was 10 years old. Stephen told Anderson, “It’s a gift to exist, and with existence comes suffering. There’s no escaping that. But if you are grateful for your life, you have to be grateful for all of it. At a young age I suffered…by the time I was in serious relationships, with friends or with my wife or with my children, I understood that everyone is suffering, and however imperfectly to acknowledge their suffering, and connect with them, to love them in a deep way that makes you grateful for the fact that you have suffered…I want to be the most human I can be, and that involves acknowledging and ultimately being grateful for the things that I wish didn’t happen because they gave me a gift.” Anderson Cooper was blown away by Stephen Colbert’s remarks.

This is obviously easier said than done, and not everyone can achieve this. As Anderson said, “How can you be grateful for the death of someone you’ve loved or a terrible loss that you’ve experienced?” Stephen’s reply was “I haven’t the slightest idea. I just know the value of it….in middle age I was walking down the street and felt gratitude for the pain of that grief…it allows you to examine the grief in a way that is not a red hot ember in your hands but rather can warm you and light your knowledge of what other people might be going through, which is really just another way of saying there’s a value in having experienced it.” [2]  We are not grateful for suffering or death, but rather are most appreciative of our time here on earth and the relationships we have developed with others.

This does not mean we should love suffering. As the Talmud states, Rabbi Yoḥanan’s student, Rabbi Ḥiyya bar Abba, fell ill. Rabbi Yoḥanan entered to visit him, and said to him: ‘Is your suffering dear to you? Do you desire to be ill and afflicted?’ Rabbi Ḥiyya replied: ‘I neither welcome this suffering nor any reward that might come from it.’[3] The goal is not to like suffering. Rather one must continue forward, rather than giving up, regardless of the situation in which we find ourselves.[4] It means to say, ‘I can find good in this moment, no matter how difficult.’[5] It does NOT mean to rationalize things or try to explain the inexplainable. Stephen Colbert talks about people who go through tragedies as “It’s like they’re in a wind but you can’t see their storm. You just see the effect on them.”[6]

The significance of our life story is tied to how we live in the world, including what we value and what we teach the next generations. At times we might even be remembered through a sacred object. When my parents moved to Scottsdale just before the pandemic, they left items for Karina and me to examine and continue to use when we had our own house. During our most recent trip to Scottsdale, we drove a box of these heirlooms back to Sacramento. Among them was my great great grandfather’s bible from the 19^th century, a gorgeous crystal dreidel and a pink, glass Kiddush cup. These ritual items now live on within our family. I’ll never forget a day school project to bring in a family heirloom; I brought my great-great grandfather’s Elijah cup. It was the most distinctive item I’d seen: green glass. Often, we don’t highlight objects-after all who someone was is far greater than what s/he had. Yet an object can be a means of keeping someone’s memory alive.

I am proud that my great-great grandfather, upon moving to the United States, maintained his Jewish traditions from Europe. I am proud that my maternal grandfather fought in Israel’s War for Independence. I am proud that my paternal grandfather served our country as a doctor in Korea. Holding these memories near and dear to my heart keeps them alive within the present.

When I counsel a couple before their wedding, I ask them to use at their ceremony ritual items that have meaning-perhaps a grandparent’s Kiddush cup, tallit, or family rings. Not only does this provide a personal touch but more importantly it ensures that part of their loved one is with them during the ceremony. As such, the chain of tradition extends one more length. Symbolic items can bind us close to loved ones. Of course, there is no substitute for their physical presence, yet even that can be felt at the wedding. When the couple wraps themselves in a tallit, there is an opportunity for the Priestly Blessing to connect with family members, especially those with them in spirit.

One might say, ‘It’s nice to connect with a few ritual items, yet what about when one has to go through an entire house, a lifetime of memories, which can be emotionally overwhelming?’ This is where I return to the conversation between Anderson Cooper and Stephen Colbert. Upon going through the mountains of boxes and belongings in his childhood home, Anderson was fraught with emotion, because “I’m sort of the last one standing, the last one who remembers these moments.” Stephen’s reply was “Isn’t it extraordinary to know that you’re the last one who knows that story, which is why it’s so important to tell that story. It really does keep them alive and make you less lonely. Someone else knows part of you. That story is built into the fabric, it’s built into the marvel that is you. Telling a story is so important.”

I began this sermon by asking ‘What’s your life story?’ That is what Yizkor is all about-in order to remember the life stories of others, we need to concurrently reflect on our own stories and how we live in the world. At Yizkor, we remember our loved ones and the examples through which they lived in the world. We can reflect on items they left behind in which their spirit is still present. My family uses Karina’s great aunt Annette’s fine china every time we host Shabbat or holiday dinners. In keeping these precious items near and dear to our hearts, our loved ones live on through us.

As we remember those who have passed on before us so too should we take time to reflect on how we want to be remembered by future generations. This year, I received two dad books-one to write my own memories and experiences and the other to do with my eldest daughter.  I don’t know if they will be read in the future, but I am doing them to memorialize experiences. A book is not the only way to reinforce memories, however. When I was growing up our family memories were concretized through videos which we saw each time the family came together. One of the earliest was my bris, which thankfully was not shown more than once. Whether it is photo books, journals, videos, or art, it is important to put these memories in a tangible form.

Today I enter year 40 (though my 41^st year of life) on the Gregorian calendar, I think about what my next 40-year period will bring. In Judaism we tell someone on their birthday “May you live to be 120 years”-like Moses. Moses had three 40-year periods: Growing up in Pharaoh’s house, living in exile and returning to free the Israelites; Leading Israel into desert for 40 years. Sigmund Freud wrote about three different stages in Moses’ life: Moses the Egyptian, Moses the liberator and Moses the leader.[7]

Whatever age we are, what is most important is that we think about what chapter of our lives we are writing today. What are the pivotal moments in this current chapter of your life? What are the joys and the excitements, the obstacles, and the challenges? How are you living your life in accordance with those who came before you and how are you self-differentiating? Whatever you are working on at present, the most important lesson is to remember is that each one of us is a work in progress and that we are linked to a chain of those who came before us. Our loved ones look on from above with a smile.

As we prepare to say Yizkor, I’d like everyone here to turn to the person next to you and to share something about one person for whom you will be saying the Yizkor prayer. What is one memory that sticks out in your mind about your loved one?

We say Yizkor recognizing that every moment of life is precious and to acknowledge our place in life’s endless story. We proclaim that each moment matters and that those who have passed on have impacted our lives, and we will do the same for so many others. It is not only memory per se but also remembering as a call to action, to make the most out of each opportunity we have. This is a daunting task for sure, but one to which we can live up. It does not take away the pain and the void we feel with our loved ones’ passing but rather it encourages us to live and spend our moments on this planet with confidence, with strength and with love. In so doing, we will write the most beautiful chapters in our life stories.

Mourners Kaddish-by Lucille Frenkel

Every human’s dying is our dying.

And that is why we hide-we hide from dying.

Death turns us from our childish ways and prattle

And forces us to face in life perspective

Our yesterday, our present, our tomorrow.

Therefore, we would swiftly sweep to graveside

The dead ones quickly, quickly out of being.

And speak death quickly-say it has no meaning,

And cowardice would render lifespan empty.

To this, our ancient wise one in past ages

Insisted death and life be one in Godness.

Life was no rag disposed of prompt and easy,

But living wove a tapestry called soulness,

A fabric rich in word and deed and thought.

And soul you do not fold and put to nothing

Once and forever as if it breathed no liferise.

And so began the method of our mourning.

And thus, the Jew declared that life was holy,

And in each death Jews celebrate God’s lifegift.

With reverence, we enter sanctuaries

To gaze again at tapestries we carry

Of those who were and whom we called beloved.

They live once more within each Kaddish chanting,

And we find roses woven in death’s pattern,

And here and there, a loveliness forgotten.

Every human life is but our living,

And every human’s dying is but our dying.

And this is the translation of Yizkor,

The beauty and the wisdom of the Kaddish.[8]

---

[1] Lucille Frenkel, A Jewish Adventure (Milwaukee WI: The Eternity Press, 1983). Pg. 119.

[2] Amderson Cooper. All There Is, Episode “Grateful for Grief,” September 21, 2022

[3] Babylonian Talmud Berachot 5b

[4] Sifrei Devarim 32b

[5] Based loosely off that Talmudic character Nahum ish Gam Zu

[6] Stephen Colbert, All There Is, September 21, 2022

[7] Sigmud Freud, Moses and Monotheism, 1934.

[8] Frenkel, A Jewish Adventure, pg. 117.

And who by fire, who by water
Who in the sunshine, who in the night time
Who by high ordeal, who by common trial
Who in your merry merry month of May
Who by very slow decay
And who shall I say is calling[1]?

Who by fire? Just look at the town of Lahina, burnt to a crisp, with over 100 dead on Maui, the most dead ever from a wildfire in our country. See the wildfire smoke coming from British Columbia pummeling much of the northern United States for days on end. Who by water? Look at Hilary dumping more rain on California and Arizona in 1 day than typically falls in a year, the fishing communities destroyed, and cars turned into boats in Florida’s Big Bend, and the devastation wrought by the flooding in New England and in Greece, as well as Libya, where an estimated 5,000 are dead and 10,000 are missing.  Let’s not forget the earthquake which killed almost 3,000 people in Morocco earlier this month.

Look at the rising temperatures on land and by the sea, the warmest summer on record, with Phoenix having 31 consecutive days over 110 degrees, El Paso having 44 consecutive days over 100 degrees, and we see the evidence of an inconvenient truth.

I’ve spent a lot of time speaking about mindfulness, the importance of focusing on the here-and-now. However, at times one must take steps for future generations. There’s a famous story about Honi HaMaagel (the circle drawer) who saw an old man planting carob trees. “Fool!” he said to him. “Who are you planting those trees for?” The man replied, “Just as my grandparents planted carob trees for me, so too will I plant them for my grandchildren.”[2]

We need to think about what we are doing to plant the seeds for generations yet to come. I implore us to take the steps collectively to make a difference. Where we cannot we will have to adapt as best we can.

There is one brief story I want to share about response to a natural disaster. Benny Reinicke of Maui, was in standstill traffic with many, going towards the water to escape the wildfire. He was going to run into the water when all of a sudden he saw an 88 year old woman and her daughter struggling to walk with the smoke. He got out of his car and helped guide them towards the water. Reinicke found a spot away from the electric poles and trees and hunkered down alongside them, along with a person with disabilities and a person who was struggling to breathe. They held onto one another for 8 hours before being saved by firemen. At a time when his life was at great risk, Reinicke stepped forward and saved others.

         I do not have answers as to how to stop Who By Fire and Who By Water. There are certainly more qualified environmental protectors than me. However, I believe 100% that when natural disasters strike, as unfortunately they will continue to do, we will band together to support each other and truly be a community of caring and a congregational family – when a Ben Reineke moment comes for us.

---

[1] Leonard Cohen Who By Fire

[2] Adapted from Babylonian Talmud Taanit 23a

G’mar Hatima Tova. It’s so wonderful to see every one of you on the holiest day of the year. Parents reunited with children, grandparents with grandchildren, uncles and aunts with nephews and nieces, cousins with one another.

For those with whom I have not yet had the chance to meet in person, I look forward to getting to know you over the course of 5784 and I also hope to deepen my connections with those who I had the privilege of meeting last year. With our new team in place, most notably with the arrival of Chazzan Noah Rachels but also recognizing the extraordinary work of our staff and volunteers, we’re building something special at Mosaic Law Congregation, and I’m tremendously excited to begin the new year.

In 5784 we can say, “This Year in Jerusalem!” Mosaic Law Congregation will be doing its first congregational Israel trip in over a decade, and I hope you will be able to join us. Please take one of the flyers outside with trip details and sign up after Yom Tov. You can direct any questions about the trip to Bebe Halimi (our President’s wife) or me. I have some extra flyers up here if someone did not get one and would like to join us on the trip.

—————————————————————————————————–

I grew up going to my dad’s parents’ house every Sunday for lunch at noon. I also remember Seder at their house. Soon after my Bar Mitzvah, because of a family feud I stopped having contact with my dad’s family. I only saw them at the funerals of both my dad’s parents. Two decades later I contacted members of my dad’s family on Facebook and was able to restart a relationship with them. One of my cousins is a Reform rabbi; another made Aliyah and is a history professor. It was nice to reconnect to those with whom I had no personal animosity yet with whom I lost contact so many years prior.

What if someone wronged us directly? In such cases it is difficult to make amends. A case in point in the Talmud regards Rabban Gamliel, who publicly humiliated Rabbi Yehoshua on three separate occasions. The other sages felt three strikes and you’re out. They deposed Rabban Gamliel as Nasi, President, of the Beit Midrash, the House of Study. When Rabban Gamliel saw his successor make the Beit Midrash more egalitarian and as a result, numerous difficulties were solved, he realized that he erred. It is there that the story picks up as follows:

Rabban Gamliel said to himself: ‘Since the people are following Rabbi Yehoshua, apparently, he was right. Therefore, it would be appropriate for me to go and appease Rabbi Yehoshua.’ When he reached Rabbi Yehoshua’s house, he saw that the walls of his house were black. Rabban Gamliel said to Rabbi Yehoshua in wonderment: ‘From the walls of your house, it is apparent that you are a blacksmith’; until then, he had no idea that Rabbi Yehoshua was forced to engage in that arduous trade in order to make a living. Rabbi Yehoshua said to him: ‘Woe unto a generation that you are its leader as you are unaware of the difficulties of Torah scholars, how they make a living and how they feed themselves.’[1]

Rabban Gamliel was a member of the elite. As the Nasi, he had contact with the Roman emperor. Yet with his high position, he became obtuse to the needs of those who he served. He had no idea that Rabbi Yehoshua had to work an arduous job, nor did he know of the sufferings of others. Had he been born a couple centuries prior, he would not have known that the great Hillel the Elder could not afford the entrance fee to attend the Beit Midrash and had to go up to its roof in the snow to hear words of Torah![2] Rabban Gamliel realized that he was in the wrong-there was so much he was unaware of-and now he had to ask for forgiveness.

Rabban Gamliel said to Rabbi Yehoshua: ‘I insulted you, forgive me.’ Rabbi Yehoshua paid him no attention and did not forgive him. He asked him again: ‘Do it in deference to my father,’ Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel, who was one of the leaders of Israel at the time of the destruction of the Temple. He was appeased.

Forgiveness is merited not because of Rabban Gamliel, who humiliated Rabbi Yehoshua three times, but rather on account of his father. At times when we have wronged another and cannot obtain forgiveness, perhaps we can say, ‘Please forgive me so that our children do not have to fight with one another.’ We don’t want a feud like the Montagues and the Capulets, where no one knows the source of the conflict-only to hate the other.

The lesson to be learned on the holiest night of the year is to see if we can find it in our hearts to make amends with others-or, if another comes to us genuinely remorseful for a past wrong, if we can forgive them. This never means to force forgiveness, as authenticity is a chief value when it comes to making amends. Also, there are some things which we might justifiably feel can never be forgiven. With that being said, I challenge each of us to find space to forgive past slights and transgressions, both committed by others and by ourselves (the latter being often the hardest to forgive) so that we can turn over a new leaf in 5784. If something just occurred to us now, let us remember that it is never too late. The gates of repentance are always open, and the season for atonement was extended by the rabbis until the end of Sukkot. Gmar Hatima Tova-may each one of us write for ourselves a good signature in this new year.   

---

[1] Babylonian Talmud Tractate Berachot 28a

[2] Yoma 35b

Shana Tova. It’s so wonderful to see each and every one of you. It’s particularly heartwarming to welcome my parents, Bruce and Laurie Herman, and my sister, Rachel Herman, who are here with us over the holiday. I want to welcome Cantor Noah Rachels, his wife Amy and daughter Maya, as well as Amy’s mother, Jayne Rosen, and Cantor’s sister, Stacy Rachels, who have come to Sacramento to celebrate Rosh Hashanah.

For those with whom I have not yet had the chance to meet in person, I look forward to getting to know you over the course of 5784, and I also hope to deepen my connections with those who I had the privilege of meeting last year. With our new team in place, most notably with the arrival of Chazzan Noah Rachels but also recognizing the extraordinary work of our staff and volunteers, we’re building something special at Mosaic Law Congregation and I’m tremendously excited to begin the new year.

——————————————————————————————————————–

I want to start with a question that seems simple, but in fact is quite complex. Why are you here today? Is it tradition, spirituality, or perhaps God? Maybe it’s community and family, or some combination of all, or perhaps something completely different?

Everything about contemporary society cuts against our being here. Our lifestyle allows us to be transactional in nearly every waking moment-meaning there’s no reason to do anything that doesn’t come with some kind of payoff or reward.

 So, are we here to acknowledge that there’s at least one time in the year where there’s a greater good that doesn’t require a reward, or is the value in being here and observing our traditions amidst family, friends, and community, a reward in and of itself? 

I can’t answer the question for you. for as they say, two Jews ten opinions, which means we likely have 30,000 answers represented today—please don’t email those to me as we’ll never get to Yom Kippur. What I can do is ask the same question of myself:why am I here, other than being a Jewish professional, and what’s my specific role?

Here’s the harsh reality. I’m not empowered with special skills to magically fix things. I can no sooner create world peace, stop antisemitism, repair a broken family, or remove asbestos from a building than anyone else. If that’s what you were expecting from your rabbi, I’m sorry to disappoint.

It gets worse. My role as the spiritual leader of our kehilah kedosha, holy congregation, means that at times I’m supposed to create discomfort by challenging you in the hope that through this process we can all become better versions of ourselves. I take this role with complete humility, and like the Cantor’s rendition of Hineni, it’s hard to measure up to the task. That said, we have this moment in time to deepen our connections and make 5784 better than in 5783.

First, let’s make sure we’re on the same page. An online review of Noam Pianko’s book, Jewish Peoplehood: An American Innovation,[1] verifies what we intuitively know as true, that fewer American Jews today describe themselves as religious. I’m now going to say something that may shock you, so hold onto your seats, but this may actually be good news. It’s not that I don’t want you to come to shul, observe Shabbat, kashrut, the holidays—not at all. I’d love for you to do those. It’s that American Jews are recognizing that our peoplehood, through ethnicity and nationality, is what binds us. As my teacher, former Hillel International Director of Hillel, Avraham Infeld taught “Judaism is not a religion! It is a people.” We are a people and a nation grounded in a belief system.

I’ll discuss Jewish peoplehood another time; today I want to speak about nationhood and Israel. Every time we read from the Torah, kiss the mezuzah, and recite the Shema, we affirm our nationhood. This has never been dependent on externalities and good news. For the better part of 2,000 years, when our people were in exile, there was very little good news. Yet, through resilience and faith, we passed down our national identity l’dor va’dor, from one generation to the next, until each generation felt it in their hearts, if not their kishkes.

We are the beneficiaries of the miraculous rebirth of Israel, something which too many today take for granted, but when we think of what our ancestors longed for as they escaped one level of persecution for another, it was exactly that. As I stand before you just a few feet from the Israeli flag, I hope it never becomes just an abstract symbol, but remains an emblematic representation of a real place with real people. While we must acknowledge and respect all peoples and identities who live there—consistent with the Israel’s Declaration of Independence—we can never deny or abandon the centrality of Israel to the Jewish people or the significance it plays in our identity.

For whatever reason, I felt a personal connection to Israel during the Second Intifada, the five-year war of terror when over 1,000 Israelis were brazenly and wantonly massacred in a barrage of bombings targeting buses, hotels, universities, synagogues, coffee shops and nearly every other aspect of life. That period, only 20 years ago, was so traumatically painful, many Israelis would not leave their homes except for work, school and other limited purposes. Many are still living with the physical and emotional scars from that time.

It was then that I argued with my parents who canceled my trip with the Alexander Muss High School in Israel for safety concerns. Call me rebellious, but I wasn’t having it. Israel was in my heart, my thoughts and my feelings. I was going regardless, and I would not be dissuaded. 

That trip was life-changing for me, opening me up socially and enabling me to gain comfort in taking risks. I loved our teachers who lived the history they taught, one day in class at Hod HaSharon, the next on a tiyul, a trip to see the sights we had learned about. Our sacred texts came alive not just through abstract history but in seeing, feeling, hearing, touching, and tasting what the land could offer. My best memory, ironically, was at the Kotel, the Western Wall, on Tisha B’Av where I could feel an entire people in mourning for what was, while also appreciating the beauty of what is. While I vividly remember hearing ambulances from the horrific Sbarro Pizza bombing in Jerusalem on my last day, none of the attacks that summer deterred our group. I felt safe and at peace. That experience taught me that seeing is believing.

My second trip to Israel was on a Jewish pluralism mission on college winter break at the end of 2003 and the beginning of 2004-still during the Second Intifada. I remember a Shabbat walk on the Sea of Galilee at Kibbutz Ein Gev when I had a spiritual experience that I still can’t put into words. I felt God’s presence come alive. I paused, taking in the beautiful scenery and the overwhelming sense of inner peace and gratitude. That mission was not only transformative for me but also for many of the other 85 participants. Remarkably, nearly a third of us became rabbis. The power of being in Israel for 10 days with people with whom I developed lifetime friendships is something I will cherish forever.

I’m sharing these experiences because I’d like you to commit to deepening your connection to Israel in 5784. If you can take a class, take a class. If you can contribute money, contribute money. If you can learn a few more words of Hebrew, אז נדבר עברית.

  Anything you can do above and beyond what you did in 5783 will help deepen your connection. But as seeing is believing, I encourage everyone to consider joining us in our first congregational mission in over a decade. I’d love to see a show of hands of how many here have gone to Israel on a mission through Mosaic Law Congregation or another Jewish organization. My guess is that if you speak to those whose hands are raised, they’ll attest to the life-transforming nature of the experience. 

For our upcoming trip in June, I am particularly excited about a dinner at Erets Beresheet, where we will engage in biblical hospitality, as well as a culinary tour led by our very own Ruthie Edelstein. By experiencing the natural beauty and rich history of Israel together, we will have an exciting and unforgettable experience of a lifetime. The only way we can know about what is truly going on is by being there: to walk along the beach in Tel Aviv, to shop in the shuk, or marketplace, of Jerusalem, to climb the hills of Judea, and to breathe in the beautiful dry air of the Negev. More than seeing, we’ll be there to listen, ask questions, and gain insight from our sisters and brothers who live and experience life there.

If Israel is already in your kishkes, you intuitively know what I’m talking about, and we need your spark and enthusiasm with us on this trip. And, if that feeling in you or your family has yet to develop, by all means, let’s experience the transformative magic together.

For all of us, whether we’re able to join on the congregational mission or choose another way to deepen our ties to Israel, we unfortunately cannot escape the extraordinary internal and external threats taking place in Israel. I’ve spoken about some of the issues, including judicial reform, from the bimah, as have Alan Edelstein and Jonathan Lightman, and as we’re all painfully aware, there are no easy solutions.  

What I can offer is that beyond learning and speaking is listening, really listening, to those with whom we agree and to those with whom we disagree. We successfully do that in all other facets of our identity, on God, on kashrut, on Shabbat observance, without feeling compelled to raise our voice, being accusatory, or storming out of the room when the conversation does not go our way. We have to figure out a way to do that on Israel as well.

In her book, High Conflict, Amanda Ripley talks about times when people with opposing views would deliberately engage in conversations with the express purpose of understanding the other’s points of view. One example occurred at B’nai Jeshurun Congregation (affectionately known as BJ) in New York City, where many of the members were shocked when Donald Trump became president.

BJ’s congregational leadership worked with an organization called Resetting the Table, which along with community organizer Simon Greer, paired synagogue members with Michigan correctional officers. Visiting the officers in Lansing was most difficult for them as they had to let go of preconceived notions. One experience was a trip to a shooting range where they saw how guns are used not only for recreation but also for defense. They learned of the officers’ difficult encounters with inmates, including one who had a bucket of urine dumped on her. The congregational members had difficulty seeing the quantity and types of weapons used for defense, but after getting to know the officers, they developed a newfound appreciation for their perspectives.

In case you’re wondering, the Michigan correctional officers also visited B’nai Jeshurun and heard from Rabbi Roly Matalon on the prevailing views of his congregation, particularly on social justice and political events. As one can imagine, the officers were equally challenged in their presumptions.

Three things had to happen to make this possible. First, people had to lean into conflict rather than backing away when the going got tough. Second, they had to learn the other’s  story with curiosity and wonder. Finally, when speechless from an encounter, they were instructed to say, “Tell me more!” rather than end the conversation.[2]

Living in a pluralistic community requires the courage to admit that no one has a monopoly on truth and surely none of us has all the answers. Both the challenge and opportunity of engagement is in acknowledging that we’re not there to change someone’s opinions, but to listen, learn, and grow. This is beautifully described in our biblical and rabbinic tradition where each tribe fulfilled a two-week stint of a watch or guard duty, called a mishmar. This occurred in the Temple, and the changing of the guard was on Shabbat. Regardless of where any one tribe stood on issues compared to the next, the outgoing would always say to the incoming:״מִי שֶׁשִּׁכֵּן אֶת שְׁמוֹ בַּבַּיִת הַזֶּה, הוּא יַשְׁכִּין בֵּינֵיכֶם אַהֲבָה וְאַחְוָה וְשָׁלוֹם וְרֵיעוּת״ May God who caused God’s Name to dwell in this house cause love and brotherhood, peace and camaraderie to dwell amongst you.[3]

A few weeks ago, I watched a modern Israeli music video featuring two rappers, one from the political left, the other from the right. Regardless of whether you’re a rap music aficionado, this was an extraordinary piece of art with the responsive musical refrain of “I don’t hate you, but I need to tell you my grievances.” At the end of the video, the back-and-forth lyrical exchange was unceremoniously interrupted by a siren, prompting both rappers to set aside their differences and stand united in a common purpose—a most powerful statement that we should emulate in Sacramento.

My plan for 5784 is to foster dialogue among ourselves through deep questions of curiosity and acceptance of answers without judgment. Like the Israeli rappers in the video or the biblical tribes who rotated the guard duty, we must be able to declare unequivocally and viscerally, “I am in community with you and that transcends any particular opinion or belief that either of us holds.” At the end of the day, we are a congregational family, connected by an unbreakable bond which is stronger than politics or different levels of observance.

I’m going to end my talk where it began, by asking why we are here when external pressures work so forcefully against us. Tradition is certainly a pull, as well as being with family, but if you think about it, our new Jewish year opens an extraordinary window that society at-large does not see or recognize. Our charge is to go through that window together with the commitment that when we do so, we promise to one another and to God that we will make the new year better than the one before. If we should somehow stumble or slumber in this process, or if the ancient or modern liturgical melodies fail to inspire, then the unmistakable blasts of the shofar, which are produced so beautifully by Ben Glovinsky, are there to loudly awaken us with a call to action we cannot ignore.

The sound of the shofar beckons us to be deeply proud and connected, affirming our peoplehood and nationhood within the context of our shared faith. It                                                                                                                    was the same call that our ancestors experienced on Mount Sinai, that our parents, grandparents, and every one of our family members have experienced wherever they have lived, and that, God willing, our children, and their children, and their grandchildren will also experience. Hopefully, that should be reason enough to be here, that this awakening enters not just our heads, but our hearts as well. One final word. When we boldly and unapologetically conclude Yom Kippur with, “L’shanah Habah b’Yerushalayim,” next year in Jerusalem—which for some means we’ll be there physically and for others, we’ll have a deeper spiritual connection to Israel—let’s be mindful that next year has now arrived and it begins today. Shana Tovah.

---

[1] (PDF) Book Review of Jewish Peoplehood: An American Innovation. By Noam Pianko. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2015. Religious Studies Review 43 (June 2017): 186-187 | Jonathan Zisook – Academia.edu

[2] Amanda Ripley, High Conflict: Why We Get Trapped and How We Get Out (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2021)

[3] Babylonian Talmud Berachot 12b

Shana Tova. It’s so wonderful to see each and every one of you. It’s particularly heartwarming to welcome my parents, Bruce and Laurie Herman, and my sister, Rachel Herman, who are here with us over the holiday. I want to welcome Cantor Noah Rachels, his wife Amy and daughter Maya, as well as Amy’s mother, Jayne Rosen, and Cantor’s sister, Stacy Rachels who have also come to celebrate Rosh Hashanah with us.

For those with whom I have not yet had the chance to meet in person, I look forward to getting to know you over the course of 5784 and I also hope to deepen my connections with those who I had the privilege of meeting last year. With our new team in place, most notably with the arrival of Chazzan Noah Rachels but also recognizing the extraordinary work of our staff and volunteers, we’re building something special at Mosaic Law Congregation and I’m tremendously excited to begin the new year. Please watch episode 1 of season 2 of The Jewish Take where you’ll learn about some of our talented staff who will be taking part in this endeavor.

          In 5784 we have the opportunity to say “This Year in Jerusalem!” Mosaic Law Congregation will be doing its first congregational Israel trip in over a decade, and I hope you will be able to join us. Please take one of the flyers outside with trip details and sign up after Yom Tov. You can direct any questions about the trip please to Bebe Halimi (our President’s wife) or me. I have some extra flyers up here if someone did not get one and would like to join us on the trip.

          Can I get a show of hands of who’s on Facebook and/or Instagram? Please keep your hands raised if you’re currently following MLC on either of those platforms. Those who put down your hands, please join our MLC Instagram and Facebook page. We are aiming to triple the number of followers this year.

          Please join us for Tashlich tomorrow at 5:00 pm (not 3:00 pm as on the tickets) at Guy West Park.

          This is a traditional time to visit the cemetery. Please join us at Kever Avot, our community-wide memorial service, Sunday September 24 at 11:00 am at Home of Peace.

          Join our family at our Sukkot Open House, Sunday October 1 from 2:00-4:00 pm. Please park at the west lot of the synagogue and walk over.

          Last but not least please join us at 4:00 pm on Tuesday October 3 in the Center for guest speaker Henry Michaelski on his book Torn Lilacs. I heard him in Florida, and he’s outstanding.

___________________________________________________________________

My Dear Friends,

As we gather together on this Rosh Hashanah, we are reminded of the importance of reflection and renewal. This is a time for us to look back on the past year, to take stock of our actions and our relationships, and to consider how we can move forward with greater purpose and intention.

We rejoice in the new beginnings that this season brings, but we also acknowledge the challenges and struggles that we have faced in the past year. We recognize that we are not perfect, that we have made mistakes and fallen short of our ideals. We also know that we have the capacity to grow and change.

As we enter into this new year, we are called to reflect on the ways in which we can improve ourselves and our world, to consider how we can be more compassionate, more generous, more loving. We are called to think about how we can repair the relationships that have been strained or broken, and how we can build new connections with those around us.

At the same time, we are also reminded of the fragility of life and the importance of cherishing every moment that we have. We are reminded that our time on earth is limited, and we must make the most of it. We are reminded that we have a responsibility to use our talents and our resources to make a positive impact on the world, to leave it a better place than we found it.

As we gather together on this Rosh Hashanah, let us recommit ourselves to the work of teshuvah, of repentance and renewal. May we embrace the opportunities that this year brings and strive to be the best versions of ourselves. Let us be blessed with health, happiness and peace in the coming year and to continue to grow and thrive as individuals and a community.

I hope you liked my sermon. The truth is that I did not write one word of it: that was Chat GPT’s response (with some minor edits by me) on my prompt “Please write a Rosh Hashanah sermon.” We see that artificial intelligence has taken some major leaps. Concurrently, much of the sermon was generalities; it did not reflect the full capacity of the human heart. It is both awe-inspiring and daunting to see the progress of artificial intelligence. As on a recent magazine cover: “AI: Friend or Foe?”[1]

I am amazed that in the past year artificial intelligence has advanced our capabilities to produce such material, being part and parcel of our electronics, our search engines and our problem solving. One does not have to look far to see all the great advances from AI. Last month, Ann Johnson, who had a stroke at the age of 30, was able to speak for the first time in 18 years from an AI avatar controlled by her brain signals. The avatar was used to convey words, display smiles and shoe some body language, such as pursed lips. Ann said, “It made me feel like I was a whole person again.”2 There are powerful, emotional connections between people and their AI devices which we must recognize. We can also be in awe of the AI-powered rover from India that made the first successful landing on the South Pole of the moon after two previous failures to reach there, and we see that there is much excitement from AI’s capabilities.

While artificial intelligence can be a friend of ours, it can also be a foe. I have a good friend who lost his job because it was made obsolete by AI, and he’s far from the only one. In addition, AI makes it easier to plagiarize in a speech or a research paper. Perhaps most importantly, AI comes with significant risks for humanity. In May, there were 350 signatories from the tech world who warned that AI might pose an existential threat as well as a societal threat on par with pandemics and nuclear wars.[3] Two months prior, 1,000 signatories called for 6-month pause on AI development.[4] At present, AI developers are continuing full speed ahead. What we must recognize, however, is that as the risk goes up so must the safeguards. I think of those who perished in the submersible Titan back in June. We do not want to inadvertently create a Frankenstein’s Monster which will lead to loss of life. 

It is crucial to remember that this is not the first time that we have been challenged by innovations that we now take for granted. Remember a decade ago, when Internet commerce took off-the idea that you could buy something and get it  

by those who do not use it. One can look back in history and see the benefits from innovations which at first created great trepidation. 500 years ago, the printing press was very daunting, yet it allowed the publication  of fixed texts that we use today, including this Mahzor. 2,000 years ago, a crisis in Jewish history, the destruction of the Second Temple, required a change in standard practice. It led to creative innovations, including the development of rabbinic Judaism.

What does one do with the waves of innovation that develop? In order to weather the storm, one must have deep spiritual roots and faith in the future. Look at the spies who reported on the Land of Israel, saying אֶ֣רֶץ אֹכֶ֤לֶת יוֹשְׁבֶ֙יהָ֙- “This is a land which devours its inhabitants!”[5] They made a caravan to return to Egypt. In contrast, the spy Caleb saidעָלֹ֤ה נַעֲלֶה֙ וְיָרַ֣שְׁנוּ אֹתָ֔הּ כִּֽי־יָכ֥וֹל נוּכַ֖ל לָֽהּ׃- “Let us by all means go up, and we shall gain possession of it, for we shall surely overcome it.”[6] Caleb had resilience-he knew no matter the risks and uncertainty there were in entering a new land, with willpower and faith Israel could overcome the challenges. Rooting ourselves in things which are unchanging-our love of family and friends, the opportunity to take weekly rest on Shabbat,and the strength of our community, are ways to respond to the uncertainties that the future brings. Being grounded in the present helps us transcend any obstacles. When our head starts to spin or when we feel the ground slip from beneath our feet, we need to anchor ourselves in the present moment.

Judaism has a great story for dealing with the fear and discomfort of changes. In the Talmud it states, “When Moses ascended on High (to receive the Torah), he found God tying crowns on the letters of the Torah. Moses said: Master of the Universe, who is preventing You from giving the Torah without these additions? God replied: There is a man destined to be born, and Akiva ben Yosef is his name; he will derive from each and every one of these crowns mounds upon mounds of halacha (laws). It is for his sake that the crowns must be added to the letters of the Torah. Moses said: Master of the Universe, show him to me. God said: Look behind you (and he was transported into Rabbi Akiva’s Beit midrash, study hall).                                                                                                                                                                 

Moses went and sat at the end of the eighth row (reserved for those who knew the least)[7] in Rabbi Akiva’s study hall and did not understand what everyone was saying. His strength waned, as he thought his knowledge was deficient. When Rabbi Akiva discussed one matter, his students said to him: My teacher, from where do you derive this? Rabbi Akiva replied: It is a halakha (law) transmitted to Moses from Sinai. When Moses heard this, his mind was put at ease.”[8]

Moses feared all he had accomplished and stood for was worth nothing-after all, he could not understand a single word of Torah that was taught. He felt inept and worthless. All he had striven for in life felt like it did not matter. When he heard that his teachings sprung eternal-that there was an enduring understanding emanating from him, Moses was comforted. Often in life, changes happen faster than we can keep up with, leaving us scared, despondent and depressed. At those moments, we need to have confidence in who we are and belief that our foundation is strong enough to withstand whatever life throws at us-of course easier said than done.

The stronger our spiritual provisions and the deeper our faith, the more interconnected we are as a community and the easier time we have of meeting challenges head on with resolve. Sir Rabbi Jonathan Sacks z”l describes the importance of resilience in Judaism as follows:

“This is how to deal with crisis. Wrestle with it, refusing to let it go until it blesses you, until you emerge stronger, better or wiser than you were before. To be a Jew is not to accept defeat. That is the meaning of faith.[9]

The way we maintain resilience is by defining what makes us unique as human beings, which technological developments will never take away from us. My rabbinical school dean, Danny Nevins, now serving as Head of School at Golda Ochs Academy in West Orange, NJ wrote the Conservative rabbinic responsum on Artificial Intelligence.[10]  He quotes Abraham Joshua Heschel, who said the following:

What constitutes being human, personhood? The ability to be concerned for other human beings…The truth of being human is gratitude, the secret of existence is appreciation, its significance is revealed in reciprocity. Mankind will not die for lack of information; it may perish from lack of appreciation. Being human presupposes the paradox of freedom, the capacity to create events, to transcend the self… Supreme meaning is therefore inconceivable without meaning derived from supreme being. Humanity without divinity is a torso. This is even reflected in the process of healing. Without a sense of significant being, a sense of wonder and mystery, a sense of reverence for the sanctity of being alive, the doctor’s efforts and prescriptions may prove futile.[11]

Rabbi Nevins concludes his responsum with the statement: “The sanctity of human life is not based on our utility, but by our very existence as people made from other people in the image of God.” [12]

No matter how advanced technology becomes, we must remember that as humans we have a unique place in the world, with infinite value. Psalms asserts that we have been made a little lower than the angels, crowned with glory and honor.[13] The Slonimer Rebbe, a Hasidic leader-by the way, Hasidim was an innovation in response to large-scale pogroms-wrote in his book Netivot Shalom that each of us has a unique mission to do in the world, which is only for us.[14] This is the place of Judaism in a world of AI-helping each of us discover and cultivate our personal mission and our unique skillsets to better the world. It is about not giving up when the going gets tough but instead having faith in ourselves and our futures.

On Rosh Hashanah, we marvel at the beauty of innovations, including the creation of the world, reveling at how far our society has come and how quickly changes develop. At the same time, when we are fearful, we recognize how resilient we are as people, and how our ingenuity and adaptability has led us to new heights throughout history. With the advancement and involvement of artificial intelligence in human areas of work, new opportunities are also developed. We live in a constantly changing world, but also one which is always open to new creations and innovations. Concurrently, we must be cautious and put in appropriate safeguards to ensure that, like a good chess player, we are always playing a few moves ahead, aware of the risks as best we can and possible unintended consequences.

In 5784, I wish for each of us to have confidence in who we are and to have resilience as we step forward into a future that is yet to be determined. Wherever the waves of innovation take us, may we be rooted enough to stand firm and confident, trusting in our abilities to navigate in the midst of the storm.

Voyage of New Days-by Lucille Frenkel                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     

Each morning starts new voyage

Upon my “sea of days”.

I journey through the ways of life

Along familiar ways.

At evening, does day’s traveling cease.

I anchor at the night;

And wearily, I slip to sleep

To rest in quiet night.

Till morning comes at dawning,

I rise again to sail-

And ask in humble prayer to God,

That gentle winds prevail.[15]

---

[1] Marin County Magazine, September 2023.

[2] AI Helps a Stroke Patient Speak Again, a Milestone for Tech and Neuroscience – The New York Times (nytimes.com)

[3] https://www.nytimes.com/2023/05/30/technology/ai-threat-warning.html#:~:text=A%20group%20of%20industry%20leaders,with%20pandemics%20and%20nuclear%20wars.

[4] https://futureoflife.org/open-letter/pause-giant-ai-experiments/

[5] Numbers 13:32

[6] Numbers 13:30

[7] The Beit Midrash, or study hall, was arranged for those who knew the most to be in the front and those who knew the least to be in the back. Moses sat in the last seat, indicating he knew the least.

[8] Bablyonian Talmud Menachot 29b

[9] Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, Letters to the Next Generation, page 31.

[10] Rabbi Daniel Nevins, AI, Moral Machines and Halakha–Final (rabbinicalassembly.org).Rabbi Daniel Committee on Jewish Law and Standards. Approved June 19, 2019.

[11] Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, The Insecurity of Freedom: Essays on Human Existence (JPS, 1966) 26

[12] Thinking About AI

[13] Psalms 8:5

[14] Netivot Shalom Lech Lecha

[15] Lucille Frenkel, “Voyage of New Days” (Book of poetry gifted to me on my 23^rd birthday-September 25, 2006).

          How wonderful to see everyone together. Parents reunited with children (as are my parents Bruce and Laurie Herman), brothers reunited with sisters (as is my sister, Rachel Herman), cousins, uncles and aunts, grandparents and grandchildren. This is my favorite time of the year-reconnecting after a busy summer to be together as a congregational family.

Sound of the Shofar-by Lucille Frenkel

Call of the past and out of the past,

You rouse us to face to the future.

Sound of the ram’s horn, it’s meaning precise

Reminds us to recall the sacrifice

Of a past which begot so we may beget

Finer future.

          There is one thing which is unusual this year, and I’m not thinking of the fact that we’ve been out of our offices for 7 weeks. Because Rosh Hashanah begins on Shabbat, we will not be sounding the Shofar tomorrow morning. On Shabbat, as opposed to most Jewish holidays, one is not permitted to carry from one domain (a home) to another (a synagogue) by means of a public thoroughfare. The Talmud teaches, “All are under obligated to blow the shofar, but not all are skilled in the blowing of the shofar. Therefore, there is a danger that one will take the shofar and go to an expert to learn (how to properly sound it) and he will carry it 4 cubits (6 feet) in the public domain.”[1] Thus, a tradition developed not to blow shofar on Shabbat.

          While we will not blow shofar tomorrow (you’ll have to come back on Sunday to hear it) that does not stop me from talking about what the shofar represents-a clarion call of hope for New Year 5784. In so doing, I am going to tell a story from one of the hardest times in our people’s history to inspire us and give us hope for the coming year.             

Read The Clarion Call of Hope[2]

          As Rabbi Pearce tells in the story, the sound of the shofar has so much meaning in a way words cannot convey. When we listen to 100 blasts of it on Sunday, we will be able to not only think of the trials and tribulations our people has gone through in the past but also the strength that we have when we come together as a community. We will have the opportunity to think of all the blessings and hope that we feel as we begin a new year on the Jewish calendar.

          After Yom Tov, please check out the video of Avinu Malkeinu from the Israeli philharmonic featuring the shofar.[3]

          Shabbat Shalom and Shana Tova.

---

[1] Babylonian Talmud Rosh Hashanah 29b

[2] “The Clarion Call of Hope,” in Jewish Stories from Heaven and Earth by Rabbi Dov Peretz Elkins

[3] https://www.youtube.com/watch?si=WWQFETiRNlhHWyDD&v=az1dEW2LTIw&feature=youtu.be

Nachamu Ami-Be comforted my nation. Two days ago we just observed the darkest day of the Jewish calendar, Tisha B’Av. We are now asked to feel comfort. Yet comfort cannot be felt on demand. The question for today is what is our role in comforting one another?

Why does the Mourners Kaddish require a minyan? When we mourn we do so as a community, as part of a family. We don’t ask what your politics are-when we say Kaddish, we do so with trust that we are all existing under one God, and that brings us strength.

The communal also becomes the personal. When someone loses a loved one, we say to them HaMakom Yinachem, may God comfort you. Yet is this what Yinachem really means? We see at the end of Parshat Bereshit וַיִּנָּ֣חֶם יְהֹוָ֔ה כִּֽי־עָשָׂ֥ה אֶת־הָֽאָדָ֖ם בָּאָ֑רֶץ וַיִּתְעַצֵּ֖ב אֶל־לִבּֽוֹ[1]

“And God was nahem because He made humanity and was saddened in his heart.” It certainly does not mean that God was comforted by making humanity as God’s about to create the flood! Rather what this means is that we recognize the chaos in people’s lives. By saying HaMakom Yinachem with the passing of a loved one, we recognize that your world will never be the same again but we are here to comfort you and help you walk on this very difficult path.

          The same can be said about Moses begging God to enter the Land of Israel. He is asking God to do an act of grace, חן and let him enter the land of Israel even though he has nothing to offer in return.[2] The answer he received from God is רַב־לָ֔ךְ אַל־תּ֗וֹסֶף דַּבֵּ֥ר אֵלַ֛י ע֖וֹד בַּדָּבָ֥ר הַזֶּֽה׃[3]

“Enough! Never speak to me of this matter again!” Not only that but he is told to look into the land that he will not be able to enter; which must have been torturous for him. Moses had led his people to the land flowing with milk and honey, a land which remains just out of his reach.

          I look at Monday’s vote in Israel on the Reasonableness Clause in light of this emotional story in the Torah. This bill is relatively minor in the greater scheme of things; this is about emotions. I have spoken with those who have felt a betrayal of trust, feeling sucker punched with the passage of an amendment on which no one had campaigned, some of whom feel that this will be the end of democracy in Israel. I have watched the protesters, the reservists and fighter pilots who didn’t show up for work and the doctors who went on strike except in emergency and critical care situations. I had a friend tell me, “I can’t imagine not coming into the Navy-I took an oath” and I had another say “I understand not being able to serve a government that does not accept the role of reason in making decisions.” I have spoken with celebrants who have felt this is a long time coming. I can identify with both yet only as one living outside of Israel and not facing the real-world implications of this decision. It is not over-the Supreme Court will hear arguments on it in September-but it is a major step in trying to take power away from the courts and put it in the Knesset.

          For many ויהפכו-things are upside down and topsy turvy. It is in the emotional lens as well as where we are in the Jewish calendar that leads to my framing of this situation. Sometimes one can pray, beg and entreat, as Moses did, and things do not go your way. Decisions can be made that you are powerless to stop that make it feel as if your world has come crumbling down, where you can find no comfort. What one can do, however, is to be present with what you feeling and honor your concerns. One needs to be able to fight for what s/he believes in while recognizing that there is so much beyond our control. We can entreat, protest, pour out our hearts, stand in solidarity with others. In the end, we are all inheritors of a history that goes back thousands of years whose future is unwritten. If there’s one thing we can agree on, it is that we cannot allow this to be the end.

          Maksim Smelchak sent me a video of someone asking passersby about their stance on the “judicial reform.” If they said they were against, he said “I’m in favor.” If they were in favor, he said “I’m against.” Each time he asked for a hug and each person gave him a hug. The message of this was to show that regardless of how we stand we need to remain united together. It’s easy to say that when things go your way, yet when they don’t we need to strengthen our bond with one another, to understand even when we vehemently disagree.

          Mosaic Law Congregation has been successful the past 123 years, and at the same time there is always room for improvement. Here at MLC we have an opportunity to model what it means to get to know the other, to listen to others’ stories, their hopes and dreams. By getting to know one another on a human level, we create a community where everyone is valued and appreciated for who s/he is regardless of his/her opinion on any given issue. I challenge each of us to set up a time to have a 1-on-1 meeting with a congregant we do not know or who we perceive as being on the “other side” of an issue of great importance to us. I ask us to first get to know the other as s/he is, listening carefully to him/her. Over the course of time and building trust, I hope that the two of you will be able to bring up difficult issues and listen to what the other is truly saying. In so doing, as a congregation we can be an example for others to emulate, and we can do a better job of bringing each other comfort in life’s difficult moments.

---

[1] Genesis 6:6

[2] Rashi on Deuteronomy 3:23 ואתחנן

[3] Deuteronomy 3:26

I am delighted that my Shul President when I began in Jericho, Mark Wilkow, and his wife Beth are here this Shabbat. In honor of their visit I am going to share a story I have told previously as a way to connect with this double portion.

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 in a loop, and I stubbornly turned around to go back the way I came. Big mistake: I 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 a friend 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 a play, as if nothing had happened.

I learned three lessons from this story. One is to never hike alone. Second is that I can never complain again about paying state income taxes. Between three helicopters, one of which cost $1,300 an hour, and two groups of hiker rescuers, my rescue attempt must have cost over $10,000 in taxpayer money.

 The third lesson is most important. As Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “Life is a journey, not a destination.” There is an eternal truth to his message: we do not know what the coming week will bring, let alone where life will take us. This sums up today’s double portion.

Parshat Matot is about guarding the words that we say, ensuring that they are not said hastily or recklessly. Just like we do not know where our life will take us, the trials and tribulations as well as the great pleasure, we do not know the impact that our words will have. The Hasidic commentator Noam Elimelech demonstrates that even the words for vows and oaths respectfully have an impact. He connects the word נדר, a vow to do something, to דירה, a dwelling place.[1] The rabbis teach that a home sale needed to be for a minimum of 30 days.[2] Why 30 days? Because one month, from one Rosh Hodesh to the next, is the Jewish cycle for striving to be the best version of ourselves while concurrently working to refine our actions (לפשפש במעשיו), fix mistakes and try again. The sages mandated that the last day of every month is one for fasting and introspection, called Yom Kippur Katan, a mini Yom Kippur. It was created so that at the end of each month one could review his/her behavior, determine ways to make positive changes and work to fix problematic habits. Students would review their learning every 30 days[3] just as everyone would review their behavior, a monthly Mussar reset. Rather than waiting for Rosh Hashanah, people would constantly be in the process of self-refinement.

Noam Elimelech goes on to talk about שבועה, an oath to refrain from doing something. The word שבועה is connected to שבע, the 7 day cycle. Whereas the 30 day cycle is for self-improvement, the 7 day cycle is about being industrious and creative followed by Shabbat on which we appreciate things as they are. Taking an oath is like Shabbat on which we say, “I have everything I need and I don’t need to do anything particular on this day, just be present.”

Now we come to Parshat Masei, recounting the 42 stops that the Israelites made on their journey from Egypt to the Promised Land. Whereas the 30 and 7 day cycles focus us in small, reocurring segments of our lives, the 42 stops represent the 42 stages of one’s lifetime. These stages are not linear but rather circuitous. Occasionally we take a wrong turn and go off the path (יציעה) that we meant to walk on. In those situations, we do not turn around but rather course correct, going back to our intention. Often before we can do so we need to reset ourselves-we encamp (יחנו) where we are and only when ready do we go back on the path. That is what repentance, or תשובה, is all about-returning to who we are meant to be after we get distracted or go astray.

As we continue in בין המיצרים, a period of great sadness in our history leading up to Tisha B’Av, I hope we take time to reflect on where we are at in this moment, both what’s going well and how we can improve. Recognizing our limitations, as I’ve had to do with my being spatially challenged, is a crucial step towards working on self-refinement. All we have is this moment-let’s utilize it as best we can in this journey we call life.

---

[1] Noam Elimelech, Parshat Matot, Comment 1

[2] Arukh HaShulchan, Choshen Mishpat 312:12

 

[3] See Berachot 38b on Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi

We have now reached the series of Torah portions that is a mathematician’s dream. After all, this section of the Torah is called Numbers! In Parshat B’midbar, a census is taken of the Israelite men of military age who would later conquer the Land of Canaan. The total count of these men numbers 603,550. However, each tribe was listed individually. Why did the Torah choose to enumerate the exact number of men in each tribe when it could have just as easily given the total? Perhaps our math lover and confirmand can share some thoughts on this? I learned that he recently went to San Francisco to see mathematician Sammy Obeid at Punchline. I watched his 1 minute math lesson and it was great!

One interpretation is that listing by tribe indicates the military prowess present in each tribe, demonstrating how many men it could contribute to battle. Another is that it demonstrates the specificity with which the census was done. Just listing a total number of Israelites could imply that people were missed, as opposed to showing how many were in each tribe. The interpretation that I prefer is that the listing of the tribes indicates that each one contributed to the development of the Israelite nation. What was important was not the total sum but rather the contributions of each of the individuals who comprised that total. While B’midbar only speaks about men, every man represented so many other people: the elders who could not fight and the wives and children who supported him. The tribe with the most men, Judah, did not count for any more than the tribe with the fewest men, Manasseh. Rather, each tribe was viewed as necessary and was valued for its contributions to the conquest and settlement of Canaan.

There is a valuable lesson here: just as each tribe was individually valued, so too is each individual valued for what he or she contributes to our community. Rather than just looking at the final outcome, we can take a step back and pride ourselves on the work that it took to reach that point. This is a precious lesson for us to recognize now when we are on the cusp of Shavuot, the holiday on which we renew our receipt of the Torah each and every year. Each evening for seven entire weeks we have been counting up to this moment, reliving our ancestors’ journey out of Egyptian slavery and to Mount Sinai. Now we are finally reaching the moment where the counting is complete.

Today we are highlighting our 8-10 graders, each of whom has been a valuable addition to our Hebrew Chai program. Starting a program from scratch is not an easy feat-it requires the patience, commitment and dedication of the teens, students and parents. I am most grateful for having taught your students this past year and look forward to a new format for our program next year.

It was an honor to teach you each and every week. The questions you asked and your fascination with learning how things work are priceless. It is my honor to give you this book Unscrolled: 54 Writers and Artists Wrestle with the Torah so that you can continue to learn Torah in creative ways. I hope you will continue with our 11-12 grade classes next year. To our 8^th and 9^th Graders-I look forward to your continuing with your studies-a number of you will be with me next year for Confirmation.

At Mosaic Law Congregation, we recognize that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts, that we are worth far more as a congregation than the number of members we have. Everyone here is valued as an individual, rather than as a number, and each of us has a role to play in the strengthening of our congregation. We each should receive recognition for who we are and for all that we do in making our congregation the warm, welcoming place that it is as well as a place of lifelong learning. Today we thank our teens who are leading by example, continuing with their studies after B’nai Mitzvah.

A guy set up an urgent meeting with his rabbi. He said, “Rabbi I’ll give you $1000 if you make me a Kohen.” The rabbi looks him in the eye and says, “I’m sorry, Bernie, I can’t do that.” Bernie, thinking the money was an issue, retorted, “Rabbi, I’ll give you $10,000. The rabbi stroked his beard and asserted, “No dice. Still can’t do it.” Finally, Bernie said, “Ok rabbi, you win. I’ll give you $100,000.” The rabbi, considering this, said “Bernie, why do you want to be a Kohen?” Bernie replied, “Because my father was a Kohen.”

 The grass always appears greener on the other side. As a child, I wanted to be a Kohen. While I enjoyed being blessed by the Kohanim from under my father’s tallit, I yearned to be the one who said the blessing, as well as who received the First Aliyah on Shabbat. However, Parshat Emor taught me, as Kermit the Frog would have sung, “It ain’t easy being a Kohen.” Kohanim were limited in terms of who they could marry, forbidden to have contact with a corpse and restricted in how they wore their hair and clothes. Some of this continues into the modern day. I have met Kohanim who will not go into a natural history museum because there are mummies there.

One can make the similar argument that “it ain’t easy being Jewish.” Our services are in a different language, our sacred text is without vowels and there are a panoply of holy days, fast days and communal events. Going to Hebrew School when your friends are outside playing ball or in a special club is not easy. Neither is sitting in a service almost 3 hours in length in a language that many here don’t speak outside of the synagogue and Religious School. At the same time, there is so much richness from taking a day off to spend with friends and family, growing in one’s education and becoming a B Mitzvah. There are privileges as our students grow in their participation in our congregation each and every year, asking new questions and strengthening their Jewish identities.

I want to imbue the words of my teacher Adon Morgan: “Learning never ends.” The advantage as you grow is you get more choice in what you learn; however Judaism is about continuing education and lifelong learning. That is why we are honoring students today by presenting them with sacred texts from our tradition. We will be presenting our 3^rd Graders with a copy of our Siddur Lev Shalem to cheer her on as she continues to learn prayers-not only the content but also what they mean and why we say them. We will give our 6^th Graders a Tikkun, a text used to read the Torah. It has Hebrew with vowels on one side of the page and the text as found in the Torah without vowels on the other side. We honor these four special students, who recently received their B’nai Mitzvah binders, as they will soon begin to learn Torah and Haftarah trope and their Torah and Haftarah portions. As learning never ends, the Tikkun is a gift so that they will continue to learn their Torah portions.

To all the Mercaz parents, we are most grateful to have you as part of our Mosaic Law family. Thank you for imbuing your children with a  Jewish education. We are excited to celebrate today as one of many milestones in Jewish life. Taking this moment enables us to see how far we’ve come and propel us towards even greater achievements. Baruch Atah Hashem Elokeinu Melech HaOlam Sheheheyanu v’Kiyimanu v’Higiyanu LaZman HaZeh.