bible

Aaron’s Transformation

Rabbi Ben Herman , , , , ,

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

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

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

[1] Exodus 32:21

[2] Exodus 32:22

[3] Exodus 32:24

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

[5] Tanhuma, VaEra 6

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

[7] Babylonian Talmud Tamid 32a

Love and Pursue Peace

Rabbi Ben Herman , , , ,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[2] Zohar 3:88a

[3] Numbers 6:25

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

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

Quality Over Quantity

Rabbi Ben Herman , , , ,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[2] 2 Samuel 24

[3] Psalms 28:9

Faith and Trust

Rabbi Ben Herman , , ,

Do you trust that things will always work out in the end? I like to tell people that I can believe in this idea as a microcosm for myself but not for others. For me, God is in the details, helping us find our way. With that being said, it can be very difficult to see that when we are in a valley or at the bottom of a roller coaster.

In his chapter on bitachon, trust in God, Alan Morinis, who we were pleased to have as our synagogue last month, writes the following:

“But even assuming that you do have a sense of relationship with HaShem, how could you possibly lean trustingly on a God who allows a million children to be killed in the Holocaust, who sweeps 150,000 people to their death in a tsunami, who permits AIDS and smallpox and ALS (I’d add COVID), who rains fire on the innocent and allows the guilty to die comfortable and secure in their beds? If this is what our omniscient, omnipotent divinity does, then it seems you’d be crazy to trust that God. And perhaps you’d conclude that the sum total of the suffering, evil and madness in the world is sure proof that there really is no God at all.”[1]

When people suffer unbearable losses, they often turn in one of two directions: inward or outward. I want to share stories of people who first turned inward and then outward. First is Sherri Mandell. Her son Koby played hooky from school with his friend Yosef Ishran, going hiking in the Judean Desert and the young age of 13. They went missing and were later found having “been bound, stabbed and beaten to death with rocks.”[2] Sherri did not know where to turn; fortunately, her good friend Shira also happened to be a grief counselor. She shared that the infusion of spirituality into her life was one of her greatest surprises; that she was literally “hit on he head” with it, in the form of birds that kept bumping into her, dying on her doorstep, flying into her house and care, all of them as if coming from a message from Koby saying, “I am here.” This helped give her the strength to write The Blessings of the Broken Heart which received the National Jewish Book Award, and The Road to Resilience: from Courage to Celebration. When she realized the teachings of the inner yearnings of her heart were a comfort to many, Sherri turned outward, creating the Koby Mandel Foundation to help bereaved families. Sheri writes that “each moment is a miracle and an agony. A miracle that the world exists in all of its glory. An agony that this world is one of suffering and pain.”[3] In one of the most painful moments that I can ever imagine, the loss of a child, Sherri became a resource for others who are bereft and who have lost loved ones.

One also never knows the impact their story can make. Roz Rothstein told me that upon seeing the murder of baby Shalhevet Pas in pointblank range in March 2001 followed by the murder of Koby Mandell in May 2001, Roz and her husband Jerry saw no outrage within the Jewish community. They scheduled a meeting with the Los Angeles Jewish leaders for the Israel Emergency Alliance but saw that people would not commit to action. With friend Esther Renzer, they changed the name to Standwithus and hosted their first rally in July. Previously they had sent videos of Jihad for Kids to the Los Angeles media outlets with no response. Then September 11 came and the media started coming to their house. Standwithus set a mission based on two principles: fighting antisemitism and supporting Israel. Today it is an organization with 15 departments on 6 continents and has become known for its educational resources for middle school kids and older, the Title VI lawsuits it enacts against universities for their antisemitism and for being a nonpartisan organization. I used excerpts from the Haggadah that Jerry Rothstein created at my home Seder. Murders, as horrific and unjust as they are, can leave a legacy to fight for a safer environment for future generations.[4]

The third and final story I want to share is of Alan Morinis, a Rhodes Scholar who began in the film industry. After his business collapsed, Alan said, ““There was no way I could look at that except to see that I had a lot of responsibility for that, and the result was it kinda blew me open.”[5] Alan had two kids, a wife and a mortgage and needed to figure out a way to provide for his family. Rather than turning outward, he turned inward, seeking out Rabbi Yechiel Yitzhak Perr z”l and discovering through him an approach to ethical strengthening called Mussar, which had become diminished when many Yeshivot that taught it perished in the Holocaust.[6] Alan did not set out to found an institution but rather to get his life back on track. Later he saw it as an opportunity to be a resource onto others through the spiritual teachings ingrained in him, founding The Mussar Institute and writing books which would guide others through ethical refining middot, or spiritual characteristics in each and every soul.

How do we handle those times when it feels our world crashes down? It could be the death of a person, of an idea, or the way we were living our lives? Part of life is trusting the unpredictable and having faith that we are here for a reason. It involves putting ourselves out there, taking risks with no guarantees and having trust in the outcome. The Koby Mandell Foundation, like Standwithus, reliee primarily on the generosity of donors. The same is true for The Mussar Institute. I was amazed when Alan refused to set an honorarium, saying “Whatever the community can provide.”

When I’m having a rough time, or hitting a wall, I think of these examples, and they give me hope and inspiration. I realize that so much more is possible than we think-all it takes is fortitude, courage and a little faith in creating a better future. I can’t answer why I’ve seen babies dies nor can I answer why God took any of the loved ones who we are here today to remember. The losses of parents, siblings, uncles and aunts, grandparents and children leave us bereft and in grief, with questions we cannot answer and at times feelings of sadness, anger, and frustration. These are real feelings which we need to acknowledge-we all have them. At the same time, let us look towards those who give us the hope and the courage that enable us to continue each and every day. The greatest danger is that we let our grief and our anger stop us from moving forward and continuing to try to make our world a better place. Yizkor enables us to remember our loved ones-the lives they lived, the values they taught us and the experiences we shared with them. Not every experience was rosy and many of them might have been difficult, yet I hope that each of us will look back to the moments of joy that we shared and that it will cause us to smile, laugh, shed a few tears, center us and give us hope for our futureq. As we remember those from our past, so too may we bring those memories, those experiences, and those values into the present, as we join together as a community to pray on this final day of Passover.

[1] Alan Morinis, Everyday Holiness: The Jewish Spiritual Path of Mussar (Boulder, CO: Trumpeter Books, 2008), pg. 210.

[2] Matthew Kalman (20 June 2001). “Two Israeli teenagers stoned to death”. USA Today. Retrieved 24 March 2011.

[3] Michael Dickson and Dr. Naomi L. Baum Isresilience: What Israelis Can Teach the World Jerusalem: Gefen Publishing, 2020).

[4] Speech from Roz Rothstein, Standwithus Conference, March 18, 2026.

[5] https://jewishjournal.com/culture/arts/128469/selfie-spirituality/

[6] You can read more about it in his book Climbing Jacob’s Ladder

Bringing Forth Light, Casting Out Darkness

Rabbi Ben Herman , , ,

          Our community has been in mourning this past week. The murder in cold blood of 15 people attending Hanukkah by the Sea in Bondi Beach. A father and a son, united in their being inspired by ISIS and in their hatred of the Jews, opened fire. We are blessed by the Syrian-Australian Muslim Ahmed al Ahmed, who tackled one of the gunman, wrestled the gun from his grip and turned it on him, thereby saving this from becoming an even bloodier affair. As Australia’s Prime Minister Anthony Albanese asserted, “At a moment where we have seen evil perpetrated, he shines out as an example of the strength of humanity.”[1] Without hesitation he disarmed the terrorist, saving people’s lives because it was the right thing to do. Ahmed is a modern Maccabee.

Unfortunately, some were not so fortunate. Eli Schlanger, brother of Bakersfield Rabbi Shmuly Schlanger, was murdered. Arsen Ostrovsky, a survivor of October 7, the incoming head of the Australia, Israel & Jewish Affairs Council and brother-in-law of Rabbi Menachem Creditor, was seriously wounded in the attack. Members of our community have checked in with their parents and cousins to ensure that they’re ok, including our congregant Jonathan Lightman and Julian Robinson, whose parents were at the event as well as our former Education Director Orit Morgenstern’s daughter Lior.

Bondi Beach is another example of Jews being targeted for being Jews. You do not need me to recount all the ways our people has been attacked over the past year. What would be more helpful is to remind us what Hanukkah is about and how we need to respond to attacks like the one at Bondi Beach.

Hanukkah is the holiday about standing up to evil. The Maccabees, despite being few in number, fought the Syrian Greeks and prevailed using grit and guerilla warfare. They refused to give up their traditions. This Hanukkah we need to emulate their example. Rather than despairing and surrendering, we must fight for who we are and for what we value.

Haviv Rettig-Gur, with whom I went to high school with, had an amazing podcast “Miracles in the Dark. A Response to Bondi.”[2] In his podcast Haviv referenced the Haftarah from Aharei Mot where the prophet Amos says הלא כבני כושיים אתם לי בני ישראל נאם ה-הלא את-ישראל העליתי מארץ מצרים ופלישתים מכפתור וארם מקיר-“Aren’t you to Me like the children of the Cushites, O Israel? -the words of Gd-have I not brought up Israel from the land of Egypt, the Philistines from Caphtor and Aram from Kir?”[3] In other words, don’t think you’re so special, Israel. You are not the only ones who have been redeemed. Haviv’s understanding is Amos is saying to Israel, “your chosenness is a responsibility and not a pedestal. There are other redemption stories, and they are divine as well. Failure and success are a choice.”[4]

What choices should we make at this moment? For me it was clear as day that this of all years I needed to go to a Chabad Menorah Lighting. I would not let those who seek our destruction win. They are terrorizing us precisely to stop public gatherings. Hanukkah is about פרסומי ניסא, publicizing the miracle, and that is precisely what needs to be done. The “be a man in the street and a Jew in your home” of Judah Leib Gordon never worked for me-though another time I’ll tell you how that line in a roundabout way led me to become a rabbi.

As we continue with the Festival of Lights, I urge each and every one of us to choose the path that will allow our light to shine forth. If we truly feel that we have a special light with a miraculous glow, then we must come together to shine it forth especially at times of darkness and despair. We need to do our part to carry our torch, or our Hanukkah candle, forward, bringing forth gratitude for life and a joy de verve each and every day. As said by the Chabad rebbe mirroring the words of Bahya ibn Pekuda, “Even a little light can cast out great darkness.”[5] May our light shine forth banishing the evil forces that surround us.

[1] Millions are pledged to a Syrian Australian man who stopped a gunman and became a national hero

[2] Ask Haviv Anything, Episode 67.

[3] Amos 9:7

[4] Ask Haviv Anything, Episode 67.

[5] Ibid.

Another Way: Avoiding Polarization

Rabbi Ben Herman , , ,

For better or for worse, I did not give a sermon about the proposed judicial reform in Israel. Instead I said I will not speak about it because I do not live in Israel. When I saw those who normally had the same vantage point, like Danny Gordis, urging American Jews to speak up, I started to realize that this was something different. That, combined with the desire of a number of people for me to address the issues of the day, is why today I’ll be giving my take on the erosion of democratic rights and how we should respond to it from a Jewish perspective.

First a word from this week’s reading. Jacob, who began VaYetze as a refugee from his home with his brother threatening to kill him after the death of their father, finds himself in a different situation. He has always fled before. Learning his brother Esau is on the move with 400 men, Jacob fears for his family’s safety and divides his camp in half. He rationalizes that if Esau kills one of the camps, the other will survive. When Esau approaches, Jacob goes to the front of the line and bows 7 times in submission to Esau. Then, Esau hugs Jacob, falls on his neck and kisses him, and the two of them weep. Eschewing the Midrash on Esau trying to bite Jacob, this is a happy family reunion, where Jacob’s anxiety about his brother does not get born out. It is also a time where Jacob confronts his fears, wrestling with an angel (or with himself) head-on, refusing to let ago until he is blessed. He is given the name Yisrael, one who wrestles or struggles with God.

Back to the lead, which has been buried by now: those of us who fear the erosion of democratic norms should avoid catastrophizing and anxiety. Instead, we must recognize that US democracy is approaching 250 years young and that we should not live in fear. That does not mean that we should sit back and let things happen, however. We know from Dr Martin Luther King that “injustice everywhere is a threat to justice anywhere.” In reworking the words of Pastor Martin Niemoller, not to compare this administration to the Nazis but rather to point out the dangers of not speaking up, I have written the following:

First they came for the asylum seekers, masked men with surprise raids

And I did not speak up because I am an American citizen.

Then they came through the courts, measures like trying to outlaw abortion

And I did not speak up because I’ve already had children.

Then they came for the federal workers

And I did not speak up because I am privately employed.

Then they came for those who are transgender

And I did not speak up because I am cisgender.

Then they came for the department of education

And I did not speak up because my children are grown.

Then they came for the comics

And I did not speak up because I was not cancelled.

Then they came for SNAP

And I did not speak up because I am food secure.

Then they came for what was important to me

And it was too late for me to speak up.

Destruction doesn’t come by one moment-it’s step by step. Each step builds on the other, and by the time it’s there, it’s too late.

I could expand this list, as well as come up with a similar list for Israel. This does not take away from this administration’s support for Israel, and my belief that it is the most pro-Israel administration since Truman-even with people telling me at Kiddush that it’s smoke and mirrors. With that being said, I will not subject myself to a loyalty test where it is all-or-nothing. Just because I am a Zionist who loves Israel does not mean that I am immune to speaking about issues that gravely concern me, done largely under the auspices of Project 2025.

There is much to be concerned about and much to protest. I hope that I get more than a day’s notice the next time Representative Doris Matsui does a press conference outside John Moss Federal Building so that I can proudly stand there alongside many of my clergy colleagues. With that being said, as one who often catastrophizes, I want to keep things within their proper perspective. There is much to protest, yet like I spoke about with the election of Mamdani, the sky is NOT falling. We need to stay strong and fight for the issues we believe in. Some, like my dad, are single issue voters for Israel, and that’s fine. Others, like me, have a more diverse array of issues to which we give our attention, and that’s also fine. What matters in my opinion is not the issues that we support but that we are not afraid to fight for them.

I’ll give you an example from the beginning of my time in Sacramento. I had told Josh Heller that I want to be involved politically, and he connected me with CLUE, Clergy and Laity United for Economic Justice, run at the time by Rabbinical Student Leah Julian, recently selected as the new education director at Congregation Bet Haverim. I was connected with Irv Hershenbaum of United Farm Workers, who invited me to speak at a UFW march in August, one month after I was selected as your rabbi, I naively agreed thinking I could speak about how Judaism supports ethical treatment of workers. I didn’t realize that this was for a difficult piece of legislation that even the supporters had issues with. Nor did I realize that we have growers in our synagogue or that our shul president, Randy Pollack, was lobbying for this legislation to fail. Upon giving him a heads up about this march, Randy didn’t tell me not to do speak. He said to gather information from both sides before making a decision. Randy respected my right to speak at the UFW march even though it epitomized legislation that he was strongly against. This is what makes for a cohesive community-in an age of hyper polarization, the shul is the one place that people of diverse perspectives can come together to pray and socialize for the sole reason that we are Jewish or Jewishly adjacent.

That is the message I want to leave us with. Like Jacob at the beginning of Parshat Vayishlach, we are living in an age of uncharted territory. Our zones are constantly flooded, and we often can’t keep up and feel like we are at the end of our ropes. At such times we cannot succumb to hyperbole, lowering our heads and saying it’s the end of the world. We must fight for the causes for which we believe. When things don’t go the way we want, even when it feels like or becomes apparent that the system is working against us, we cannot afford to take our ball and go home. Pirkei Avot, the Ethics of the Fathers, says, “You don’t have to finish the work but neither are you free to desist from it.” It is better to say, “I’m disappointed, unhappy or afraid yet I choose to lean into the fear anxiety I feel rather than run away from it and to stay in community with those with whom I disagree.” What we should NOT do is enter echo chambers, solely look for confirmation bias for positions with which we already agree, or engage in ad hominem attacks against those with whom we disagree. Each of these is counter to Jewish values. The Talmud states multiple opinions, keeping in community those who vehemently disagree. Furthermore, they studied Torah together, challenging one another to get at a deeper level of the truth. We MUST follow in their example, finding the courage to stay in community with those who are diametrically opposed to us-especially when the going gets tough.

Becoming Eternal

Rabbi Ben Herman , , , , ,

When you turned 1 and I 86

What marvel that we both exist

In same world now

Though we live apart

Know each moment

You are in my heart.

So much I learned

You still must learn

Now we share life

While life’s days turn.

To try to walk

Your present goal

While your very being

Delights my soul.

Sweet precious girl

So dear to me

Now I will love you

Eternally.[1]

          My grandmother wrote this love note to my daughter Ariela two weeks before the end of her life. She refused to use the “d” word-perhaps not what you are thinking by it. The d word is death. Instead, she always said “became eternal.” In my younger years I found this to be strange and counterproductive, as it felt like Elizabeth Kubler-Ross’ first stage of grief, denial of death. Part of this has to do with why we grieve. As Kathryn Schultz writes in her book Lost and Found: A Memoir, “part of what makes grief so seductive is it seems to offer us what life no longer can: an ongoing, emotionally potent connection to the dead. And so it is to feel that once the bleak gift is gone, the person we love will somehow be gone, too.[2] As I’ve grown in my knowledge, I’ve found great wisdom in what Judaism can teach about an eternal connection with our loved ones-that they are never truly gone from us.

          In our liturgy, eternality is reserved for God. Every morning we read the Song of the Sea which asserts ה ימלך לעולם ועד-Gd shall live forever and ever,[3] as well as Ashrei which states ואברכה שמך לעולם ועד, and I will praise Your (God’s) name forever and ever.[4] God’s qualities also have an eternal impact, as we read on Shabbat and holidays כי לעולם חסדו, God’s lovingkindness is forever.[5] As we are in the image of God, the prophets believed that certain qualities will live forever, Isaiah asserting ועמך כלם צדיקים לעולם ירשו ארץ, “your entire nation is righteous, and they will inherit the land forever.”[6]

          The Zohar, a medieval mystical book, teaches that the soul is an eternal and immortal aspect of the self that has a divine origin and, through successive incarnations, undergoes experiences that evolve and purify it. Rabbi Isaac Luria, a 16th century Kabbalist, taught ““The soul returns to this world to complete what was left unfinished, to repair and elevate.” We often think of reincarnation as an idea of eastern religions; it is in Judaism as well. The Zohar speaks of 5 different levels of the soul: Nefesh, Ruach, Neshama, Chaya, and Yechida. Each layer represents a different level of the soul’s development and connection to the divine. It further teaches that “at the time of a man’s death, he is allowed to see his relatives and companions from the other world.”[7]  In a message that resonates with today, Yom Kippur, the day on which we rehearse our own death, we learn, “On the day when a person’s time arrives to depart from the world…three messengers stand over her and take an account of her life and all that she has done in the world and she admits all with her mouth and signs the account with her hand…she should be judged in the next world for all her actions, former and latter, old and new, not one of them is forgotten.”[8]

          This can give us comfort in the idea that part of us will live on. At the same time it might give us the heebie-jeebies: my soul can be reincarnated into someone else? Furthermore, the Zohar teaches that there were 600,000 Israelite souls, all found at                                               Sinai-how does that work when there are close to 16 million Jews, let alone other righteous people of all faiths? Some of us might prefer the words of Gershon Scholem, a professor of Jewish mysticism: “The language of the Zohar must be understood symbolically; its stories and words are vessels for deeper spiritual truths.”[9]

          How might those who prefer the rational understand eternality-or is it simply when you die, that’s it? The medieval Jewish philosopher, Rabbi Levi Ben Gershon, also known as Gersonides, wrote a beautiful teaching about this in his book Milchamot HaShem:

          Man is immortal in so far as he attains the intellectual perfection that is open to him. This means that man becomes immortal only if and to the extent that he acquires knowledge of what he can in principle know e.g. mathematics and natural sciences. This knowledge survives his bodily death and constitutes his immortality.[10]

          Why is this important? The Yizkor prayers we will recite beginותדעהו  ה מה אדם “God, what is humanity that you are mindful of us?” On Yom Kippur, we reflect on what is the meaning of our lives? After all, we are one moment closer to death now than we were before. By holding onto the eternality of people, we recognize that the spirit of our loved ones continue within us. One way in which this occurs is when we remember words that they have said. As in the words of an early 20th century rabbi:

We know that everything that has once been brought into existence cannot be put out of existence. The word I now speak is spoken forever; it can never be recalled. The soul once propelled into the universe cannot be put out of it; it can never be destroyed. What becomes of it after death I know not.”[11]

When something has been created, it cannot be retracted. Similarly, once someone has lived on this earth, their presence endures even after their physical departure. Just as an imprint cannot be erased, neither can a person’s impact in the world. As stated by Rabbi Bernard S. Raskas in his sermon “A Jewish View of Immortality”:

          What is this immortality in which I believe?

          I believe that a person lives on in his or her family…

I believe there is a form of immortality in the institutions we build and the causes we espouse…

I believe in the immortality of friendship and helpfulness…

I believe in the immortality of existence…

I find immortality in people.”[12]

This sentiment is found in contemporary times as well. Take Rachel Goldberg-Polin, whose son Hersh was murdered by Hamas last year. At the Christians United for Israel Annual Summit, Rachel said, “I know love never dies. It is eternal.”[13] Our bonds to one another are immortal-they transcend this physical life. When we remember experiences we shared with those no longer physically present, we feel their spirit shining forth even today.

          As we recite Yizkor, we remember those who came before knowing that their spark continues on inside of us. Rather than bemoan what was, we have pride in what is. We are comforted by the words of Rabbi Jacob Weinstein:

          We, the living, can determine the kind of immortality our beloved shall have…We can act as their personal representatives to the living. Where they lifted the burden or worry from a fellow man, we can give encouragement and help; where they brought cheer and care and loyalty, we can be instead.”[14]  

It is my prayer that the nobility in in our predecessors’ lives and the high ideals they cherished endure in our thoughts and live on in our deeds. May we, carrying on their work, help to redeem God’s promise that life shall prevail.[15] In so doing, we will follow the Torah commandment to choose life, making choices and decisions that emulate the greatest values of our people.

          I will conclude with another of my grandmothers’ poems, from eight years after the passing of her mother.

Eight years after,

Marvel I

How those years brought us closer.

This experience called dying,

Which on surface seemed to sever,

Only brought us fonder, nearer-

Every moment of eight yearspans

Only wove us more together.

Eight years after-

Yearspans after-

Eight years after,

Marvel I

Of the legacy you left me,

Giving me not only moments,

Opportunity of moments,

But the precious worth of moments

And the meaning of life’s moments.

Eight years after-

Eight years after-

Eight years after,

Grateful I

For the heritage you left me-

In your teaching about lifetime,

In the reaching of your lifetime

Never, never, have you left me,

Never-never did you die![16]

[1] Lucille Frenkel, February Love Note about Our Shared Birthday Month

[2] Kathryn Schultz, Lost and Found: A Memoir (New York: Random House, 2022), pg. 66.

[3] Exodus 15:18

[4] Psalms 145:1

[5] Psalms 136:1

[6] Isaiah 60:21

[7] Zohar I, 219a, in Simcha Paull Raphael, Jewish Views of the Afterlife (Northvale, NJ: Aronson, 2000), pg. 290.

[8] Zohar I, 79a, in Raphael, pg. 291.

[9] Gershon Scholem, Zohar: The Book of Splendor (NY: Shocken Books, 1963), pg. 21.

[10] Raphael,  pg. 261.

[11] J. Leonard Levy, Prophetic Voice (Pittsburgh, PA: Rodeph Shalom Congregation, 1970), pg. 86.

[12] Bernard S. Raskas, “A Jewish View of Immortality,” The American Rabbi, 19/1 (August 1986), pg. 57-59.

[13] Rachel Goldberg-Polin, Cufi Summit, 7/2/25

[14] Rabbi Simon Greenberg, A Treasury of Comfort, pg. 225.

[15] Gates of Prayer, pg. 626.

[16] Lucille Frenkel, “The Immortality for My Mother Rose B. Forman” In A Jewish Adventure (Milwaukee, Wi: The Eternity Press, 1983), pg. 125.

Kol Nidre’s Hold on Us

Rabbi Ben Herman , , ,

Every year I feel something special when the Torot are taken out of the ark, processed around the congregation, and the music of Kol Nidre is chanted by the Hazzan. It’s almost a hypnotic, trance-like state that sets the tone for the 25 hours that follow. The majestic nature of the music, which we all just felt, is what I want to devote a few minutes to this evening.

Kol Nidre is such a powerful prayer. A unique thing is that the rabbis wanted to get rid of Kol Nidre because it talks about annulling vows which the Bible forbids-as stated: “When you fulfill a vow you must obey it without delay…you must be careful to perform any promise that has crossed your lips.”[1] The people and the hazzanim rebelled, and won, because we are held by the mesmerizing music that is part of this prayer.

What is Kol Nidre’s hold on us? Why do we cling to it each and every year? Rabbi Alan Lew writes in his book This is Real and You are Completely Unprepared that “when we recite Kol Nidre, God calls out to the soul, in a voice the soul recognizes instantly because it is the soul’s own cry…your soul is hearing its name called out, and its name is pain, grief, shame, humiliation, loss, failure death-or at least that is its first name. That is the name the first few notes of the Kol Nidre call out.”[2] That is very jarring by itself. Are we really here to feel pain and humiliation? Is the purpose of saying Ashamnu and Al Heyt to embarrass us? I would argue not-that we need to take the emotion we feel with Kol Nidre and channel it into the future. Rabbi Stanley Rabinowitz has a suggestion as to how to do so-it may seem dated with mentioning a rangefinder camera but its lesson is eternal.

“The mystic hold which Kol Nidre has over us may be the result of our awareness that under the pressures of life, there will be times when our deeds may not be consistent with our principles and when our achievements may not square with the promises inherent in us.

Kol Nidre prompts us to try harder to bring integrity into our decisions. The intent of Kol Nidre may be compared to that of a rangefinder on a camera. Looking through a rangefinder, the photographer will see a split image-a forehead over here and a chin over there. By turning the focus ring, they bring the split image into alignment. Kol Nidre serves as a mechanism of focus…

In the channels of living, each person projects dreams, hopes and aspirations. We make promises; we express resolves. There are promises inherent in our family relationships, in the position we occupy in the marketplace and in the community. But somehow life blurs the promise and fogs the resolve. The promises inherent in us fade away, sometimes because of something we have done, and sometimes because of something done to us. In either case, it is all too easy to reach a point where we capitulate to a sense of failure and say, ‘I’m sorry. I can’t make it. It is not worth it; it can’t be done.” Life is out of focus.

Too much of life is out of focus. There is a distance between what we are and what we could be, a gap between where we are and where we wanted to be. Kol Nidre comes to help us bridge that gap.”[3]

What is most important is how we take Kol Nidre with us into today and the days ahead. In these 25 hours of God’s undivided attention, we have great opportunity. We are told in the Torah to circumcise our hearts.[4] The medieval commentator Rashi says this means that we should have an open and loving heart. Yom Kippur is a day when we are meant to soften our hearts. The beauty of Kol Nidre’s music helps us begin to do so. This will continue tomorrow as we remember our loved ones at Yizkor as well as at Neilah when we get to offer our personal prayer before the open ark. Yom Kippur is a day to look at who we can become in our fullest essence, to say “yes I can” as we move forward. It might even lead to the exultation felt by the High Priest in Temple times who was described as מגמתו כצאת השמש כגבורת תואר, one whose face shown like the strength of the sun.[5]

During these 25 hours, take time to let the music of the prayers wash over you and the power of our being together in community up until the final Shofar blast. Meditate a little, laugh little, cry a little even dance a little if it moves you. Yom Kippur is a powerful day, one at which we are at one with our creator. It is my hope and prayer that we feel this today.

[1] Deuteronomy 23:22

[2] Rabbi Alan Lew, This is Real and You are Completely Unprepared (United States: Little, Brown, 2003), pg. 178.

[3] Rabbi Stanley Rabinowitz, “Kol Nidre: Bridging the Gap of a Split Image”

[4] Deuteronomy 10:16

[5] Yom Kippur Avodah Service

What Is Teshuva?

Rabbi Ben Herman , , , ,

What is Teshuva? The most common translation is repentance. However, repentance invokes a “gloomy and depressive mood of guilt and sorrow” whereas Teshuvah “implies of a positive sense of prospective growth and accomplishment.” Rabbi Zvi Yehuda uses three different definitions for Teshuva:

“Returning: turning from the wrong way and returning to the right way. It is self-improvement. By improving oneself, by becoming better, one returns to one’s true self-to God. Restoring: self-renewal, spiritual recovery and healing; rejecting the depressive mood of shame and guilt and adapting new, reconstructive ways of moral rehabilitation and self-esteem; by positive changes in one’s attitude and conduct. Responding-responsibility and responsiveness. By the experience of Teshuva, one returns to one’s innermost yearnings for a constructive and meaningful life, to the highest call of duty-to the will of God.”[1]

Rav Kook goes a step beyond this, stating that teshuva is “returning to one’s original status, to the source of love and higher being…in their highest spiritual character, as illuminated by the simple, radiant, divine light.”[2]

Teshuva is an important centerpiece of our religion. The Midrash teaches that “one who does teshuva, it is considered as if he went to Jerusalem, rebuilt the Temple, erected the altar, and offered upon it all the sacrifices of Torah.”[3] This is a metaphor for our taking what is broken in our lives and restoring it to wholeness. Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish takes it one step further, stating “repentance is so great that premeditated sins are accounted for as it they were merits.”[4]

Why is this so great? In his classic work Man’s Search for Meaning, Victor Frankl asserts “every human being has the freedom to change at every minute…a human being is a self-transcending being.”[5] In so doing, we also note, as Art Green writes, that “Our return to Y-H-W-H is in no way separate from our return to ourselves, to the point of inward truth out of which our humanity shines forth. ‘Return to Me and I shall return to you.”[6]

Of course, here we are talking about genuine repentance. Not these blanket apologies “I am sorry if I offended anyone.” The specificity that comes from true heshbon hanefesh, soul searching, is what is being called for here. It is also a constant process. The cynic may ask: “What good does Yom Kippur really accomplish. One goes through the ritual of atonement. One fasts and prays to be forgiven and goes out again in the world and commits the sins afresh!” This very question was once put to a rabbi by his disciple. His master replied, “Go, my son, to the creek to the outskirts of the town and stay there for a full week. Watch what takes place there, and you will then understand the value of repentance.” The disciple carried out the instructions of the master. He finally returned, still troubled by his old question, and baffled even more by the strange procedure that the master had suggested to him. “All I saw were women doing their laundry by the creek,” he reported. “They come with dirty garments, scrub them clean, and at the end of the week they return with more dirty garments and scrub them clean all over again.” “My son,” said the master, “there lies the meaning and value of repentance. Our souls are like those garments scrubbed by the women. In our encounter with the world, our souls become soiled, and they must be scrubbed repeatedly. Teshuva is a kind of scrubbing, to remove the filth which is on our souls. And cleansing must be continuous, because the accumulation of filth is perpetual.”[7]

Rabbi Harold Schulweis reminds us that it is not too late, that we have these remaining days of repentance to make amends.

The last word has not been spoken,

The last sentence has not been written,

The final verdict is not in.

It is never too late

To change my mind,

My direction,

To say no to the past

And yes to the future,

To offer remorse,

To ask and give forgiveness.

It is never too late to alter my world,

Not by magic incantations

Or manipulations of the cards

Or deciphering the stars.

But by opening myself

To curative forces buried within,

To hidden energies,

The powers in my interior self.

In sickness and in dying, it is never too late.

Living, I teach.

Dying, I teach.

How I face pain and fear,

Others observe me, children, adults,

Students of life and death,

Learn from my bearing, my posture,

My philosophy.[8]

[1] Rabbi Zvi Yehuda, Thought of the Week, Cleveland Jewish News, 9-28-90.

[2] Rabbi Chai Levy in We Rise: An Anthology of High Holiday Sermons delivered the year after October 7th, page 249.

[3] Midrash Rabbah Leviticus 7:2

[4] Babylonian Talmud Yoma 86b

[5] Page 127

[6] Rabbi Art Green Say My Face, Speak My Name: A Contemporary Jewish Theology (Northvale, NJ: Aaronson, 1992) pg. 161.

[7] Rabbi Robert Gordis, Reconstructionist High Holiday Supplement 5739, Temple University

[8] Rabbi Harold Schulweis in God’s Mirror: Reflections and Essays (Hoboken, NJ: Ktav, 1990, p. 296-97)

Created Anew

Rabbi Ben Herman , , , , ,

I’ve been reflecting on a mindfulness retreat I went on a number of years ago. One of the participants said to the facilitator “Why are we here? The world is on fire, and we are here meditating at a retreat?! What difference are we making?” I don’t remember Rabbi Margolius’ response, but what I do remember is that we need to center ourselves before we can work on world problems. Rosh Hashanah gives us that opportunity, to ground ourselves so that afterwards we can go out and fight for the causes for which we believe. Today I will be speaking about ways we can create ourselves anew at any moment; tomorrow I will speak about how we use our power, with Israel as an example; on Yom Kippur I will speak about the eternality of the essence of who we are.

Maker of all the living

Every passing moment You create Your world anew:

Withdraw Your gracious love an instant,

And all You’ve made would cease to be…

Instead, every passing moment finds You pouring out Your endless blessing,

And morning stars appear to sing their song of love to You,

The blazing sun comes forth to sing its song of light to You,

And angels voice their sacred chant to You,

And soul intone their psalms of thirst for You.

Once more the grasses carol their longing for You,

And birds chirp their joy in Your presence,

Trees shawled in leaves now sigh their prayer to You,

And springs softly bubble in adoration.

And still the oppressed bare their hearts to You, a Tallit their armor,

As their soul’s pleading splits the heavens.

One ray only of Your light and we are bathed in Your light!

One word only of Your words, and we rise to life renewed.

One hint only of Your eternal presence, and we are drenched in the dew of youth.

O God, You make all things new, ever and ever:

Take us, Your children, and make us new.

Breathe Your living spirit into us,

That we may start life afresh

With childhood’s unbounded promise.[1]

Every day in our liturgy we read המחדש בטובו בכל-יום תמיד מעשה בראשית-God is the one who creates out of God’s goodness the acts of creation every day. We are grateful for opportunities to feel creation wonderous at every moment. 

When we are young, we have wonder and curiosity. Somewhere along the way, we lose it in the doldrums of daily living. Occasionally we get it back-perhaps the excitement of a new job; a wedding or a new child; or after a significant period of time away. Yet more often than not, we struggle to remember that we need to hold onto this childlike sense of wonder. 

Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev, an 18th Century Hasidic leader, teaches about the importance of daily creation in his work Kedushat Levi:

We must always try to bring to our consciousness that from moment to moment, the Blessed Creator, in great love and mercy, instills in us new vital force; from moment to moment, the Blessed Creator renews our very being. This is what the rabbis meant when they said: “for each and every breath praise Ya”H”.[2] That is, at each moment the breath seeks to leave us, and the blessed Holy One, in great mercy, watches over us from moment to moment and has compassion for us, and does not let the breath depart.[3] In this manner, when we raise this thought to awareness, from moment to moment we actually are created anew as a new creature. This generates enthusiasm to serve the Blessed Creator, since everything that is new or renewed sparks enthusiasm. And, since we are created anew from moment to moment, we can burn with that same great enthusiasm to serve the blessed Creator.

But, there are those who do not raise up their thoughts to this truth, who actually think (heaven forbid) that the blessed Holy One does not renew them in each and every moment. They think that once the blessed Holy One created them, God no longer makes them new again in each moment. Thus, they do not experience any enthusiasm in serving the blessed Creator, for whatever is unchanging is also uninteresting and lacking in delight. For this reason, they sometimes fall from whatever spiritual degree they may have attained. But, afterward, when they start out again to serve the Creator, they actually do experience a great enthusiasm.

          We always have opportunities to get closer to The Holy One. The 20th century Slonimer Rebbe in his book Netivot Shalom, the paths of peace, teaches us   וכל המאורעות העוברים על איש יהודי, כולם הם קריאה מאת ה׳ יתברך שיתקרב אליו. “Everything that happens to us is a calling from God that we should get closer to God.”[4] In other words, there are no coincidences or things which are happenstance. God is calling out to us to hear God’s voice and bring a spirit of godliness into the world.

          How exactly do we do this? Netivot Shalom continues:

וזה ענין קול השופר שהוא קול ה׳ הקורא בראש השנה לכל איש יהודי לחזור אל מקורו ושרשו. “the sound of the shofar is the voice of God on Rosh Hashanah to return to our source and our root.” God can appear far off or at a distance, but a cry like the sound of the shofar can wake us up to return to our intention. After all, today we say hayom harat olam, today is the birthday of the world or today is pregnant with eternity. What new ideas are you birthing today? What ideas are percolating, in process, or gestating through you, so that they can be further developed in the days ahead?

                 The High Holy Day season is an opportunity to, in the words of Shlomo Carlebach, “return to who you are, return to what you are.”[5] We come home, returning to our original intention of who we want to be in the world. Rabbi Art Green, who I’ve been learning Hasidut from every week, writes, “homecoming is our return to the source within this world, to the great womb out of whom we are ever being born, the one to whom we ever return. Homecoming is the rejoining of matter and spirit, an understanding that this most primal of all separations stands as the cause of our alienation from ourselves, from the deepest roots of our own tradition, and from the very earth that nurtures us.”[6]

         This new beginning comes once a year right now. Tikkuney Zohar 16 reads the word bereshit of “In the beginning God created” as ba tishrey, “Tishrey has come.” It continues, Elohim, the aspect of God’s judgment, creates. Because of all the fear of being judged, people return to God, awakening mercy, and that recreates the world.[7] Rather than fear, I like to think of us as returning to love, finding ways to strengthen our bonds to one another out of shared humanity and love of each other. Any opportunity we have to add to the amount of love in the world enables us to be partners with God in creation.

      Part of that recreation means to recognize how lucky we are to be in this particular moment. Some might feel overwhelmed by past misdeeds. To those who are, you’re in good company: so too were our ancestors, who felt unworthy of receiving the Torah. The upcoming holiday of Yom Kippur is a renegotiated marriage between God and the Jewish people, for the first tablets, made entirely by God and given entirely on Shavuot, were overwhelming for Israel. That is why Israel fled to the golden calf. To transform oneself radically from a slave people to a people under the one God proved too much. The second tablets, on the other hand, were a partnership between Moses, the writer, and God, the transmitter.[8]

       When we feel off-kilter, may we remember that we are in a long-term partnership with the Holy One. We can always make adjustments to create ourselves anew and become the people we want to be. There are ample opportunities to transform our behavior, as illustrated by the following anecdote:

Imagine there is a bank that credits your account every day with $86,400. Every day, even on Saturday and Sunday! However, the bank will not carry your balance over to the next day. Every evening the bank deletes whatever part of the account that you fail to use.

What would you do? You would draw out every dollar!

Each one of us has such a bank but it doesn’t give us money, it gives us TIME. There are 86,400 seconds in a day. Every morning, that is what is credited to your account and every evening, the bank writes off, as lost, whatever you have failed to use for a good purpose. There is no carryover, there are no overdrafts. Each day you are given a new account. Each night that account is closed. If you fail to use the day’s deposits, the loss is yours. There is no going back. There is no drawing against “tomorrow.” You must live in the present on today’s deposit. The message is: invest every second so that you can get the most from it in health, happiness and success. The clock is running.

To realize the value of ONE YEAR, ask a student who failed a class in school.

To realize the value of ONE MONTH, ask a mother who gave birth to a premature baby.

To realize the value of ONE WEEK, ask the editor of a weekly newspaper.

To realize the value of ONE HOUR, ask lovers who are waiting to meet.

To realize the value of ONE MINUTE, ask the person who just missed the train.

To realize the value of ONE SECOND, ask the person who just avoided an accident.

To realize the value of ONE MILLISECOND, ask the person who won a Silver Medal in the Olympic games.

Yesterday is history; Tomorrow is mystery. Today is a gift, that’s why they call it the present.[9]

                God creates time but we humans give it meaning. You not only have meaning but you are also necessary in every moment. As based on a story by Rebbe Nahman of Bratslav, “There is no person who does not have his hour”-every human life has something unique and valuable about it, a contribution to be offered that can be fulfilled by no other. Each messenger brings back a unique portrait of the king (of God) one that only he or she can paint. To take seriously our faith that each person is God’s image is to treat every person with a spiritual dignity and caring that would transform all of our lives.[10]

In the daily Amidah, we offer 3 times a day: בָּרֵךְ עָלֵֽינוּ יְהֹוָה אֱלֹהֵֽינוּ אֶת־הַשָּׁנָה הַזֹּאת God bless for us this year. We recite this every single day, including the last day of the year. Every day is a different day. Life is constantly changing so that the prayer takes on greater meaning and nuance. Even at the end of the year, when we are really focused on the New Year ahead, we can still hope for the wringing out of blessing in that year’s waning moments. We cannot fully appreciate the year until it has concluded, in no small part because it is ever changing, and we add to the year’s meaning in our perspective. In addition, the preposition על means that the blessing is placed “over” us or “about” us. It is up to us each day to discover the blessing/s, find it, reach out for it, grasp it, and integrate it into our lives, so that life’s changes change us (לטובה) ולברכה, for goodness and for blessing.

 Take a moment to close your eyes and take a deep breath. Reflect on the joy of the here and now. Each moment is a new one with new opportunities to bring God’s presence into the world. Hold onto the words of the psalmist: זה היום עשה ה נגילה ונשמחה בו-this is the day God made, rejoice in it.[11] The dawn of a new year is a special moment. Take the time you need over this holiday season to reconnect with aspects of yourself that have become dormant-perhaps taking up a long-lost hobby or a passion you’ve always wanted to try. Call those you have not spoken to and catch up. Look at the habits and parts of your life no longer serving you and work to make the necessary changes. May doing each of us help us feel the precious present-ness of each moment in each day.

John O’Donahue

To Come Home to Yourself

May all that is unforgiven in you be released.

May your fears yield their deepest tranquilities.

May all that is unlived in you blossom into a future graced with love.

[1] Central Conference of American Rabbis, On the Doorposts of Your House: Prayers and Ceremonies for the Jewish Home (NY: CCAR Press, 1994) Poem 21, pg. 286.

[2] Psalms 150:6

[3] From Genesis Rabbah 14:10

[4] נתיבות שלום ב׳, קכ״ה

[5] Shlomo Carlebach “Return Again”

[6] Rabbi Art Green Say My Face, Speak My Name: A Contemporary Jewish Theology (Northvale, NJ: Aaronson, 1992) pgs. 159-60.

[7] Meor Eynaim Likkutim

[8] Rabbi Art Green, Say My Face, pgs. 172-73.

[9] Marc Levy, If Only It Were True

[10] Rabbi Art Green, Say My Face, Speak My Name, pg. 81.

[11] Psalms 118:24