When Soft Hearts Feel Hardened, Parashat Va-eira, January 12, 2024

In our Torah portion, we are challenged with multiple questions. Though not explicitly written in the text, they are present. How can people, knowing full well what the right thing to do is, keep making the wrong decision? We are also challenged to ask ourselves, how can we know, feeling deeply in our hearts the, what the right thing to do is, still wonder sometimes why it may not feel so right? As we will learn, it is part of our humanity. Even when we feel justified and know what is right, are challenged to question. It comes down to the core of what is in our heart, how soft or hard are our hearts. 

This week’s Torah portion, Va-eira, offers a timely warning. Do not let your heart be hardened. Five times, we are told, the Pharaoh, though inclined to do the right thing, hardens his own heart. In his callousness, he continues the suffering of the Hebrew slaves and causes the pain to expand to his own people. After the fifth time, the Torah tells us that God hardens Pharaoh’s heart, meaning that his cruel tendencies have already been established, so there will be no changing his mind. One plague should have been enough for Pharaoh to know he needed to change course. One could even argue that he should have immediately heard Mose’s appeal to “let the people go,” proactively avoiding the promised signs and wonders. So much suffering could have been avoided had his heart been softened, his mind been open, his basic humanity piercing through the royal veneer. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, who walked arm-in-arm with Dr. Martin Luther King wrote, that the part of the great tragedy is that Pharaoh and the Egyptians could have joined the Israelites, and we all could have stood at Sinai together. That was the tragedy, that his heart was hardened. The Pharaoh, believing he was a god could not express basic humanity, nor could his subjects even expect him to, for they too believed him to be divine. The people accepted suffering and emboldened the Pharaoh’s arrogance. His heart remained hardened because Egypt refused to allow their leader to be just a man. And the plagues, one by one, dismantled all notions of Pharaoh’s power. God, through Moses, God’s messenger, had a mission to humble their nemesis, to demonstrate what happens when we deny our humanity, when our hearts remain hardened in the face of truth and pain.

Rabbi Menachem Creditor is the Rabbi in Residence for the United Jewish Appeal in New York. This week, he offered a very moving d’var Torah (https://youtu.be/0Zk6-6QlaBI?si=DZViaAcQxjaIwQ-F) linking Pharaoh’s hardened heart to current events around the world, and particularly in Israel. He observed, “Hell on earth ensues when someone shuts off the godliness within them.” He equates a hardened heart with the destruction of the Temple. When the Torah says that God wants the people to build a sacred space, it says not that God will dwell in it, but that God will dwell with them. The commentator Moses Alshich says this means God will dwell “in the Jewish heart.” Therefore when the physical Temple was destroyed, God’s presence could only be found in the hearts of humankind. The Talmud actually says, after the Temple fell, God was confined to the “four cubits of Jewish law” (BT Berachot 8a). Four cubits is the smallest unit of personal space defined by Talmud. On one level this means, in the very small spaces in which Torah is studied, God is there. Furthermore, wherever an individual enacts Jewish values, that place is likewise a holy of holies. And I am going to suggest, four cubits might also be the elevation of the human heart of above the ground. So when God is confined to the four cubits of Jewish law, that means, God’s holy presence is in our hearts, which Rabbi Creditor says are meant to be soft, “passionate, pulsing, loving, and sweet. The place [from which] God’s love pours out in this world.” Therefore when we harden our hearts, we diminish God’s presence, and destroy the Temple all over again.

Rabbi Creditor then addresses a challenge that I personally have felt, an issue about which I have had many conversations in recent weeks. We are really struggling with Israel’s war against Hamas in Gaza. Our hearts are torn by our commitment to Israel’s right to security and the heavy human toll of the conflict. We read about destruction and death, and we remember the hostages whose families can only imagine what their loved ones are enduring. We are rightfully angry over the October 7 terrorist attack, and we are frightened by the rise of anti-semitism around the world. We are shocked by the indifference of Hamas’s leaders, modern day Pharaohs, with hardened hearts, who subject their own people, innocent Palestinians, to the plague of war. About this, Rabbi Menachem Creditor described what so many of us have been feeling but lacked the words: “My heart is broken for Gaza because my heart is working.”

He is expressing a type of godliness defined by Holocaust survivor, author, and Nobel laureate, Elie Wiesel. In 1999, he gave a speech at the White House called “The Perils of Indifference.” He warned that indifference is “seductive. It is easier to look away…” But this is not godlike. He explains, “We [the Jewish people have] felt that to be abandoned by God was worse than to be punished by Him. Better an unjust God than an indifferent one.”

While this teaching does not resolve the crisis, it can be reassuring that this conflict, this pain we feel, this empathy for innocent victims, is an expression of our godliness, just as godly as our pursuit of justice. We can hold both thoughts at the same time. If we truly want to proclaim, “Am Yisrael Chai,” the people of Israel live, we must also maintain the religion and values of the Jewish people by not allowing indifference to harden our hearts. One cannot exist without the other.

It should go without saying, the fastest, surest path to a ceasefire, for this conflict to end, is the immediate release of all hostages and disarming of the Hamas terrorists. If that happened, the war would end tonight, but those with the power to make that choice remain hard hearted. Filled with hate, they press on. Meanwhile, our hearts are moved, even if that feels disconsonant with our resolve for Israel’s defense forces to complete their mission, to return every remaining hostage, and to ensure that future of the Jewish people and the Jewish homeland. 

It is okay to feel conflicted as we live in the discomfort. It is okay to feel pain. It is okay to have empathy for the other, even for one’s enemy. As tradition teaches, God scolded the angels for celebrating while Egyptian soldiers drowned in the sea, let 

Meanwhile, it is also okay, it is even necessary, to believe in the absolute right for the Jewish people to exist. We can recognize the pangs of discomfort for what they are, stirrings of holiness in our hearts, reminders that we are not Pharaoh, that our hearts are soft, that we must never, ever give in to the perils of indifference.

Let, on this Shabbat and in the days to come, be able to say, “Am Yisrael Chai,” the people of Israel and all that we stand for live.

Remarks from Interfaith Panel Conducted by Tennessee Holocaust Commission about why Holocaust Education is essential in religious communities – November 6, 2025

For the Jewish people, Holocaust Education is not a question. The subject is existential. If we are to continue to be a people united by history, culture, and faith, we cannot afford to forget.

This aligns with a fundamental precept of Judaism, where we commit to memory atrocities committed against us. It is not suggestion or a guiding principle. Rather, it is a command. Our first encounter with such a command comes in the book of Deuteronomy (25:17) where it says: “Remember what Amalek did to you when you came out of Egypt.” Amalek was a warrior chief who attacked the newly liberated Israelites, going after the most vulnerable among them. Amalek becomes the paradigm for evil and the enemies of Israel. After the pain he caused, one might think that once he was defeated, we would simply move on. But no. We remember. So important is this memory, that we get a second command, “Do not forget what Amalek did.” Two commandments out of 613 devoted specifically to memorializing his attacks against our people. The medieval Torah Commentator, Moses Nachmanides says these two commands compel to complementary responses on the same idea. We remember through words, and do not forget in our hearts and minds. And for the record, it bears mentioning, there is even a third commandment on the same topic, and this one demands action. For something to be commanded three times, in three different ways, we know it has to be important. The commandments call on us to do something specific. Nachmanides explains it this way, “we are to relate it to our children and to our generations, saying to them, “Thus did the wicked one do to us.” In other words, education. Three thousand years later, we remember, through our words and we never forget in our hearts and perform the essential action—to educate. This is the mechanism through which we exercise our sacred obligations of memory.

And these obligations expand beyond the pages of Torah. Throughout time, the enemies of the Jewish people have been compared to Amalek, elevated to the same treatment of memory. Haman, the villain from the book of Esther, was said to be a descendant of Amalek. The Roman Empire was compared to Amalek. Even Saddam Hussein has been regarded as a modern Amalek. But no enemy of the Jewish people has ever deserved this comparison as much as Adolph Hitler. If ever there were deeds to remember and never forget, they are his atrocities. And so, it is incumbent upon us to link the Amalek commands to Hitler.

Remember the Holocaust. Never forget it. Educate about it. For the Jewish people, it is not a question of curriculum, but about sacred obligation.

Emil Fackenheim, the 20^th century rabbi and theologian, made this clear when he had the audacity to add a 614^th commandment to the commandments given in the Torah. The 614^th commandment, he said, was, “Not to give Hitler a posthumous victory.” In part, this was intended to encourage the continuation of Jewish life and practice. But, by being so bold as to attach the Holocaust to Revelation itself, he also laid down the challenge to keep studying it. For the Jewish people, commandments are more than actions; they inspire learning. And as I learned from my seminary teacher, Rabbi Sam Joseph, learning is even more important than education. Education is about facts and figures, places, names, and dates. Learning is digging deep to unearth the core of the subject and to understand the heart of the matter.

Education means knowing the numbers, six million murdered Jewish people, and how those murders were implemented, with einsatzgruppen, mass shootings, secret police, train cars, gas chambers, starvation, crematoria, and all sorts of horrific cruelty. But learning is about the why. Judaism’s response to tragedy transcends mere education. We also explore why they happened.

The Book of Lamentations, in Hebrew, is called “Eicha,” which means How? More than just asking “How?” the word implies heightened shock at the world events. As Lamentations describes the desolate status of Jerusalem after its destruction in 586 BCE, it challenges us not just to rebuild, but also to ensure such a calamity can never happen again. This is the true purpose of Education; to learn from the past so we might create a better future.

And, as far as the interfaith work that we must do, it is essential. The burden of Holocaust memory is too much for one group to bear alone. And the lessons about dehumanization, man’s inhumanity to man, the normalization of senseless hate, all of which can lead to genocide are about more than Jewish history or future. We occupy our own particular place in history, but the promise of “never again” means never again to anyone. Therefore, I am deeply moved when people outside the Jewish community reach out to share this load. Long before I considered making a home in Tennessee, The Paperclips documentary about the Whitwell Middle School brought me to tears because it showed us we were not alone. When Brendan Murphy a history teacher from Marist School in Atlanta encourages the fellow Catholics to confront their past antisemitic actions and to actively seek reconciliation in the spirit of Nostra Aetate and the Second Vatican, I am moved because I know we have partners who share in the sacred work. When we convene in seminars such as these, I find comfort. I am comforted in the spirit of Lamentations because we are all asking, “Eicha?” How did it happen? And how will we ensure it will not happen again?

The Chewish People, or Does Judaism Lose its Flavor?, Sermon For Yom Kippur Morning, 5786

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Today, I want to tell you about my first home shopping experience. We live in an age when it is totally normal to shop from home. Nowadays, it’s strange to buy things in a store. You can feel the judgment from the clerks as if to say, “If you just got this on Amazon, we could all go home?”

Nevertheless, there was a time when you actually had to go to a store to buy music. We didn’t have Streaming subscriptions. We had the sale rack at Sam Goody’s. Anyhow, I was young, maybe 5 years old, and a commercial came on TV for a record, “Monster Mash.” There were monsters dancing and kids having so much fun. I had to have it. I got my mom to call a 1-800 number. And yes, kids, that was a big deal because 1-800 meant the call was free! Mom paid over the phone like nineteen ninety-nine plus shipping and handling. Two weeks later, the record came in the mail. My dad put it on the turntable, and my mind was blown. The record, as advertised, was filled with songs about monsters, like Witch Doctor, from which the choir will sing the chorus now!

Just kidding. It also had the Purple People Eater.

For some reason, it had “Itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow polka dot bikini,” which I will model for you, now.

Most confusing of all was the song, “Does your chewing gum lose its flavor on the bedpost over night?” What was this song doing on my prized possession that had travelled to my home all the way from Roseland, NJ. I was incredulous. I was even more shocked that, in 1961, the song reached number 5 on the Billboard chart.

So, I have questions. First, is there a brand of chewing gum that holds flavor long enough for you to even consider saving it for the next day? And, my second question, what kind of sicko would actually find gum on their bedpost and put it in their mouth? You’d have to be a monster…. And, ah! That’s why it’s on the album.

This song has vexed me for the last 45 years, that is until today, when I suddenly understand this third song from the B-Side of Monster Mash as a lesson for Yom Kippur.

I will tell you more about that in a bit. For now, as I have been liberated from confusion, together celebrate freedom of the intellect, as we turn to page 194 with a prayer of freedom.

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It is my belief the Jewish people risk becoming the Chewish People. Too often, we treat Judaism like chewing gum. Every now and then, we enjoy the burst of flavor, we chew it for a while, and then we stick it on the bedpost. When we come back to it, we are shocked to discover it has not regained its flavor. At worst, we are disappointed, or best-case scenario, we pop in a fresh piece.

You are probably wondering what I mean. For example, these holy days are important and meaningful. The services are longer than usual, though I do try to keep them tight. We have the grand choir in the choir loft and the powerful organ. There are flowers on the bima, and on the whole, people dress a little nicer than on the average Shabbat. Frequently, as we gather, there are reunions, old friends who have not seen each other since last New Year. We get to hear the shofar. These are special days, and they are full of flavor, not just apples and honey and round challah, but flavor, brisket if you’re lucky, and the overall flavor of a great moment in Jewish time.  

For how many of us, will the flavor continue until tomorrow, or the next day. How much Judaism will infuse our lives until the next time we celebrate a holiday. This is the time of year when holidays keep coming every five to ten days, but that will slow down.

 Judaism is not meant to be chewing gum. It is an ongoing feast. Jewish tradition prescribes three square meals a day. I am not pretending to suggest that we all should turn to praying three times a day. It may work for some, but it wouldn’t work for me. And I know my audience. Still, we should understand that we can taste the sweetness of our tradition, not just on holy days, but every day, and not just every day, but all day. So rather than chewing gum, let us see Judaism like an everlasting gobstopper. Or perhaps, we can find a middle ground where Judaism not only brings flavor, but also enduring sustenance.

The enduring sustenance of Judaism has a sacred power that is hard to define but important to embrace. And so, we continue on page 208, thinking about the sacred power of this day and how to carry it forward to all days. We continue with Unetaneh Tokef.

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You may have noticed, every Yom Kippur, I end up talking about food. We are supposed to fast so that we can think about our regrets. Mostly, we regret not eating. That is why we conclude the day eating mounds of bagels and shmear, just like God intended. In my defense, I am only talking about food as a metaphor. So, how cool would it be if we hungered for Jewish life the same way we hunger for food right now? I know, Jewish observance is like eating vegetables, while dessert is more enticing. My personal trainer has been trying to get me to crave cauliflower the way I crave doughnuts. Yes, I laughed in their face. We can make vegetables more exciting, but even when you dump cheese on top of broccoli, it’s still broccoli. Actually, my trainer claims the fat content of the cheese helps absorb the nutrients, so it’s even better for you. Regardless, you have to want the vegetable course before you can enjoy it and gain its benefits.

At Mizpah, we have worked hard to add flavor to Judaism. Actually, we are like Baskin-Robins, with at least 31 flavors. With musical offerings, humor, food, education, social action, and occasionally good wine. Still, we can never compete with Hadestown or Hamilton. I could tell you, especially on Yom Kippur, that skipping services gets you erased from the Book of Life, and therefore, you might really get to see Hadestown in person. But that would be dishonest, and frankly not Jewish. I cannot hold that over your head. I would do just about anything to add to the excitement, just short of juggling fire and swallowing swords… unless you think that would work. Even then, it’s pouring cheese on broccoli. You have to want it for the right reasons, not just the entertainment.

It’s like Ben Stiller playing a rabbi in the movie Keeping the Faith. “We tried the band. That didn’t work. I brought in the bongos. I think we can all agree that was a step in the wrong direction.” He says this just before he invites into the sanctuary the Harlem Gospel Choir to sing Ein Keiloheinu. It becomes a riotous, fun event, but only for the people who were there. While I dream of having an Ein Keiloheinu like that in a service one day, it is not the most practical for us right now. But we have lots of great things going on. They can’t match a game at Neyland Stadium, but they are fun, enriching, and uplifting. And at a football game, somebody wins, somebody loses. At a Mizpah event, everybody wins.

Whether you come for obligation, for the message, for the prayer, for the music, or for the friendship, our goal is that you will feel better when you leave than when you got here.

In that spirit, let us consider these words on page 218, in which we, like the heavenly hosts, turn to one and other, proclaiming, “Holy, holy, holy,” is this moment, is this life, is this Jewish tradition that, with joy and with struggle, has brought us to this point and can take us into the future.

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Two weeks ago, we held a beautiful Selichot service, with hands-on activities and crafts for all ages that invited personal reflection and meditation, followed by a moving musical service during which we changed the Torah covers. It was a solemn and relaxing prelude to the High Holy Days, and for the small number who showed up, it was meaningful. But it is not encouraging for the future of such a program. Unless everyone was at the Georgia-Tennessee game, I don’t know why so few were here. I wish more people would have chosen to honor this important day on the Jewish calendar and the thoughtful work that went into creating a great event.

This is just one event, among many that become head scratchers. Some Shabbats we see seven people, and others, like our last First Friday dinner, over 100. Numbers ebb and flow, there are peaks and valleys, even at Torah study and at Machanooga. I don’t know if anyone here is good at cost accounting, but if you pro-rate the costs of my time to prepare a sermon and get ready for a service, add the salaries of the staff who help plan, clean, and prepare the building, the overhead of maintaining the building and add the fixed costs of security, not to mention utilities and supplies, and then you add the value what amounts to in-kind donations of talented musicians, you’d get… well, you’d get a pretty high number. It’s not cheap, but a synagogue’s goal is to create value for our community. The only way to create value is if there are people to enjoy it. And if a rabbi holds a service in a forest, and there is nobody there to hear it, did their prayer make a sound? I’ll just leave that as a rhetorical question. At the end of the day, in an effort to maximize value, it is worth reconsidering, right down to the Friday night service, how we spend our resources.

Beyond value, there is another consideration whose focus is not just the value of the here and now, but the very future of our congregation.

And I will offer some final thoughts on this topic in a bit. For now, let us take a few moments of silent reflection as we consider missed opportunities of the past, and the made opportunities of our future.

Please continue with silent prayer.

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When we choose to do Jewish, it benefits more than just ourselves. We encourage the continuity and future of our people, and this Temple. Our kids are watching how and what we prioritize. So too are new and potentially new members of our community. When people come for a service and event, and they see so many empty seats, they question their decision to become involved. It also affects retention. When people want to be part of a community, and they don’t find it here, they will look elsewhere, the art gallery, the Tivoli, or yes Neyland Stadium. I think we can do better. We need to do better to guarantee the longevity of this place that we love.

At a recent board meeting, I shared part of a poem written by Yehudah Leib Gordon in 1871. It was called, “For Whom Do I Toil?” A Russian Jew, Gordon was part of the Haskalah, the specifically Jewish manifestation of the European Enlightenment. He lamented that the Enlightened Jews were drifting away from the traditions that had sustained our people. Gordon advocated for Jews to integrate into secular society while staying firmly rooted in Jewish tradition. He wrote in Hebrew, in part for artistic expression, and also as an act of preservation. He worried there would be no one in the future to read his works. He feared being among the last generation of Hebrew writers and speakers. It was not just about him, but about the future of Jewish culture. It was a bit alarmist, but his fears were not without merit. He expressed a concern that has been endemic among the Jewish people for thousands of years. About 70 years later, philosopher Simon Rawidowicz would call us “The ever-dying people.” He believed our fear of extinction was the secret to our survival. Basically, every generation believed the generation after them would be the last Jews, and so they prepared them for such. And the torch passed, to every generation who would be the last generation of Jews paving the way for more generations.

If we telescope this idea back to the Talmud, we discover something incredible. In tractate Sotah, it says, “When Rabbi Joshua died, goodness ceased from the world. When Ben Zakkai died, the splendor of wisdom left the world.” And it goes through many generations of rabbis who died, each one marking the end of an important value. This demonstrates that every generation is certain they are the last, but somehow, we have continued. And the somehow of our survival has been the way each generation has reshaped Judaism without abandoning it.

Therefore, as I see it, our question is not about Jewish survival of the survival of Mizpah congregation. We have long been part of the ever-dying people. Our leaders have asked for whom we toil. Like Gloria Gaynor, we will survive, but in the spirit of the rabbis of the Talmud and the teachings of Rawidowicz, we get to shape what that will look like.

Honestly, I respect people who call them gastronomic Jews, expressing Judaism with bagels and lox, pastrami on marble rye, with a knish, a matzah ball, and a Doc Brown’s soda. I also respect those who call themselves culturally Jewish, with a special penchant for Jewish humor. At the end of the day, these are not sustainable models for substance. Our foods, our humor, our culture all come from traditions, from our history, and our connection to something of true substance. Gastronomy and humor, disconnected from their source, lose their flavor.

Back in July, I was in Poland at a café with lots of international and ethnic food options. There was a section for Jewish food. In a nation, where few Jews remain, Judaism was represented as a gastronomic choice. Tasty, perhaps, but not as delicious as it is when you know the source and substance of those flavors. The best way to maintain the flavors is not to treat Judaism like chewing gum, until it loses its flavor and we seek it out again, but to keep its flavor in our mouths at all times.

And thus, we have a choice to make, with at least three generations sitting in this room, what will Judaism look and taste like in the future. Will it be filled with active, robust synagogue life, experiencing our sacred days and learning our history, or will it be a collection of ethnic memories. Either way, we, the ever-living people, will survive. What survival means, that is a decision each of us gets to make.

Let us make that decision wisely, with commitment to our community, honoring our past, and paving the way to our future.

Po Lin, Discoveries From My Trip to Poland – Sermon for Kol Nidre, Yom Kippur 5786

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Tonight, I want to share a little about the trip I took to Poland over the Summer. Why does a Jew go to Poland? At the recent Comedy for Peace event, the Jewish comedian, Eric Angel said he travelled there from Israel, as one might expect, to see a Rolling Stones Concert. So, his reason was different from mine. I saw the Rolling Stones in Columbia, Missouri in 1994. So I was good in that department. I went to Poland because of Jewish pride, my desire to bear witness to the history, and there was a chance to travel with friends from Chattanooga including a scholar of Eastern European History, Mizpah’s own John Steinberg. I was hesitant at first to sign up, but Jen talked me into it, and am ever so grateful to have capitalized on this opportunity. Not only did I learn, my perceptions of the world were challenged, and I came away with a deeper attachment to our Jewish heritage. And as we enter into a new year, this moment when we think about past, present, and future, all at the same time, the things our group saw and learned can guide our reflection on this Holy Day.

I will guide you through those experiences over the course of the night. With anticipation for our deep reflection and prayer, for our learning and creating a better world, it is time in our service now to rise for the call to worship. Please turn to page 22 as we rise.

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To share my Poland trip, I feel it is best to start where it ended. Jen’s and my last experience really defined my greatest discovery during the two weeks we spent there. It goes without saying, I went to Poland to learn more about how Jews died there. But this trip was equally about how Jews lived there. On our last night we got to see how, against all odds, Jews continue to live there. Jen and I stayed in Warsaw one day longer than most of the group, and our last night was a Friday night. So, I reached out to the Reform Temple in Warsaw, Ec Chayim, about attending services. Yes, there is a Reform Temple in Warsaw. Their Rabbi Stay Wojiehowitcz eagerly responded to my email, and he asked me to give the sermon. Mind you, I saw this invitation about 90 minutes before the service start time, and I only knew one word of Polish. It was a genuine warm offer so I said, “Djinkuye,” Thank you. Fortunately, I had recorded a Shabbat video earlier that morning. I figured the chances they had seen it were low. And by the way, for what it’s worth, Rabbi Wojiehowitcs had never heard of the character on the TV show Barney Miller. It was the only other place I had heard the name, so you know I had to ask. Anyhow, Jen and I showed up, to their address which they do not publish for security concerns, we walked passed two armed officers and another layer of security, before going upstairs where we were greeted with hugs and handshakes. A kind young man named Daniel found that he and I could speak choppy Hebrew with each other. He was wearing Tzitzit underneath a Hebrew t-shirt that said in Davidson University Hillel. They invited Jen to light the candles. It was heimish and homey. And here’s my public service announcement, if you don’t insist all the prayers be in English, the prayerbook is pretty much the same all the world over. So Jen and I sang along, most of the melodies were familiar. We made kiddish together, and I left feeling uplifted, not just because I had been to Temple, but because I had lived within a remarkable moment in which my soul shouted, “Am yisrael chai.” Even in this land of death, destruction, and near annihilation, a group of committed Jews were claiming their place in the land. From a trip that began with the dread of the horrors I might see, I gained a moment of joy. Poland is not just a place where Jews died. It is a place where we live to this very day.

There is something beautiful about being able to share a prayer with people, who minutes before were total strangers, and with whom you do not share a language, other than the language of our siddur. Sometimes, community comes when you open your lips and let your mouth declare praise.

THerefore, let us rise as a community and offer these praises beginning on page 46.

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Poland was not just a place where Jews lived and live, it is a place where we really thrived. There is a legend we learned at the Jewish Museum of Warsaw, that a group of Jews, escaping the Crusades were wandering in the forest, and they heard birds chirping two Hebrew words, “Po Lin,” which means, here you should rest. And thus they settled in the land called Po Lin which is the Hebrew word for Poland. The truth about how so many Jews came to Poland, like all history, more complicated than any legend can tell. There were two under-riding themes regarding our arrival there. The first was the familiar theme that other nations did not want us. We had been kicked out of many nations, and we were effectively left to wander in the wilderness. Then, it was not the call of a bird that asked Jews to settle there. It was the call of commerce. Whether a town was governed by royalty or privately owned, whether it had to do with financial acumen, wisdom, or international contacts, it was perceived that having Jews in your city was good for trade. In Zamosc, a city, that I honestly had never heard of, the founder of the town was committed to building what he described as a “true renaissance town.” To that end, he invite Bernardo Morandi, the famous architect of the Italian city of Padua to design his city. He likewise committed to principals of being cosmopolitan and tolerant of religious differences. A special invitation was extended to Jews from Spain, Portugal, and the Ottoman Empire. Thus Zamosc is the home of Poland’s only Sephardic synagogue. There, Jews were granted equal rights, freedom from taxation for the first 25 years, and land to build a cemetery. They helped to manage his assets and were given access to participate in most areas of commerce. Yes, there were still some restrictions, but in the main, this was really a special place. At one point the Jews made up half of the residents of Zamosc’s urban center. And behind its well-fortified walls, many Jews gained refuge there drone the Chielmenicki massacres in 1648. This was one example among many of why Jews made homes and lived in Poland. And thus we were invited to settle. Po Lin. Come. Build businesses, Build a synagogue. Be part of a nation with a growing economy, and a promise of safety… at least relative safety. As guests, there were always threats of instability of leadership and antisemitism, but the call was sent out that the Poland was open to the Jews, and they responded in numbers. Life was never perfect there for the Jews. There was a lot of poverty and antisemitism that was affected over the years by internal conflicts and outside occupations. Still, Poland became a bastion of Jewish life, intellectual development, and economic opportunity. For example, a Jew named Israel Posnanski amassed enormous wealth in textiles in the 19th century. His massive residence and factory in Lodz still stand and serve as a city center with a museums and shops. His burial site is palatial, making the Ochs family monument in our cemetery look like a pebble on a beach. So yes, may Jews lived and lived well in Poland.  With promise of opportunity and the number of nations who expelled Jews over the years, and the forced resettlements, it is understandable how Poland, prior to 1939, had become the home to 1/4th of the world’s Jewish population, and Jews comprised about 10 percent of the country’s citizens. We all know what happened after 1939, but understanding just how deep were the Jewish roots were there made catastrophe all the more tragic.

Through no fault of our own we fell out of favor with the occupiers of Poland during the war. As Jews, we understand that as a pattern of history. In our prayers, we know that the one steady presence with whom we will always find favor so long as we remember our covenant. Therefore, let us sing these words of R’tzei on page 72.

4

Among the greatest surprises in Poland were the juxtapositions. One day, I found myself standing in a synagogue courtyard in Cracow next to the dignified and beautiful grave of Moses Isserless, a 16th century rabbi regarded as the greatest of his generation. The next day, I was walking the final path so many Jews walked toward the gas chambers in Birkenau. Just moments later, I was standing in a synagogue in Oswiecem, only meters away from the gates of Auschwitz. Built more than 100 years ago, the synagogue had borne witness to the highs and lows of Polish jewry. And there, our Chattanooga group held a Yizkor service that is the most meaningful moment of my career, actually my Jewish life. I cannot imagine anything being more somber yet sacred.

There were more juxtapositions. One day, we we were exploring the cobbled streets of Lublin, filled with exquisite installations of modern art. One of these was a tightrope walker, an homage to the Novel, the Magician of Lublin, written by the great Yiddish author Isaac Bashevis Singer. The next day, we were standing next to an enormous mound of human ashes at the extermination camp Majdanek. These ashes had been found and gathered in the years following the camp’s liberation. One day we were taking pictures with a walking pierogie, the mascot of chain of family restaurants across Warsaw, and the next day, we were visiting mass graves where Jewish men, women, and children had been systematically exterminated. One moment, we were being guided by Polish citizens whose passion is the preservation of history and share the burden of “Never Again,” and the next, we were in stores that sold stereotypical Jewish dolls that could protect your money. One day, we were touring Oscar Schindler’s factory, where hundreds of Jews were offered a lifeline, and the next we were touring the remains of the Warsaw ghetto, where resistance was violently and completely squashed. One day we were learning about Poland as the birthplace of Hasidism, an enormous religious movement which was revolutionary in its day. Another day, we were learning about the scholars of the Polish Haskalah, the Jewish enlightenment. For as much as it was the cradle for so many things in Jewish life, it turned into a grave for European Jewry. It is impossible to fathom all the contrasts and the depth of history, the rise and fall of Jewish life there.

While it is impossible to fathom, we hold on to the sacred obligation of memory. And so, now, in silence, let us remember the many lessons from our past as we use them to build a better future for us and for all who live on earth. We continue now with our silent prayer.

5

Jen’s and my last day was the perfect bookend, sort of a miniature set of bookends, for the full experience of Poland. We started the day in Lodz, where beneath the overgrown plantlife in the cemetery, we placed a stone at the grave of Jen’s Great Grandmother Sura Goldfarb who died in the Lodz ghetto during the war. A city where Jews once thrived, having answered the call “Po Lin,” come settle, had become little more than large museum devoted to a lost community. Our last day ended with with Shabbat. We spent it at Congregation Ec Chaim and Rabbi Stas, who was born in Uzbekistan, raised in Israel, and came to Warsaw for the renewed promise of Po Lin, that indeed it is a place where Jewish people not only live but thrive.

And so what do we learn from all of this on this Jewish new year? Nothing is ever quite what it seems on the surface. Behind joy, there is often a history of suffering. Mingled, with suffering there are opportunities to find joy. For every promise of the future, there is a long past to learn from, and every time the calendar year turns, there is uncertainty. With the passage of each year, we have the chance to understand where we have come from and to envision the place we want to go. Nothing can be taken for granted, no moment of comfort should be shared without awareness and gratitude.

Let us therefore savor every moment, even our moments of challenge and regret, for they shape us just as much as the joyful moments. There will always be times when we fall short, and that is why we, at Yom Kippur spend our day offering our confessions.

We continue with our Viduy on page 82.

Protest is Love, Rosh Hashanah Morning 5786

1

Have you ever loved someone so much that sometimes you don’t even like them? Here is an example. Consider a puppy who has chewed your favorite shoe. Or a cat who spit a hairball on your computer. Or a teenager who is certain we old people don’t know anything. This is unconditional love. They can push us to the edge of anger, but we bounce back because— well, in a word, because “Love.” And Yes this applies to marriage. It is like the Price is Right: “How far can I push this person without going over?”

When we love unconditionally, no matter how far we push, we return to the basic glue of the relationship. Can we go too far? Yes, when our anger leads to words or actions that are hard to take back or forgive. If we are lucky, love brings us back from the brink. A love so strong demands intentional and thoughtful work. After all, the bonds of love are strong, but fragile. When they are broken…

Well, one of the reasons given for smashing a glass at a wedding is to remind us that, once shattered, it is impossible to restore the glass to its original state. It is a delicate metaphor for human emotion and covenantal commitment.

As Jews, we are commanded to love people. We also love ideas, values, and places. The nature of loves share some come common threads. They involve forgiving mistakes, protesting when one mistakes are made, and ultimately finding the common ground in which mutual love can thrive. A Jew’s first love is God, and we will talk about that in a bit…

For now we collectively turn to God and we turn to page 142 and rise for the call to worship.

2

A Jew’s first love is God, with all our heart, with all our soul, and with all our being, love is our covenant. It has sustained the Jewish people, bringing us to this new year 5786. Like any love, this love can lead to disappointment, even anger. Consider Abraham and Isaac, about whom we will read later. If we could interview them, I bet they would not be pleased with God’s request to sacrifice Isaac. It is telling that the next section of the Torah speaks about the death of Sarah. Therefore, a midrash theorizes that learning of the events on Moriah, Sarah was so shaken that she died. We could assume she never forgave any of the three, Abraham, Isaac, or God.

Through it all the story of the Jewish people is a story of our collective love for God, and God’s love for us. Mistakes? There are plenty, but we have always returned to each other. Even Job, when he learns his family has died, says. “God has given, God has taken away, blessed be the name of Adonai.” An underlying theme in Job is not to blame God in times of grief, but rather turn to God for comfort. Job stands in for all of us. Even in our darkest moments, we still love God and take comfort that God loves us in return. Unconditional love demands we love through and despite our imperfections.

With that thought in our hearts, we remember the long history of our ancestors and their connection to God. We turn to page 166 and we rise for Tefillah.

3

Elie Wiesel told a story of a mock trial that he witnessed as a young boy in Auschwitz. Three rabbis together, in great act of chutzpah, indicted the Almighty. They deliberated for several nights, and in the end they found God guilty of “crimes against creation and humankind.” Then Wiesel describes what felt like “an infinity of silence.” Time passed, and eventually one of the rabbis broke the silence declaring, “It is time for the evening prayers.” And they began to worship.

If you find this overly simplistic, so did Wiesel. So, he turned this episode into a play, “The Trial of God.” He set it in the 17th century Polish town called Shamgorod. They had experienced a series of violent pogroms. At Purim, they made their schpiel a trial against God. The defense attorney, Sam appears to deliver a reasoned appeal to simply accept our fate and love God, but there is a darker truth in the background. The Prosecutor, an innkeeper named Berish, provides us with the more human response.

He proclaims, “I accuse [God] of hostility, cruelty and indifference. Either [God] dislikes [the] chosen people or [God] doesn’t care about them—period!… Either [God] knows what’s happening to us, or [God] doesn’t wish to know! In both cases [God] is … guilty!”

Sam, argues for the acceptance of suffering. We should not hold God accountable for any events since creation. In the end, Sam’s motives are unmasked as wicked. And although the play renders no verdict, Berish the prosecutor demonstrates a very Jewish response. He says:

“I lived as a Jew, and it is as a Jew that I shall die—and it is as a Jew that, with my last breath, I shall shout my protest to God!”

Protest is a Jewish response. Protest may be the truest sign of love. That is what these days of atonement are all about. What point would there be in atonement if our motivating drive was not love?

Protest involves taking a stand, and so symbolically we stand as equally we protest God and at the same time proclaim God’s holiness. Kedusha is on page 184, please rise.

4

The Jewish way of protest is defined in our value of “Loving Rebuke.” This is not just to enjoy doing it, but also to offer rebuke in a loving way. Loving rebuke is not criticism. Criticism is born of animosity, but rebuke comes from love. The great teacher Maimonides wrote”

“One who rebukes his fellow… is obliged to rebuke him privately. And he should speak to him calmly and gently, telling him that he is only speaking with him for his own good, to bring him to life in the world to come. If he is receptive, good; if not, he should rebuke him a second, even a third time….”

Maimonides warns against embarrassing the one whom you are correcting. This is one of the ways we might, as the Torah commands, avoid sinning because of them.

All of this brings us to the most challenging love we as the Jewish people share in 5786, the love of Israel, and specifically the State of Israel. It is impossible to separate love for the people Israel from loving the state. The state is the fulfillment of Jewish self-determination. That there is a place, a Jewish state that will take you if no other country wants you, makes us safer in the Diaspora. Yes, the existence of Israel helps to anchor our safety here in Chattanooga. It is our insurance policy against oppression. I believe that with all my heart. Furthermore, in Israel you find our history, you find our family, you find our values engrained in every acre. Just the same, as a member of the family of a nations, merely existing is not enough. Israel must hold itself to the standards of the liberal democracy it claims to be. Many of the policy decisions there over the years, up to and since October 7, 2023 have been deeply troubling. Among them are the attempts to weaken the judicial system, expansion of West Bank Settlements, and the permissiveness of violence by settlers who attack Palestinians and their supporters with impunity. These are not the values of a democracy and should not be accepted by Judaism. Some of us may be ok with their strategic decisions. Others of us want to toss up our hands and say, “enough.” We cannot toss up our hands, however. Israel is our family. Just as we do in prayer, we need to turn toward Israel. There is too much on the line. When actions by the Jewish State disappoint us, we owe it to ourselves, to the State of Israel, and to Jews around the world to say so. In the spirit of love, and loving rebuke, we must speak out. And we must do so thoughtfully, so that we, one, do not embarrass Israel with false or exaggerated accusations, and second, demonstrate our commitment to supporting the only Jewish state. If we fail to do so, we embolden enemies of Israel who call for its demise, and who wish to weaken world Jewry. And naturally, I have some thoughts on how to achieve this, and I will lay them out in just a bit….

At this time, we will stand to hear a call to action. Pleas turn to page 206 and rise to listen for the call of the Shofar.

5

For today, as we talk about how best to love Israel, through support and through loving rebuke, I want to make this as simple as I can. I am going to offer three basic challenges.

First. Be willing to recognize multiple truths that seem contradictory at first but with some reflection, absolutely co-exist. For example, Hamas brought the fight to populated areas. And still, the one who fires a weapon bears responsibility for where the shot lands. The Talmud repeatedly compares, even accidental damages, to firing a bow and arrow. The intention may not have been to destroy an innocent life, but there is a social contract of sorts. If you release something that is potentially harmful, you own the result. We should not think in turns of blame, but rather responsibility. Without question, Hamas initiated this war which continues because they continue to hold hostages from October 7. They invited the conflict into populated areas, into their hospitals and schools. But just the same, when your guns and missiles destroy infrastructure and cause mass displacements of people, disrupting the flow of food and medical supplies, leaving it prone to piracy by the callous governing class in Gaza, those are your arrows, and you do own a portion of the responsibility. That is the difference between blame and responsibility. Israel may not be to blame for the war, but they must accept responsibility for what continues to unfold. They also will have responsibility for rebuilding in the aftermath.

Second. Don’t believe everything you read or what you see on television or especially on social media. There are always reports or statistics that will comfort you in your belief that your side is right. This conflict is about more than just right and wrong. Furthermore, there is a lot of false or exaggerated information out there, even conspiracy theories. It is a strange irony that such complex webs of theorized causes and effects appeal to the simple minded. I have heard that the perpetuation of the Gaza war is somehow directly connected to Jeffrey Epstein. Those who spread such ideas claim to be the free thinking truth seekers, while all they do is distract from the core issues. Underneath the statistics and the misrepresentations is a truth of a humanitarian crisis in Gaza. Spreading wild stories distract us from defeating an enemy and from helping a suffering people. So, let us not rely on the news reports and statistics that make us feel better or more justified. Let us instead dig deeper and, taking responsibility encourage solutions. Israel needs their hostages returned, and the Palestinian civilians deserve to live with dignity and security.

Third. Do not be passive. Back in March, I encouraged our congregation to engage in the World Zionist Congress elections. The Reform Zionist Movement worldwide collectively scored a historic win, earning more than one-fifth of the 155 seats. And by the way, the win was almost taken away as there was wide evidence of voter fraud from other platforms, but through activism and supporting our Reform institutions, corrective actions were taken. Even though we do not vote in Israeli elections, the World Zionist Congress can influence policy regarding civil rights and settlement expansion and directly influences one billion dollars worth of allocations in Israel every year. Supporting ARZA, the American Reform Zionist Movement, and its sister organizations around the world do give us a direct line to help shape the Israel we, and our partners in Israel need it to be. It is never too late to engage with Reform Zionisim. Additionally, we must not be passive when faced with lies and distortions. It is easy for people to make statements like “Free Palestine,” “From the River to the Sea,” or “Stop the genocide.” A bleeding heart like most of us have can be quickly moved by these statement. But they have become platitudes, simple talking points that make the speakers feel virtuous, like they have done something important. All beliefs about the war in Gaza are subject to scrutiny, If we hear something that is overly sensational, or misinformed, like “Israel is a white European colonial state,” we have an obligation to refute it and teach about the cultural and ethnic diversity in Israel as well as the unbroken chain of Jewish connection to and presence in the land. Jewish law would compare this to a small fire, that if we fail to put it out, though we did not start it, we share responsibility for its spread. As Jews, who love Israel, we owe it to our Israeli family to speak up for it. To be Jewish is to hold and unconditional love for the land its people, to offer rebuke when necessary, and to speak up for truth at every opportunity.

As I conclude my remarks on this Jewish New Year, I leave you with an image. During my last trip to Israel in July of 2023, there was an image of Theodore Herzl, father of modern Zionism high on a water tower. Beneath him were the words, “Lo lezeh hitkavanti.” This was not what I intended. That image reminds us, with love for Herzl’s dream, and the age-old dream of the Jewish people for life and independence, we can do better. We must do better.

The ultimate goal of Judaism is Shalom, peace and wholeness, not just for us, but for all people. That work begins with each of us as we work to spread it to Israel and thoughout the world. Therefore, we turn to page 216 and sing this prayer for peace. Sim Shalom.

Life Is Improv, Erev Rosh Hashanah 5786

1.

I am not usually one for New Year’s resolutions, however, 2025 felt like a year that needed resolve, not just from me but for all of us. I know I’m supposed to be talking about 5786, but for the purposes of what I am saying, I need the New Year to be January. At the turn of the secular year, I told myself I was going to try new things. I needed new outlets for creativity and expression. A week later, my phone rang. The Seed Theatre was doing a play. There was a role for a rabbi. And they wanted a rabbi to play the rabbi. I know you all think I am theatrical and confident, but I am not really a performer by nature, and a terrible memorizer. To this day, I worry that I will forget words of the Friday night Kiddish. I thought about it, and remembered my resolution, “Try new things,” so I said, “Yes.” My turn as Rabbi Isidor Chemelwitz in Tony Kushner’s Angels In America ended up, not just being a highlight of my year, but a highlight of my entire career. It was fun. I learned a lot about drama as well as the history of the AIDS epidemic and I made new friends, most of whom identify as LGBTQ+ at a time when their community is feeling especially attacked and in need of friends. My role was done after 20 minutes in a three-hour play, but they are 20 minutes, done three times, that I will treasure, not just for what I and the cast achieved, but for what it taught me. Life cannot be planned. We make it up as we go. We never know when new opportunities will arise. If we become too comfortable with routine, we can miss out on some extraordinary things. We have to be ready to say yes, which is not as easy as it sounds. Actually, we have to learn to say, “Yes, and…” which is even harder. Plan as we might, life cannot be scripted, every day is improvised, and, this is a theme we will be returning to over the course of the night.

For now, despite what I said, we do maintain some scripted moments, as we turn to our call to worship. Please turn to page 20 as we rise for Barechu.

2.

Every moment of every day is improvised. So, As fate would have it, another thing I have pursued is taking Improv classes with Improv Chattanooga. There are people who have told me how brave I am. Even Rabbi Bob Alper, the professional standup comedian, who performed here last year, told me he would never dare to do improv. I am confused by this. I will not claim to be an expert or an improv star, but as soon as you realize our lives are made up on the spot, and we are all doing pretty good at living, improv becomes less daunting. We Jews have a long tradition of improv.

The first improvisers were Adam and Eve. On second thought, I guess you could argue that God was improvising during creation. But tradition usually tells us God had a plan. So let there be light was scripted. And not very funny. If only God had a scene partner… Remember the old beer commercials where they said, “I meant a Bud Light?” That’s what Genesis really needed, a bit of irony, a dash of the unexpected. We will get that irony with Adam and Eve, the Torah’s first scene partners. They’re like Laurel and Hardy. “Well, Evie, that’s another fine mess you’ve gotten me into.” The first time Adam meets Eve, now keep in mind, he has been in a deep sleep, so Adam has no idea what’s about to happen. It’s like a bad version of the dating game. He says,“Ah this one is bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh.” Eve speaks no words here, so we can imagine she does a double take to the camera as if to say, “really, this is my only option?” It’s a great improv scene. And then we get to experience Checkov’s apple. Once the forbidden fruit appears, someone is going to eat it. Once they do, Adam and Eve suddenly realize they are naked. Now that’s funny, because you’d have to be pretty dense not to realize you’re not wearing clothes. But these actors have to respond, and do so wonderfully, frantically grabbing the first thing they find, fig leaves to cover themselves. And scene. Now, that’s good improv.

All joking aside, we learn from this, that from the very beginnings of humanity, behavior and events are unpredictable. Life is unpredictable. We are all just responding in real time. And the first thing to learn from this is to cut ourselves some slack. It may be that we respond to the unexpected with brilliance, but no one is 100%. The most we can ask of ourselves is to do the best we can.

When we learn to accept our best efforts, we experience a special kind of freedom, and so now we turn to a prayer of freedom on page 33.

3.

As we think about making up life on the spot, let us remember the famous Yiddish proverb, “De rMensche trakht und Gott Lakht. Man plans and God laughs.” God knows, even the best planners will fail if they don’t know how to react when something goes wrong.

Kelly Leonard and Tom Yorton are trainers for the Second City Theatre Company, the company who set the gold standard for improvisation. Beyond the theatre, they do workshops with companies, training them in improv skills, not to be funny, but to become more successful workers and team members. In their book, “Yes, And,” they talk about work they did with a technology company. They were large and well, established but were struggling with product development. Any unexpected change brought their process to a halt and competitors were leaving them in the dust. The trainers noticed that changes themselves were not the real problem, but the weight of personal responsibility for adapting. Basically lack of confidence in improvising on the spot. With an exercise where employees had to complete a statement, and then make a series of different choices in rapid succession, they helped the workers learn to trust themselves and each other. They called this game “Take that back,” and through practice they learned that every change or setback was not a fault but rather an opportunity to improvise on the fly and to create something new. One participant explained it this way:

“people are imperfect, things won’t always go according to plan, and now we’re in a better position to adapt to the unexpected bumps in the road…”

There will be bumps on any road we travel. So, we best get used to it. And as Jews we draw inspiration from our ancestors, each one Abraham, Sarah, Isaac, Rebecca, Jacob, Leah, and Rachel, all followed difficult paths to a good life, and they did so for the benefit of every generation of Jews since, all the way to us her today. And in their honor, we turn to page 42 and rise for Avot v’imahot.

4.

In writing these sermons, I always discover new things, at least things that are new to me. I hate to confess, I was today years old, that’s fifty by the way, when I discovered this marvelous poem by Rudyard Kipling. It’s a message to his son about maturity, called “If.” I get it. It’s famous, and I’m late to the party do forgive me. Its message resonates in 2025 and is worth repeating to carry us into 5786. These words might help as as we improv our way through life:

If you can keep your head when all about you   

    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,   

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

    But make allowance for their doubting too;   

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

    Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,

    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;   

    If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;   

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

    And treat those two impostors just the same;   

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

Skipping ahead.

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

    With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,   

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,   

    And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

The essence of success is to face doubt head on, to meet adversity with courage, to accept you will not be perfect, and no amount of planning will be enough to finish the a job. My favorite part is triumph and disaster are treated the same, and both are impostors. Blindly chasing triumph and giving in to disaster are equally stifling. You can repair anything even with worn out tools. It takes a resilient spirit, and a willingness to adjust on the fly.

And so what do we do with all of this as we enter the New Year? I will tell you in a bit.

For now we ask for the best of what we offer, the prayer from our hearts to be acceptable to God, and we can be assured, if it truly comes from the heart that it will be. We turn to page 60 as we sing R’tzei.

5.

Needless to say, for many of us, in some ways, 5785 did not go the way we would have liked. When we meet with disappointment, we have choices to make, and we have to make them pretty fast. Freezing, and accepting disappointment will not bring us to acceptable outcomes. Remember that Rudyard Kipling said Disaster and Triumph are equally misleading. Each can lead to inaction, one through complacency, the other through acceptance of futility. Neither is helpful, and so we must choose to respond. We look at the world, and the suggestions it gave us this past year, the good and the bad, and we say, “YEs, and…” We shall maintain the good and strive for repeated outcomes. We shall meet the bad head on, and say, “Yes, and” it will not always be this way because I choose to see opportunities. I choose change.

It can start simple, on an individual level, as we train ourselves how to discover new outcomes. We can find new hobbies, sharpen new skills, make new friends, maybe do something new right here at Mizpah. And then it can move to the communal level as we guide one another , shaping social movements and advocating for justice that is being denied to so many. In doing these things, through our quick responses, for our disappointment into opportune, we can bring each other toward a new path, a path worthy of being called Shana Tovah, umetukaeh. A happy and sweet year. May 5786 be a year in which we improv our way through life as we make our homes, our nation, and world, the safe and peaceful places we all deserve.

With these lessons and hopes on our minds, we now turn to God, Avinu Malkeinu, our parent and sovereign, as we seek strength and resolve in this new year.

Please turn to 76 as we rise together.

The Duty To Protect Children, like trees who have yet to bear fruit– Sermon for Parashat Shoftim, August 29, 2025

Tonight, I want to talk about a key difference between age and youth. As we grow older, we reach a point where we have more years behind us than lie ahead of us. I know this is obvious, but as we age, we have the benefit of looking back a reviewing the many things we have done in life, all the fruits of our labors. Of course, we have some regrets and things do not always go the way we wanted. Still, we can say, I have lived. In my life, I have done much. In youth, there is little to look back on, and mostly just a future to look forward to. A child has much to learn and a future to plan, if not to plan, to live and experience, to do and to enjoy whatever opportunities will blossom. They have no way of knowing the challenges, the trials, the failures, and successes they will know. The uncertainty can be frightening, but more than anything, it is exciting. Every turn of the season offers a harvest of new things to savor. This is why life is so precious, especially the life of a young person. They are like a tree, a sapling planted with hope, as we anticipate the fruits their life will bear, and bounty of achievements they will share with others.

This is one of the reasons, according to our sages, that in this week’s Torah portion, Shoftim, there is special legal protection afforded to fruit trees. The Torah acknowledges the common practice, that in war, trees were cut down to prevent the enemy from hiding behind them, but still, it says, “when you go to war against a city, you must not destroy its trees.”  The Italian Commentator Seforno sees it as an act of self-preservation, that once you conquer the city, you are eventually going to want to eat those fruits. In cutting them down, you hurt yourself. Abraham Ibn Ezra talks in a more universal sense, that destroying any food producing tree is potentially bad for all human life. Nachmanides just says plainly that destroying the trees is unnecessarily wasteful… basically, if you are not strong enough to win while leaving the plants alone, you should not engage in battle. To sum up all of these commentaries, Rashi points us to the next part of the verse which compares a tree to a person. “Is the tree of the field a man?” it questions. And Rashi says it is not a man for it can neither raise a sword against you, nor does it have the ability to flee and retreat. Therefore, you take pity on it. So, I will expand this a little, and say: the tree is not a man, at least not a grown man. It can be compared to a child, vulnerable and deserving of extra protection. All of these commentaries point us to the unknown future of the young tree who must have the chance to bear fruit for the benefit of all humanity. This commandment about trees, as I see it, is not about trees at all, but about protecting a future for every child to grow, to live, and to one day have the chance, like we older people have, to look back on a life of accomplishment. Maybe this is the reason why Rebbe Nachman of Breslov wrote that killing a person is the same as chopping down a fruit bearing tree before its time, and furthermore chopping down a tree is detrimental to the raising of children. Lives cut short before they even could understand what it would mean to be in their prime.

This past week, in Minneapolis, two young lives were cut down before they even had chance to consider what the future might hold for them. They could not retreat. Some students tried to protect their friends, taking fire in the process. Adults and teachers were helpless to evacuate as doors had been blocked by the perpetrator.  With the loss of these precious lives, we must wonder what they might have achieved, sports they might have played, shows they might have performed, lives they might have touched, hugs they would have given, smiles they would have shared, laughter they would have brought. It is horrific to think that the killer in this case specifically wanted to harm children, ending an infinite number of potential futures. It is easy to point the finger at the assailant who took their own life, and left behind a very disturbing manifesto. The harder thing to do is to understand what our role was and what it will be in the future. As Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel famously said, “Few are guilty. All are responsible.”

Part of being responsible is to say their names. These were children who had families and friends who loved them.

Harper Moyski, age 10, in the words of her family,  “was a bright, joyful and deeply loved 10-year-old whose laughter, kindness and spirit touched everyone who knew her.”

And Fletcher Merkel, age 8, in the words of his father, “loved his family, friends, fishing, cooking and any sport that he was allowed to play.”

It feels trite to say may their memories be a blessing, when the futures they were denied hang on our necks like a curse.

Though we cannot change the past, we can be responsible for making sure this can never again happen to a child, especially not in a school, and in this case, a church, a very sacred space attached to the most sacred of spaces, a school. Sandy Hook, Uvalde, Nashville, and too many others. After these events, we have collectively learned nothing. Guns and ammunition are easily obtainable and legal. Even people with histories of severe mental illness, who have not hidden their violent tendencies, who have even spoken of their intentions on social media, can go to a store and buy a lethal weapon. I do not pretend to have all the answers, but the only thing I know for certain is that doing nothing is not an option. To not speak up, to not work for change, to simply accept that this happened and could happen again is to deny our responsibility for the futures of children everywhere. I suggest supporting Moms Demand Action or Everytown for gun safety. Our Tennessee chapter has helped gain some protections, but as you can imagine, some reforms have been blocked, which is shocking especially after the Covenant School shooting in Nashville two years ago. We can help lobby with them and advocate for sensible reforms that first and foremost, protect human life, especially the lives of the most vulnerable.

While we are on the topic of protecting children and the futures they deserve to know, I would be remiss if I failed to mention the absolute necessity for the war in Gaza to end at last. The bombs and shooting are not freeing the hostages, and the population, including many children who lack nourishment, are trapped in the crossfire. We can hold two truths at the same time. We can be furious over the loss of life, especially the brutality Hamas showed to Israeli children, even infants during the attack on October 7. We can mourn over every possible future that was lost. AND we can value the future lives of the children in Gaza whose futures are unknown. We cannot sit idly by as any one of them perishes.

The Israeli Movement for Progressive Judaism, our partner organization in Israel issued this meaningful statement this past summer:

Quoting Isaiah, they reminded our tradition’s call to “share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter— when you see the naked, to clothe them, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood? (Isaiah 58:7)

They added, “While we must address the needs of the many Israeli citizens suffering as a result of the war … – we must not ignore the suffering of innocent civilians in Gaza who are not involved in the fighting. In the face of Hamas’s cruelty and inhumanity, and alongside our unequivocal demand for the immediate release of the hostages, with the demand that they be treated humanely until then, we must uphold our own humanity, reject racism and hatred, and work toward ending the war and halting the bloodshed.”

I agree with this 100%.

The command in Deuteronomy not to cut down trees is a call to our humanity, to prevent the senseless killing of our children, and to defend the right to live of all children everywhere.

May we take these lessons to heart, and furthermore, may we take responsibility, and may we take action.

VOTE REFORM – WORLD ZIONIST CONGRESS ELECTIONS

I have a favorite water tower. It seems like an unusual item to have a clear favorite for, but I do. At one point in my life, it might have been the water tower at Disney World that had mouse ears, which they called the “Earful Tower.” But that tower is no more, and I have one that is truly much closer to my heart, and which I find almost as amusing. In Israel, when you are on the highway, driving past Herziliya, there is a water tower crowned by a giant, cut out image of the city’s namesake. Theodor Herzl, the founder of modern Zionism stands, arms folded, looking over the town, looking very serious with his thick, long, dark beard. I have always been fascinated by Herzl’s beard. It has a distinct shape and look. At one point in my life, I got a reputation as a Herzl impersonator as I made a Herzl beard from a black shoebox, strapped it to my face, and taught Sunday school students about the beginnings of Zionism. This became so popular, I got invited to other Sunday schools to do this shtick. I have since felt a strong connection, not just to the beard, but the man behind it.

Herzl, famously, was a secular Jew from Vienna. A journalist, he was reporting in Paris during the Dreyfuss affair when a French Jewish army officer was falsely accused of spying for the Germans. This was 1894, and the finger pointing at Dreyfuss unleashed a wave of antisemitism. As Dreyfuss was publicly stripped of his rank and military honors, Paris was filled with shouts of “Death to the Jews.” Herzl realized then, that the Jewish people could never be safe without a homeland of their own. This event pushed Herzl to establish the modern Zionist movement.

Three years later, Herzl convened the first Zionist Congress in Basel, Switzerland. From its early days, the Congress knew that if a state were established, there needed to be a mechanism to make it a project Jews from around the world. Today, the WZC meets every five years and has a chance to influence issues that affect Jews in Israel and all around the world. They elect leaders for the World Zionist Organization, help to set policies, and influence allocations of 1 billion dollars each year.

It is extremely important that the voices and values of Reform Judaism are represented. It probably sounds obvious, but let me offer an illustration as to why. You remember my favorite water tower? It’s an impressive image. When I was in Israel in July of 2023, I was excited to drive past it. This time something was different. There was a second picture of Herzl on the tower, this one with his face in his hands. Next to the face it said, “Lo le-zeh hitkavanti.” This is not what I intended. It was a protest referencing the efforts of the right wing government to remake the entire judiciary system in Israel and gain a tighter grip on power. That summer, the country had been filled with protests, hundreds of thousands of Israelis filled the streets of cities from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv, from Haifa to Eilat, peacefully, but angrily protesting the power grab. I participated in two of these protests. Those protests and the image of Herzl with his head in his hands have remained with me since. And all of this took place about two months before Hamas attacked Israel on October 7. The need for government accountability became even more important as Israel went to war to defend her borders and to try to redeem the hostages. As ceasefires have come to an end, and the war continues, a need for progressive voices to be heard in Israel is more important than ever. We need leadership focused not just on security and freeing the hostages, which are the priorities, but also on  creating lasting peace and advancing a two-state solution. With the successes of ultra-Orthodox and nationalist groups in World Zionist Congress elections, they have been able to increase funding for Settlement expansion making a two-state solution more complicated.

Beyond the war and settlements, other issues at stake are LGBTQ+ rights and religious pluralism, the recognition of Reform rabbis and cantors in Israel, whether or not ultra-Orthodox Israelis will serve in the army like every other citizen, maintaining democracy, and stopping racist policies from being implemented. The Reform movement is not just about advancing our movement, but is at the forefront of protections for fundamental rights for all Israelis. Through ARZA, the American Reform Zionists of America, and the international Reform Zionist movement, ARZENU, we have a chance to advance our core Jewish values by adding support to the Israeli Union for Progressive Judaism and the Israel Religious Action Center. They serve more than synagogues, they also provide legal counsel and assistance to immigrants to Israel as well as upholding the rights of Palestinian Israelis and seek appropriate justice in the West Bank.

In a nutshell, the ARZA website summarizes the importance like this:

“Your votes bring funds that are crucial to survive, thrive, and further our core values of democracy, freedom, pluralism, and security, and champion a different vision of what it means to be Jewish in the Jewish state.

We may not all choose to live there, but Israel is the heart of the Jewish people around the world, and we must do what we can to keep our heart healthy. To survive, Israel needs Reform values which have already proven beneficial with the ability to slow settlement expansion, increase LGBTQ+ rights, and push for greater equality, transparency, and pluralism in the Jewish state.

We can help Herzl fulfill the dream of a safe, secure, modern, progressive, Jewish homeland, for all Jews, and a thriving democratic country with openness and acceptance for all its citizens and residents. There can be a two-state solution which would mean no more occupation while keeping safe borders. We can make the picture of Herzl on the water tower remove his face from his palm and say, “B’emet al zeh hitkavanti. Truly this is what I intended.”

What can you do?? Vote. Go to the website zionistelection.org. You must live in the United States. You must self-identify as Jewish. And you must be 18 or over. It does cost 5 dollars to register. And when you see the options for votes, choose Vote Reform, and make your voice heard. We all have a chance to help Israel. This gives us a very real and meaningful way to advance the best of our values in our Jewish home. You have until May 4.

I will make information available here and online. Please spread the word, and fulfill Herzl’s dream, Hatikvah bat Shenot alpayim, our Hope of two thousand years.

“And You Shall Hope…” – Sermon for Rosh Hashanah Morning 5785, October 3, 2024

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This past year turned out to be one of the most challenging for the Jewish people in recent history. The events of October 7 and their aftermath revealed a lot of unjust hatred toward the state of Israel and also unmasked antisemitism to a degree that shocked us all. My intention today is not to give a blow-by-blow recap of all that has happened, but perhaps revisit the things that have sustained us through our long history, and to sharpen the tools that can carry us to a better future. The Jewish people are not passive, we have always responded to the world, not just for own advancement, but for the collective betterment of the world. The main tools I want to discuss tonight are Love and Hope.

A few weeks ago, at the Jewish Federation Campaign kickoff, our speaker Alina Spaulding shared her story of resilience, having come as a child to America from the Soviet Union. Grateful for the power of community that saved her family, she began by talking about the word, “V’ahavtah,” which means “you shall love.” It, she says, is in the middle of the Torah. She did say, with rabbis in the room, she was nervous teaching Torah. Indeed, my first thought was,  V’ahavtah, the prayer we read after Shema, “That’s Deuteronomy. Not the middle.” Then I thought again, “V’ahavtah le’reaiacha Kamocha.” Love your neighbor as yourself. That’s Leviticus. She was right. That is Indeed the middle. And then I thought about the difference between those two verses, and the significance of their placement. In Deuteronomy, it says “You shall love God.” Leviticus says, “Love your neighbor.” Being in the middle, loving your neighbor holds higher status than loving God. And indeed, the rabbis of the Talmud call “Love thy neighbor” the greatest of all commandments. In a post-temple world, there are no more sacrifices, so, the only way to make tangible gifts to God is by loving our neighbor.

During our service today, we will consider what it truly means to love our neighbor in 5785. Through stories and Jewish wisdom, we will all be called to this command. In the meantime, let us be called to worship together, and through this worship may we learn and take steps to becoming our best selves. Let us turn to page 142 as we rise for Barechu.

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Alina Spaulding was absolutely correct point. Love is literally central to Jewish life. Then, just when I thought I understood, she shifted gears. She turned from love toward hope. She suggested, based on our history, that “hope” is the word that belongs in the middle of the Torah. She lamented the lack of a Hebrew word for, “you shall hope.” Once again, this set my rabbi mind spinning. We have a word for hope. We all know— Hatikvah. Grammatically, “you shall hope” has to be possible. Putting in the same verb form as v’ahavtah, we get ve-kivitah. You shall hope. It is a word that appears nowhere in the Tanach or rabbinic literature. I’ve looked. I should know to never to doubt Alina. The word “you shall hope” does not exist in Torah.

Even though we don’t have “you shall hope,” in the Tanach, the word we do have is quite telling. “Nekaveh.” It means let US hope. It may sound familiar from the second paragraph of “Aleinu,” “Al kein nekaveh,” therefore let us hope. And that hope is for the destruction of our enemies and for dangerous ideology to end. It is a prayer that points to a better future, but the word, “let us hope” is not about waiting. It is about responsibility to act, all of us together with a shared destiny. Isaiah says it best, saying, “nekaveh… we will hope for light even in this time of darkness.” And if you know Isaiah, he compels us to be the light. In other words, it is not just having hope, but being the reason someone has hope. Love and hope are intertwined, not the same, but complementary ideas, winding around each other like a strand of DNA. One might say this is the DNA of the Jewish people.

Just as DNA is passed through generations of families, this next series of prayers celebrates the DNA of love and hope that began with our ancestors, from Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebecca, and Jacob and Leah and Rachel, l’dor vador, we are recipients of our spiritual genetics. Therefore, let us turn to page 166 as we rise for Avot v’Imahot.

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Arising from our DNA of love and hope, a story is told about the Great Rabbi of Nemirov. In the weeks before Rosh Hashanah, the congregation would gather to recite prayers of repentance. Every day, just before those most important prayers were recited, the rabbi disappeared. “Where did he go?” The congregation wondered. After several days, and much discussion, the congregation decided, the great Tzaddik was ascending to heaven to speak on their behalf. How else could they explain why a great rabbi was not in synagogue. He wouldn’t be golfing, because if he got a hole in one on the holy day, who would he tell? Anyhow, one of the members of the shul kept a close eye on the rabbi. The next day, he noticed the rabbi slip out the back door wearing a thick overcoat and carrying an axe. Ominous… Concerned, the man watched as the rabbi went to a forest and chopped a tree into logs. He bound the logs and dragged them deep into the forest where he came upon an old shack. The rabbi entered. The man watched through the window and saw an elderly woman lying in a bed. She was visibly weak. The rabbi, disguised as a peasant, placed wood into a large stove in the middle of the room. The man overheard their conversation.

“But how will I pay you for this?” The woman asks. She clearly did not know who this man was.

“It doesn’t matter,” said the rabbi. “You are sick. You should only think about healing.”

And as he loaded the word into the stove, he whispered prayers of repentance. As he kindled the fire, his prayers became slightly louder. By the time the fire had warmed the entire home, his prayers were practically joyful. The rabbi sat with the woman until nightfall.

Having witnessed all this, the man returned home. And when Yom Kippur arrived and the rabbi was nowhere to be seen, the congregants wondered, “Do you think he ascended to Heaven?” And the man would laugh and say, “If not higher.”

All the prayers in the world cannot equal bringing warmth to the cold, and friendship to the lonely. He literally brought light to a fellow human and was the reason she had hope.

Actions such as these elevate holiness and invite others to rise to it as well. And so, at this time we rise together for this prayer of holiness, Kedusha on page 184.

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Another example of love, hope, and light happened this past February, in Louisville, KY. A six-year-old boy named Levi sat on a sidewalk with tears gushing down his face. The school bus stopped to pick him up, and immediately, the driver knew something was wrong. Levi was usually smiling and happy. The driver soon discovered the reason for the child’s tears. It was pajama day at school, and Levi did not have pajamas. He was going to feel left out. The driver thought to himself, “I gotta fix this.” After completing his drop-offs, the driver went to a Family Dollar store, bought two sets of pajamas and brought them to the school, where Levi cried again, this time tears of joy. Explaining his actions, the driver whom the kids call Mr. Larry said, “I could see you were hurting.”

This is a truly beautiful story. What impresses me though, is not just the act of kindness, but the connection that allowed the great moment to happen. Mr. Larry obviously knew Levi well enough to see something was wrong. He also cared enough to ask, genuinely ask. The story is not about the bus ride on pajama day. It is about all the bus rides before that day when Mr. Larry and Levi earned each other’s trust. The human-interest story in the news does not give much background, but we can imagine, day after day, the children on Mr. Larry’s bus knew he was someone to be trusted, and Mr. Larry could see when something wasn’t quite right. They say that luck happens when preparation meets opportunity. Well, this sort of action happens when daily attention to our fellow man meets the moment of need. Acts of loving kindness do not just happen. We build toward them. If we are the light, we are on a dimmer switch, and the more our light shines, the brighter it can get.

We pray that the light rises from us and reaches the heavens. The sounds of the shofar equally symbolize the desires of our hearts to reach toward the heavens and be noticed. At Sinai God became manifest in sound and light, so we respond likewise with sound and light with gratitude and the yearnings of our souls to be written for blessing in the Book of Life. Please turn to page 206 as we rise to hear the call of the Shofar.

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The Jewish people have a unique relationship to the concept of hope. If hope is, as Isaiah says, light in dark times, we have experience more than our share of dark times. Still, the light has never gone out. That light is love, the middle word of our Torah. The more we have maintained both, allowing them to fuel each other, the more their collective light has pointed us toward the future. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, of blessed memory, explained it this way:

“I know of no other stories,” he writes, “that have…. a beginning but no end…. [The ending] it is always beyond the visible horizon. The Jewish story ends, as Moses’ life ended, with a glimpse of the land not yet reached, a future not yet realized.” Rabbi Sacks concludes, “Judaism is the only civilization whose golden age is in the future: the messianic age, the age of peace when “nation will not lift up sword against nation….”

The endeavor of being Jewish is to combat despair. And being a religion of action, hope and love are more than feelings, they are actions, even activism, pushing back against poverty, working for justice, fighting disease, preventing loneliness. Rabbi Sacks concludes:

“Every ritual, every mitzvah, every syllable of the Jewish story, every element of Jewish law, is a protest against… the blind acceptance of fate. Judaism is a sustained struggle, the greatest ever known, against the world that is, in the name of the world that could be, should be, but is not yet. “

In this spirit, I want to leave you with an image, and image I discovered by accident. In my search for the Hebrew word, you shall hope, I landed on the image of a spectacular bird. The Hebrew search string in google, Kivita, with no vowels happened to be spelled the same as Kivit. It is a bird known as the lapwing. Related to the hoopoe bird that legend tells was an advisor to King Solomon, the lapwing was also believed to be a helpful companion to mankind, warning against danger, and predicting good harvests. Egyptian hieroglyphs showed the lapwing as a stand-in for enslaved people. It was as if Google wanted me to discover this bird as the emblem of Judaism and hope. Having realized this, I saw something extraordinary. Embedded in the lapwing’s black plumage was an array of color, red, orange, yellow, green, blue. Like a rainbow emerging from darkness, the Torah’s greatest symbol of hope, this bird’s image encapsulated everything that has been the Jewish people throughout our history and will carry us into 5785 and beyond. Hope and Love, and a constant move toward our ultimate goal— peace.

And so, we pray for a good and sweet year for us and all the world. And we sing together a prayer for peace. Sim shalom, Tovah uvracha, Chein, vachesed, verachamim. Goodness, blessing, kindness and compassion. Amen. Ken Yehi Ratzon. May that be God’s will,

Please turn to page 216

“For we have deeds” – Sermon for Erev Rosh Hashanah 5785, October 2, 2024

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At Rosh Hashanah, we try to see the world through brand new eyes, as if we are all born together, with nothing but possibility in front of us. It is hard to see anything as new. After all, the world is at least 5785 years old… probably more… like millions of years. We are slightly younger. Well, most of us. And herein lies our challenge, after so much lived experience, how can we every see anything as brand new? On Rosh Hashanah, we say, Hayom Harat Olam, this is the Birthday of the world. We imagine the world as newly born, and ourselves with it. It is possible. I recently encountered something very familiar, dare I say, old and well-worn, in our prayerbook, but saw it in a brand-new way. It was as though I had never seen it before, and I think this discovery can give us all direction as we enter this new year.

We have all heard Avinu Malkeinu many, many times. Our parent and sovereign, be gracious, answer us, for we have little merit. Treat us generously and with kindness and be our help. It’s nice but makes us wonder. We have little merit? Really? Worse yet, Ein Banu Ma’aşım, actually means we have no merit. Zero. Doesn’t our showing up at least count for something? The prayer will imply that this is grace. We are not deserving, but we ask God to be kind and help us. That is distant from our stated purpose of this day, to become better. If we can get by on no merit, why would we atone? Therefore, we have two choices, to sing “Avinu Malkeinu” as just a pretty song or to see the prayer through new eyes.

Rabbi David Seidenberg who publishes a website called neohasid.org. He writes that Ein Banu Massim means “we have no deeds in us, either good deeds nor bad…. What we do,” he writes, “is not within us, not who we are. We are We are like empty vessels…, we stand naked and open, receiving, being shaped and used by Spirit.” Therefore, we say, “Aseh imanu” which directly translated, is not “do for us,” but rather, “do with us” charity and loving kindness. We ask God to “Use us for deeds of love and generosity, [and thereby] fill us with deeds of righteousness.”

During our service tonight, we will consider opportunities to earn merits in the coming year. For now, we officially enter this season of contemplation, this New Year of 5785, as we turn to page 20 and rise for the call to worship.

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Maimonides teaches that every single moment offers the chance to tip the scales toward merit. Consider this story of Brian Peterson, who, in a moment, changed many lives including his own. He and his wife Vanessa lived in a 4th story apartment in Santa Ana, California. In their neighborhood there was a homeless man who would often stand on the street corner and yell. This happened at all hours of the day, often disrupting the Petersons’ sleep. On his way to work, Brian would pass the man every day, but never spoke to him. He could not think of anything to say, certainly nothing kind. One weekend day, while Peterson was inside enjoying a book, the homeless man was yelling, and Peterson decided he had enough. Based on human instinct, we might assume he was angry and confrontational. But in an instant, he made a different decision. They talked. The man’s name was Matt. He had come from Kentucky to have a music career, but things fell apart, and he had been living on the street for 10 years. Knowing the man now as Matt, Peterson saw something special.

“I saw beauty,” said Peterson, “on the face of a man who hadn’t shaved in probably a year, had overgrown fingernails, probably hadn’t had a shower in close to a year. But his story, the life inside of him, inspired me.”

Peterson, an art school graduate, asked to paint his portrait. Matt agreed, and so began a new endeavor. Peterson paints portraits of unhoused members of the community, and then sells them for thousands of dollars. He shares the proceeds with the subjects creating what he calls “Love Accounts” and helps them use the money to get back on their feet. He has helped more than 40 people. The Love Accounts have paid for rent, hotel stays, medical expenses, and all sorts of needs that helped people rise above terrible circumstances.

I am not suggesting that we can all be just like Brian Peterson. His story is extraordinary. However, a decision he made in the moment, to express the better side of his humanity, helped him tip the scales toward merit. That, we all can do, choosing the good, instead of bitterness, loving kindness.

In this next prayer on page 33, we consider what it means to be redeemed. It is a prayer of freedom, remembering being freed from Egypt, or Mitzrayim, which the rabbis teach is a symbol for being trapped in narrow spaces, or mitzrim. As we listen to these words, let us think about escaping narrow mindedness, emerging from narrow spaces, and carrying others with us toward freedom and self-reliance. Please turn to page 33.

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To be vessels of righteousness, we can consider the words of Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel:

We live by the conviction that acts of goodness reflect the hidden light of [God’s] holiness. [God’s] light is above our minds but not beyond our will. It is within our power to mirror [God’s] unending love in deeds of kindness, like brooks that hold the sky.

A person who has mirrored God’s love is Lisa Fliegel. Also known as the “Bulletproof therapist,” she has counseled victims of inner-city violence as well as survivors of the Boston Marathon bombing. Having spent many years living in Israel, and a veteran of the IDF, she has also spent time building bridges between Israelis and Palestinians, fighting for justice on both sides. Last year, just days after October 7, Fliegel boarded a plane with six suitcases full of items to donate. A dual citizen, she felt compelled to go home and to be in the trenches to support the affected communities. She went to a hotel in Eilat where the remaining members Kibbutz Nir Oz had been relocated. They had lost a quarter of their 400 residents in the attacks. The wounds were very fresh. The pain very real. The uncertainty overwhelming. The residents, many who directly witnessed killing, children who stayed barricaded in safe rooms filled with smoke, and others who jumped out of windows in their escape, they barely know where to begin. Fliegel starts just by being present. When she observes a person in distress, she approaches them with a cup of water, and suddenly they open up, sometimes for hours at a time. She may not be fixing the world’s problems, but she is doing the work of healing shattered hearts. It begins with a simple act of love, a gift of nourishment, presence, and a reminder that someone cares.

As if echoing Abraham Joshua Heschel, Lisa Fliegel says, “Sometimes, all you can do is stand up for love.” These are the deeds Heschel said are like brooks holding up the sky. Maybe, just maybe we can find ways to join her, holding up the sky together.

Taking our guidance from Heschel and Lisa Fliegel, let us also stand up for love, for light, and goodness as we all turn to page 42 and rise for our standing prayer, the Amida.

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If this all feels daunting, like we don’t know where to begin in earning merit during the coming year, we can turn to the Bard, yes William Shakespeare… Well, sort of. He wrote, “All the world is a stage, and all the men and women merely players.” The Hebrew word for stage is none other than Bima, the very word we use to describe this elevated space in our sanctuary. Most people think of this as the domain of the rabbi, as if they are unworthy to be up here without invitation. But if this represents the whole world, then we all have providence over this space. We share it together, and with this space we share the thing that makes it truly holy, the presence of the Torah. I was recently touring backstage at a theatre who was preparing to do a Jewish themed play. In the costuming department were designs for a Torah cover. Costuming— this meant the Torah was not a prop, but a character in the play. This got me to thinking about a turn of phrase, “All the world is a bima, and all the people are Torahs.” At every moment, we are aware that we represent something bigger than ourselves. One response to the horrors of October 7 and to antisemitism has been to turn away from Jewish life. Either through fear, or as if apologetic for being the objects of baseless scorn, many have decided to hide their Judaism, and thus hiding the values of Torah from the world. This is not a way to build merits. To proudly proclaim our Judaism, to wear the Israel flags, the bracelets with hostage names, the dogtags bearing the words “bring them home,” the yellow ribbons, the tape with the number of days hostages have been held in Gaza, and yes I might even include Jewish holiday shirts, ties, and fun socks. All of these things are ways of outwardly showing we are Jewish and will be exemplars of Torah on the world’s Bima, a sacred space offering sacred opportunity to engage.

We can always do more, but we all live within certain limiting factors. The best we can hope for is that we have done enough. We have to be honest with ourselves, and then turn to God in prayer that the deeds of our hands and the words of our hearts will be acceptable. These are the words of this next prayer, let us find favor in your eyes, and accept our prayers with love. We continue with R’tzei on page 60.

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One celebrity who has really given me hope in the past year has been Olympic wrestling champion Amit Elor. There are many Jews in the public eye who have taken bold and vocal stances, and they are great. What has impressed me about Elor is her subtle approach. She is the baddest of the bad, and by bad, I mean good, on the wrestling mat, dominating every opponent. She is in the public eye. Her name is obviously Hebrew, and her parents are in fact Israeli. She has faced online attacks and has worried for her safety. Meanwhile, though she has not made bold proclamations, she has let her Jewish, Israeli identity be a natural extension of herself. When she posts on Instagram about the most important moments in her life, you of course see her receiving her gold medal, but you also see videos of lighting Chanukah candles, visiting a synagogue Hebrew school, and touring Jerusalem.  Back in Israel, they were cheering for her as if the flag she carried was not the stars and stripes but the blue star of David. Her name and identity in fact represented that star with its blue stripes, and she represented both countries with power and grace.

Following her victory, she said, “If my wrestling at the Olympics can bring even just a little joy in Israel, it will make all the hard work and sacrifices worth it and extra special. I am an American … but in my heart, I am also wrestling for Israel.”

Amit Elor has taken the world stage and made it her bima.

May we all do the same, in our own way, with our own talents, and our personal expressions of Torah, be vessels carrying our merits into the new year.

And at last, we turn to this prayer, Avinu Malkeinu, our parent, our sovereign, be gracious to us for we have no deeds, at least not yet. Therefore, we ask to be inspired to be your vessels, to act at all times with justice and love. May we all achieve many deeds and inspire even more in 5785.

Please turn to page 76, as we rise together.

“Why are we mean?”- Sermon for Yom Kippur Morning 5785, October 12, 2024

On March 3, 1956, the New York Times ran the obituary for Fred Merkle. The very first line read, “former major league baseball player best remembered for [a play] that cost the New York Giants the pennant in 1908. Forty-eight years after the fact, his obituary of all things highlighted the lowest point in his life, and what was it?

In the bottom of the ninth, the Giants and Cubs were tied during a close pennant race. There were two outs. Merkle was on first, another player on third. The batter got a hit. Fans swarmed the field, and Merkle went to the clubhouse to celebrate. The celebration was premature. A Cubs player threw the ball to second. The fielder stepped on the bag. Merkle had never run to second. The third out was a force out. The run did not count. The game ended as a tie. The Giants went on to lose the pennant. Forever, in baseball and beyond the name Fred Merkle became synonymous with bonehead mistakes. In fact, that became his name. Even posthumously, Merkle is not known by his given name of Fred. Baseball historians remember him only as Bonehead.

Let’s unpack this a bit. Merkle was 19 years old when this happened. He went on to a sixteen-year career. He was an above average hitter and first baseman who played in six World Series. Even after retirement, becoming a successful businessman, the name Bonehead followed him. His daughter coming home from school asking why she was being called by the name. Even the Pastor in his church joking about his shame for having been born in Toledo, OH where Merkle had been born. Merkle once quipped, “They will probably write it on my headstone,” which may be why his family left his grave unmarked. Still, the New York Times, 48 years later, reminded everyone of that time the Giants lost the pennant, thanks to Fred “Bonehead” Merkle.

I tell this story today because I have been thinking about the human inclination to be mean. It is something, if we are to take this day of atonement seriously, that we must combat, within ourselves and confront when we see it around us. It infects us in ways we may not even recognize and, rather than enhancing goodness and love, it increases mistrust and misery,

We will talk more about this throughout our service. At this time we turn to page 194, as we read a prayer for the feeling of leaving misery behind and marching toward freedom.

If you do not know what I mean about the spread of meanness, try spending five minutes on social media.

The National Institutes of Health have studied the prevalence of meanness on social media. Though most content is positive, the number of shares and retweets for negative posts far outweighs the shares for positive things. They also found it is more common to be negative about public figures and celebrities. In the world of comedy, they talk in terms of punching up versus punching down. The late great George Carlin said, “Comedy has traditionally picked on people in power, people who abuse their power,… [not the] underdogs.” It’s a question of “who is fair game, or who deserves to be brought down a peg. There is a fine line, however, between humor and piling on. Caitlin Upton was Miss Teen South Carolina in 2007. She froze in television’s bright lights and said some non-sensical things in her interview. Years later, it came out that having the world laugh at her caused severe emotional harm, leading her at one time to contemplate suicide. Did we punch up at a beauty queen or punch down at a young person experiencing her most embarrassing moment? Did it matter in the face of the very real consequences? While Ecclesiastes teaches there is a time to tear down, we frequently get stuck there, forgetting there is also a time to build up.

Jewish tradition has much more to say on this topic, and we will talk about that, in a bit. For now, we consider the fragile nature of all life faced with the sacred power of this day. We turn to Unetaneh Tokef on page 208.

The underlying pathology of being mean is the desire to build oneself up by tearing someone else down. It may be relatively harmless when we aim our vitriol toward celebrities, punching up at the rich and famous. However, that negativity can become epidemic, deeply affecting our work and personal lives.

The Torah’s metaphor for this negativity is a leprous skin infection called tzar’at. Famously, this is what happens to Miriam after she spreads rumors about her brother Moses. Our commentators teach it is an outward sign of the social rot caused by evil speech. That it is contagious, the harm not limited to just the speaker, tells us most of what we need to know about the affliction. The Book of Leviticus takes great pains to limit the spread. The great 19th century teacher, Sefat Emet, takes the metaphor deeper:

The affliction indicated a closing of the skin’s natural porosity, the thickening and calcification of the body’s interface between itself and the world.

A Midrash describes this interface as light. There is a play on words between skin and light. They differ by one letter, but the difference is inaudible. In either case you hear the word “Or.”  We are meant to be enrobed in “or” of light. Meanwhile, our “or” of skin filters that light through its pores. When those pores become clogged, the light cannot shine. Nehemia Polen, a professor of Jewish thought at Hebrew College concludes, “we have an invitation to exfoliation.” He goes on to explain that “talk… remains on the surface, and the antidote is the endless quest for deeper layers of meaning in ourselves and others.” At the end of the day, opening those pores lets our light shine, and more importantly, it allows light of others to seep in, so we become, as Polen says, “more open and sensitive human beings.”

Being open and sensitive sets us on a path to holiness. So, at this time we turn to page 218 and pray together in the English for holiness on page 218.

British humorist Danny Wallace has written a book on what he calls “The culture of rudeness.” He took a serious look at research and interviewed many top experts who have explored the science behind being mean. One of the more intriguing observations is the contagious nature of being rude. It spreads like a cold. Witnessing rudeness, hearing about it, or even just reading about it can trigger a response, despite ourselves, to be rude to someone else. A study at the University of Florida demonstrated that students watching a professor talk down to a student were more likely to speak ill of something than those who watched a neutral interaction. Furthermore, those who were party to the rudeness had a harder time completing basic tasks. Wallace warns we are facing what he calls a Zombie Rudepocalypse. But the good news is, if rudeness is a virus, it can be stopped, as we have learned in recent years, with distance, masks, and a vaccine.

Distance, masks, and vaccines can shield us from meanness. Let’s start with distance, which will demand more than six feet. Giles Coren is a columnist for the Times of London. He wrote a scathing editorial about the public’s collective grief over the death of a celebrity. When asked about his negativity, he said, “I have to write 1200 words each week, not condemning things is a luxury I don’t have.” Meanness just fills space, it gets clicks. It’s too easy. We can always choose a different response.

One of my favorite Podcasters, Lou Mongello, says something at the end of every show that is incredibly wise. Full disclosure, it is a Podcast about Disney World, but his words are helpful. He says, “Choose the good.” Simple and effective. On more than one occasion, I have experienced rudeness and have heard Lou’s voice in my head, and I chose the good, stepped away, and kept the contagion from spreading. That is distance.

Masking occurs when we choose not to join in the conversation that does not require our input. If all we can achieve is mockery and degradation, then it is best to say nothing. Even when encountering things on social media so ridiculous, we can ask ourselves, does this help, or does it only denigrate a fellow human? Distancing and self-censorship not only stop the spread, they are certain to make us better, healthier people.

Lastly, the vaccine is just kindness. We recognize opportunities to be negative and make a different choice, or better yet, we actively seek opportunities so spread joy, share a laugh, and support another person. In so doing, we can heal ourselves, the people we meet, and turn the Zombie Rudepocalypse into herd immunity, a contagion of kindness.

So now, let us think of the choices we have made and the better choices we can make in the coming year as we take a few moments of silent reflection.

One of my favorite examples of choosing the good involves comedy writer Alan Zweibel. His career is legendary, one of the original writers on Saturday Night Live with multiple Emmys and a Tony to his name. It all came to a screeching halt when he wrote a screenplay called North, about a child who tours the world shopping for new parents. The film was almost universally panned. Zweibel knows, in comedy as in life, you win some you lose some. But as he tells it, his kids were getting teased at school. His wife Robyn wanted to avoid going to the grocery. And this was the time before social media. Still the toxicity spread. The world was piling on. Nothing cut deeper than the review he received from one of the most well-known film critics of all time, Roger Ebert. He wrote:

“I hated this movie. Hated hated hated hated hated this movie. Hated it. Hated every simpering stupid vacant audience-insulting moment of it. Hated the sensibility that thought anyone would like it. Hated the implied insult to the audience by its belief that anyone would be entertained by it.”

Zweibel describes his surprise at the level of ire. “I wrote a movie. I didn’t commit a war crime.” Over time, he learned to live with the failure and the embarrassment. He clipped the review out of the paper and kept it in his wallet, to remind him to be humble, but also so maybe he could learn to laugh about it. For years he wondered, though, what he might finally do if he met Roger Ebert in person, the man who fed the fire for the hate he received over one failed script. Then, twelve years later, he got his chance. They were dining in the same Chicago restaurant, and both men were in the restroom at the same time. Zweibel confronted the critic, introduced himself to Ebert who immediately took a defensive stance. The tension was thick. He said, “….Roger, that that sweater you’re wearing? I hate, hate, hate, hate, hate that sweater.’ After a beat of silence, both men smiled and started laughing.

No hard feelings, no abuse, no meanness, no rudeness, just choosing the good.

May we remember this, and when given the chance to be rude, mean or cruel, instead choose the good. Torah portion which we will soon read, we remember how we, the people of Israel are a people of covenant, a promise to follow the Torah, to perform its mitzvoth, and to remember that our covenant demands of us at all times to choose the good. Our Torah service begins on page 252. Please rise.