When does the night end? - Erev Rosh Hashanah Sermon 5786

 

Some of us are night owls – we like to stay up way too late!  Some of us are early risers – we wake up way too early!  And some of us are both – worrying about the state of world - we don’t seem to sleep at all! 

Long ago,[i] there was a Beit Midrash – a House of Study, far from here.  The students of that Beit Midrash loved Torah so much, that they never went to sleep.  They studied throughout the night until the early morning hours. 

Just as the sun would rise, they would gather together to recite their morning prayers.  The students were tired after their nightly studies.  They wished to recite their prayers as soon as the day began, so that they could go to bed.  There was only one problem!  The students weren’t sure when the night officially ended, and the day began.  Don’t forget this was a long time ago.  Our zealous students didn’t possess Apple Watches, iPhones, or even old school digital clocks.  They were truly perplexed.  They had no good answer.  So, they approached their beloved rabbi. 

“Rabbi,” they asked.  “When does the night end and the day begin?”

The esteemed rabbi, as do all good teachers, turned the question back to the students!   “Great question!  Go outside during the darkest hours of the night and pay very close attention to changes in our world.  Come back to me with your answer.

Early the next morning, the Know-it-All arrived first before anyone else had gathered. “Rabbi, I was wandering amongst our village when I saw a house in the distance.  When I recognized that it was indeed my house and not the house of my neighbor, that was when the night ends and the day begins.”

The rabbi turned towards the student and with shake of the head, said: “No Bubele, that is not quite right.”

A second, very studious student approached their teacher.  “Rabbi, as it was getting lighter outside, I wandered near my farm, when I saw an animal in the distance.  When I could see whether it was a sheep, a horse, or a cow, that is the moment that the night ends and the day begins.”

The rabbi gave a forced smile and with a slight look of sadness, said, “No Motek, that is not quite right.”

The rabbi’s youngest student, one who loved being outside timidly approached their teacher.  “Rabbi, as I wandered amongst the beautiful flowers, I began to make out all the vibrant colors: the reds, the blues, and the yellows.  I believe this is the moment that the night ends and the day begins.”

As tears streamed down the rabbi’s face, the rabbi said, “No Habibi, that is not quite right.”

Student after student shared their answer with the rabbi… the rabbi became sadder and sadder.  Finally, the rabbi turned towards all the students and became visibility angry.  “Beloved Ones, you don’t understand!  You divide your home from your neighbor’s home; one animal from another; one color from all the others.  Our world is already filled with too much division and separation.  Do you need to divide us even further?  Isn’t our world broken enough?  Is that what Judaism is about?”

The students turned to look towards their rabbi.  Then rabbi, please, tell us the answer!  “How do we know when the night ends and the day begins?”

The rabbi gently looked at each of the students.  “The answer is simple.  When you look into the face of the stranger beside you, one who is so different from you, and you realize that this person is your brother, your sister, your beloved sibling, then and only then has the day begun.  Until that time comes, it will always be night.”

It is so wonderful to gather with you all in our beautiful meadow as we welcome the New Year 5786!  As always, we pray that this New Year will be a time of health, happiness, joy, and peace for us all.  Yet, even amongst these hopes and dreams, a feeling of darkness, sadness, fear, and trepidation seemingly permeate our lives and our world.  On this New Year, may the shofar awaken us, and our world, from our slumber.

You know, as do I, that our society is more fragmented from one another than ever before.  We divide ourselves into different camps: “us” and “them.”  Even scarier, in 2025, we are more separated from human contact than ever before.   Study upon study has shown that because of technology, social media, new work environments, and the comforts of home, we are isolating ourselves from one another.  We are lonelier and more unhappy.  We seemingly lack the tools on how best to build strong and deep relationships. 

Over the course of these High Holy Days, I seek to answer the same question in different ways: “How do I be a Jew in this moment?”  My answer tonight: “to be a Jew is to be in community.”  Our esteemed rabbi shared a poignant, yet simple lesson.  The dark night will only end when we are in one another’s presence and recognize in each other, our humanity.

Luckily, our Jewish tradition provides us with the tools to make that a reality.  As Dr. Erica Brown teaches, “The biblical expression “panim el panim,” face-to-face, is used in the Hebrew Bible multiple times to suggest the highest level of intimacy in communication.”[ii]  Ancestors like Jacob and Esther, prophets like Moses, Miriam, and Ezekiel, turn towards the Holy One and one another, during challenging times.  These face-to-face encounters strengthen our relationships.[iii]  Jacob, seeing his brother for the first time in decades, shares in awe, “to see your face is like seeing the face of God”[iv]  Panim el Panim, face to face encounters, remind us of our deep connection to humanity, divinity, and morality.

Over the last few decades, the third spaces, the places outside of home and work, where we gather have been decimated. As Robert Putnam has taught us: very few of us these days are part of a bowling league, attend regular civic meetings, or make sure to be present at a movie’s opening night.  And yet, you are here!  I want to lift up that you put life on hold, perhaps even had a little bit of stress getting everything and everyone together, to be here.  This evening, you’ll meet old and new friends, you’ll eat, pray, study Torah, and build community. 

More than ever, we need strong and vibrant communities.  We know that the best way to combat loneliness and isolation is to be together face to face.  And I believe, that one of the most important mitzvot, commandments in our Jewish tradition is Kedoshim Tehiyu, “You Shall Be Holy,”[v] for our rabbis teach that to live a holy and sacred life, we must be together in community.[vi]  Whether at Bolton Street Synagogue, your community pool, your neighborhood, your school, or your community gatherings, we Jews must do our part to strengthen community.  That only happens when we leave our homes, when we gather in person, when we see each other panim el panim, face-to-face.  We also must do our part to visit those that are homebound, who are sick, who can’t be with us in person, to make sure they see a smiling face.  

But what happens when we lose sight of each other’s faces?  In the Torah, we learn of a phrase called Hester Panim[vii] – when God’s face is hidden from view.  The theologian Martin Buber adapted this idea in his masterpiece “The Eclipse of God.”  As Buber writes: “When history appears to be empty of God, … it is difficult for an individual and even more, for a people, to understand themselves as addressed by God. … During such times the world seems to be irretrievably abandoned to the forces of tyranny.”[viii]

Now, I know that many of us grapple with our beliefs around God and divinity.  That’s ok!  What I ask is that you interpret Buber through his words of warning.  Buber was writing after the horrors of the Holocaust, but his ideas are unfortunately very timely.

At this moment, we watch the rise of authoritarianism, tyranny, and violence in our own country and throughout the world.  When we hear politicians and leaders speak about fellow members of society as pests or animals, that is Hester Panim – our faces being hidden from one another.  When ICE agents hide their faces with masks, leading to a lack of accountability or anonymity, that is Hester Panim – our faces being hidden from one another.  When online bloggers disguise their true identities, when we aren’t sure if it’s a person, a BOT, or AI, that is Hester Panim – our faces being hidden from one another.

 It is precisely at these moments that Martin Buber called an eclipse, when we lose sight of each other’s humanity.  We know what happens when the stranger, the outlier, or the minority is no longer seen as a human being.  Our Jewish history serves as a stark reminder that when society is unable or unwilling to see one another’s faces, we let the forces of tyranny win.

So what must we do?  How can we lift-up one another’s humanity?  Rabbi Rami Shapiro teaches, “Whenever you see another… you can recite this line to yourself: ‘I see this face as an expression of God’s Face.’”  Perhaps you will change the wording of this prayer.  I urge you to make your own.  But think of the impact!  Each time we look into the face of another, we see their humanity and divinity.  Multiple times a day, we can do our part, to bring a bit of light into the dark night surrounding us.[ix]

There is so much danger when we are hidden from one another, so let’s take off our masks and open our hearts.  This New Year, let us truly see each other and do our best to be seen. This New Year, let us hold one another accountable, including our government, for their misdeeds.    This New Year, let us recognize that the stranger, the immigrant, those who look, act, speak, or love differently from us are our brothers, our sisters, our beloved siblings.  This New Year, let us prioritize our time, to be in community, gathering panim el panim, face-to-face, to end this dark night and bring on the morning light.  

---

[i] An old Chasidic story.  This version is based upon “Day and Night” by Rabbi Ed Feinstein, found in “Capturing the Moon” p. 54

[ii] Erica Brown, “Seeing Ruth’s Face” – May 27, 2020 - https://ejewishphilanthropy.com/seeing-ruths-face/

[iii] Genesis 32:31, Exodus 33:11, Deuteronomy 34:10, Ezekiel 20:35

[iv] Genesis 33:10

[v] Leviticus 19:1

[vi] Me’or VaShemesh-Parashat Kedoshim, R. Kalonymos Kalman Epstein

[vii] Deuteronomy 31:18; Babylonian Talmud, Hullin 139b

[viii] Martin Buber, “Eclipse of God” – Chapter 16

[ix] Rabbi Rami Shapiro, “Seeing the Face of God” – September 3, 2022 - https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/seeing-the-face-of-god/

The Broken Clock - Kol Nidre Sermon 5784

 

Long ago, there was a small village located far away at the very edge of a kingdom.  Although the village was very tiny, it was a vibrant community with its own park, library, school, hospital, court of law, even a synagogue.  Only a few hundred people lived in that village, yet there were tailors, shoemakers, carpenters, and masons.  Only one trade was missing; there was no clockmaker. Once, there was a clockmaker, but long ago they moved away.  Before leaving, the clockmaker warned the village, “Make sure to wind your clocks each and every day.”  At first, they all followed the clockmaker’s directions, but after many years, the clocks became increasingly inaccurate.  How annoying to always be looking at the wrong time!  No one knew if or when a new clockmaker would arrive in their far-off village.  And so, they stopped winding their clocks and let them run down.[i] 

Our world these days is filled with lots of ifs, whens, and maybes.  There is so much uncertainty.  Too many problems keep us up at night!   Will our democracy survive another election?  What about our Jewish community with the threats of antisemitism, Israel’s future, and continued assimilation?  What about the climate?  Can we stop emitting carbon quickly enough to save our planet?  The problems of the world seem unsurmountable, but perhaps, maybe, with a little bit of human ingenuity, technological knowledge, and a miracle everything will be, ok?   These challenges seem beyond our capacity as individuals.  What does our Jewish tradition teach about navigating uncertain times?

Dr. Alyssa Gray, professor at the Hebrew Union College, teaches[ii]  that for our rabbis, “uncertainty is the stage of which all human beings, Jewish and not, act out their lives.” Our Jewish tradition loves to live in the gray, in uncertainty.  Major theological questions often go unanswered.  Does the innocent suffer?  No, says Deuteronomy. Yes, says Job.  Are we punished for the sins of our ancestors?  Yes, says Exodus.  No, says Jeremiah.  Unlike other religions, so many of our Jewish beliefs are unclear.  It is in uncertainty that we thrive as a Jewish community.

It can be liberating to have such flexibility in answering theological questions.  Unlike many other religions, we Jews love to ask questions, to debate, and to come up with dozens of answers to a single query. But how do we move forward?  We can’t live in uncertainty forever, can we?

One answer to that question is found in a Talmudic debate.[iii]  We learn that the Roman military leader Turnus Rufus encounters the great teacher, Rabbi Akiva and asks him this provocative question: “If your God loves the poor, why does your God not support them?”  As befits this type of question, a theological debate occurs between rabbi and general.  Each of them, contemplates God’s role in the world and attempts to understand why God would or would not act.  After much back and forth, Rabbi Akiva concludes his argument with a quotation from the prophet Isaiah (a verse found in tomorrow’s haftarah reading), “It is to share your bread with the hungry, and to take the homeless poor into your home” (Isaiah 58:7).  Rabbi Akiva then asks the question: “When do we bring the poor into our homes?” He answers: “Right now!” 

Dr. Alyssa Gray sums up this idea: “Over the course of his dialogue with [Turnus Rufus], [Rabbi Akiva] has come to realize that there can be no certain, confident answer to a “Why?” question (“Why are there poor?  Why doesn’t God take care of them?”).  The only possible certainty lies in answers to questions of “How?” and “When?” to act.  And the answer to “When?” is clearly “Now.”[iv]

What must we do in uncertain times?  We act!  Our world is burning, and we can’t fathom why humanity allows this to continue.  Russia attacks Ukraine in an unjust war and we can’t understand why the world refuses to act.  Homophobia, racism, misogyny, and antisemitism fester openly, and we question why decent people won’t speak out.  Why do bad things happen to good people?  Why does God allow these problems to continue?  We don’t know and are often unable to answer any of these why questions!  We can’t contemplate the theological or complex problems that are seemingly beyond our personal reach.  But we aren’t expected to find an answer to these questions. Our role, according to Rabbi Akiva, is to do our small part to answer how and when we can make this world a better place.  We just need to act, right now!

How must we act?  Just reflect upon Rabbi Akiva’s answer to Turnus Rufus.  “When do we bring the poor into our homes?”  “Right now.”  Our Jewish tradition believes that during uncertain times we must act together.  We do this work not alone, not off by ourselves, but in solidarity with each other.  Our Jewish tradition teaches that we pray together in a minyan with at least ten adults, we study together in chevrutah with at least two people, and we work to heal this world in community.

I believe that many answers to our questions can be found by looking closely at the natural world.  The beauty of nature has so much to teach us.  One example is the incredible sequoia trees known as the California redwoods.[v]  Perhaps you’ve been lucky enough to see them?  These magnificent trees can grow well over 300 feet tall, up to 35 stories, and can be up to 26 feet in diameter, so big that a car can drive through them.  Many have lived over 1,000 years.  What contributes to their incredible height, but also their longevity?

You would think the trees would have deep root systems, but their roots only travel five or six feet into the earth.  That is shocking considering how tall the trees can become.  A redwood tree, alone in the world, with a root system this shallow would not survive even the smallest gust of wind. 

Instead, the roots of each tree branch out over 100 feet away from their trunk.  Each sequoia tree intertwines their roots with other sequoias providing them with strength and vitality and resources to continue their growth. 

The redwoods only thrive when they form “tribes” or communities of trees where their roots can fuse together. This provides them with incredible resilience to survive the most damaging floods, droughts, earthquakes, and other natural disasters.

During uncertain times, we too only thrive when we are in community.  Alone, we will fall, but together we support, strengthen, and continue each other’s growth.  When we act together, in solidarity, we are better equipped to fight adversity and survive the challenges of uncertainty.

But what keeps us going?  Last summer, Dahlia Lithwick[vi] of Slate was feeling utterly shattered in this uncertain world.  Not only had COVID gotten her down, but in only a few few weeks, Roe was overturned, the Uvalde school shooting, the racist attack in Buffalo, and the continued assault on LGBTQ+ people paralyzed her.  Dahlia was searching for a word that summed up her feelings of helplessness, a word that expressed the need for action and hope.

Out of nowhere, a friend introduced her to a Yiddish word, tzebrokhnkayt, which is typically translated to mean dejection or despondency.  But Dahlia’s friend translated this word in a more positive light “the quality of broken heartedness that gives strength in healing.”  As Dahlia Lithwick shares, “at its essence we each carry our shattered pieces with us.”  Tzebrokhnkayt is not something in need of a quick fix, it instead should be honored.  We are obligated to gather up, tend to, and honor the pain, but also take up the work of healing.

Our people encountered pain and adversity for thousands of years.  Our Temple was destroyed, we were expelled from our land, we wandered the world never truly feeling at home.  We faced crusades, pogroms, and antisemitic attacks.  And yet, during the uncertainty, we continued forward, that path was hope.  We always believed that tomorrow would be better than today, that there was always a possibility of redemption. 

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks teaches:[vii] “Optimism and hope are not the same.  Optimism is the belief that the world is changing for the better; hope is the belief that, together, we can make the world better.  Optimism is a passive virtue, hope an active one.  It needs no courage to be an optimist, but it takes a great deal of courage to hope.”

Our world is filled with uncertainty.  There is so much worry and despair, so much unknown about the future.  It’s so hard to keep going.  The big problems seem so overwhelming and out of our control.  How can we stop climate change when too many deny that it’s even happening in the first place?  How can we end gun violence when our leaders prevent even the smallest regulation to pass?  How can we protect transgender individuals, queer people, women, and the most vulnerable when laws are enacted that take away their rights?

We navigate these uncertain times by holding on to hope.  Hope isn’t passive, it isn’t pollyannish, it’s not rainbows and unicorns.  It is courageous to hope.  Hope is the belief that through our actions we can make this world a little bit better.

Long ago, there was a small village whose clockmaker moved away.  “Make sure to wind your clocks each and every day.”  At first, many followed the clockmaker’s directions, but after many years the clocks became increasingly inaccurate.  No one knew if or when a new clockmaker would arrive in their far-off village.  And so, many let their clocks run down.  There were others, a small group, who maintained that if the clocks ran, they should not be abandoned.  So, day after day, they wound their clocks even though they knew they weren’t accurate.  One day, news spread through the town that a new clockmaker had arrived.  Everyone rushed to see the clockmaker with their clocks in tow.  But the only clocks that could be repaired were those that had been wound every day.  The abandoned clocks had grown too rusty!

After so many years, too many of those villagers lost hope.  How long can you stare at the incorrect time before giving up? But for others, the clock was of value to them.  They cared, they hoped, they kept winding those clocks.

In this uncertain world, may we too be filled with hope.  We face so much despair, so much fear of our shared future.  Our small actions often seem like a drop in the bucket.  But, if we stop turning the clock, we guarantee that it will break.  Hope requires action.  May we find the courage to wind our clocks day after day, for even the smallest actions can make this world a little bit better.  Amen.

---

[i] Story by Rabbi Israel Friedman found in Man’s Quest for God (1954) by Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel (Adapted)

[ii] Uncertainty, Action, and Faith: Talmudic Theological Musings for the Year(s) of COVID by Dr. Alyssa Gray (pp. 3-4)

[iii] Babylonian Talmud, Bava Batra 10a

[iv] Uncertainty, Action, and Faith: Talmudic Theological Musings for the Year(s) of COVID by Dr. Alyssa Gray (pp. 9-10

[v] https://joanneeddy.com/2016/06/29/intertwining-roots-a-lesson-on-community/

[vi] https://slate.com/news-and-politics/2022/06/uvalde-shooting-politics-is-the-poison-and-the-cure.html

[vii] Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, To Heal a Fractured World, p. 166

Choose Life - Yom Kippur Morning Sermon 5783

 

Many years ago,[i] in the autumn of 1863, a horrible plague, a cholera (kaa-lir-uh) epidemic, ravaged the Jewish community of Vilna.  There was not one house where someone did not lose a loved one.  Rabbi Israel Salanter, the great sage of Vilna, fretted as Yom Kippur approached.  Too many in the community were sick, weakened by this plague.  What would happen to their health if they decided to fast on Yom Kippur?  He took counsel with physicians and recognized quickly that something must be done.

 

As the Yom Kippur morning service began, the great rabbi slowly approached the podium.  His voice was weak but grew stronger and louder by the minute.  “Today is a holy day of repentance and prayer, for the living and the dead, and of a plague that has broken out, for how long, we do not know!  When trouble comes, each person must look at their deeds, but also at their own body, flesh, and health.  Each of us shall live by God’s commandments, not die by them.  There are times when one must turn aside from the Law and by doing so, a whole community may be saved.” 

 

The entire congregation remained quiet, weeping. 

 

“I am eighty years old and I have never transgressed a mitzvah.  But “choosing life,” this too is a mitzvah!”  With strong resolve and defiance, the rabbi called out: “Eat, Jews, eat!  Go now and eat!”

 

But not one soul in the shul stirred, not one person moved from their seat! 

 

“Shammas, it must be done!”  The shammas, the synagogue attendant, entered the sanctuary with a cup of wine, challah, and some cake.  The great sage, Rabbi Israel Salanter, made kiddish and motzi.  Then, in front of the entire congregation, on Yom Kippur morning, he ate and drank as did the entire Jewish community of Vilna.

People were scared, terrified about their health and yet no one wished to break their fast on Yom Kippur.  Rabbi Salanter gave the community permission to eat.  His actions saved countless lives.  He taught that this was not a personal decision, for it is a communal obligation to choose life. 

 

Rabbi Salanter believed staunchly in the commandment found in this morning’s Torah reading, “I call heaven and earth to witness against you this day: I have put before you life and death, blessing and curse.  Choose life – so that you and your children may live…”[ii]

 

As so many of you know, our Jewish tradition teaches that the mitzvah of pikuach nefesh, saving a life, supersedes each and every one of the other commandments.  We are required to do everything in our power to save and support life. 

  

I don’t know about you, but I’ve been struggling over these last few years.  It sure seems that American society devalues life, disregards the health and safety of our neighbors, and does absolutely nothing to protect life.  American society prioritizes personal needs, personal liberties, over the needs and welfare of the entire community.  Whether in reaction to covid restrictions during the early days of the pandemic or the increase of gun violence, I’ve become dismayed as our country blatantly disregards the lives of those who are most vulnerable.   

 

Just last week, a member of our congregation watched helplessly as a lock-down occurred at her child’s school.  For hours she didn’t hear any information at all.  Can you imagine waiting hours to learn about your child’s health and safety?  And all of us bear witness to the continue rise of gun deaths, as the scourge of violence effects every corner of our beloved city.

 

Our American society values the Second Amendment and the rights of gun owners over the wellbeing of those in our broader community.  This is an attack on our Jewish values.  As Rabbi Fred Scherlinder Dobb teaches, “Like Americanism, Judaism cherishes freedom, always yoked with responsibility.  Emphasizing one’s freedom to shoot over others’ freedom to live fails the test.  We must bring the prophetic, justice-seeking, lifesaving, pro-reasonable-regulation Jewish perspective proudly to bear in the public square.”[iii]

 

One group who courageously and defiantly brought their voices to bear in the public square were the teenagers at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida.[iv]  Cameron Kasky, Alfonso Calderon, X Gonzalez, David Hogg, and dozens of other teens, joined together to create #NeverAgain and the March for Our Lives.  These teen activists encouraged thousands to travel to Tallahassee and later to Washington to become the largest youth led movement since the Vietnam War. 

 

Their actions spurred chapters across America allowing millions of voices to be heard.  They registered thousands of new voters, increased youth turnout at elections, and continue to work towards passing universal background checks, assault weapons ban, and other laws to limit gun violence.

 

This movement was led not by one person, but by an entire community.  Dozens of teen leaders, parents, teachers, youth and people of all ages, came together, a true grassroots movement.  It’s reminiscent of our Torah reading this morning, “You stand here this day, all of you, in the presence of Adonai your God – your tribal heads, elders, and officials; every man, woman, and child of Israel; and the stranger in the midst of your camp; from the one who cuts your wood to the one who one draws your water – to enter into the covenant of Adonai your God…”[v]

 

Our Jewish tradition believes in communal solidarity.  Today, on Yom Kippur and every day, we commit a covenantal oath to each other and to all in our broader community.  We must stand together: young and old, rich and poor, elder to woodcutter, to choose life.  We have a responsibility for each other’s health and wellbeing.  In our tradition we say: Kol Yisrael Aravim Zeh be’zeh, that we must all take care of each other. that we must choose life together!

 

And yet, there is a perception in America of what it means to choose life or what it means to be “pro-life.”  This phrase “choose life” might even seem foreign to you as a member of our liberal Jewish community.  I suspect that most of us do not define ourselves as “pro-life.”  Conservative Christianity has coopted language that is truly at the heart of our religion.  As Jews, we are, and have always been pro-life, for we are commanded to “choose life.”  As a Jewish community, we define pro-life differently.

  

Being “pro-life” in a Jewish context means valuing all life and protecting the health of all people, especially the life of the pregnant person.  From the Torah until today, our rabbis have taught that the life of the pregnant person is prioritized over that of the fetus; for the fetus in Jewish law is not yet a life.  In the Babylonian Talmud, we learn that the fetus is merely fluid until day 40.  After forty days, the fetus becomes a physical part of the pregnant person’s body.  It is not until the head emerges during childbirth that our tradition believes that the fetus becomes a person.[vi]

This is not just a liberal perspective, from Reform to Orthodox, Jewish tradition believes a pregnant person’s life is sacrosanct.  This summer the Orthodox Union, representing Modern Orthodox synagogues came out with this statement, “[The] same mandate to preserve life requires us to be concerned for the life of the mother. Jewish law prioritizes the life of the pregnant mother over the life of the fetus such that where the pregnancy critically endangers the physical health or mental health of the mother, an abortion may be authorized, if not mandated, by Halacha and should be available to all women irrespective of their economic status.  Legislation and court rulings-federally or in any state-that absolutely ban abortion without regard for the health of the mother would literally limit our ability to live our lives in accordance with our responsibility to preserve life.”[vii]

Our Jewish community came together this summer to speak as one around the issue of Abortion.  Even still, it is difficult to speak openly about the need for an abortion and to share our stories publicly.  That’s why I am in awe of the bravery of Rabbi Rachel Pass who last year shared in an editorial of her decision to have an abortion while in rabbinical school.  Rabbi Pass learned just after Rosh Hashanah in her second year of school that she had accidentally conceived.  As she shares, “I chose life when I left Literary Artistry of the Bible early on a Thursday afternoon to walk the few short blocks from Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion’s New York campus to the Margaret Sanger Planned Parenthood on Bleecker Street. I took the first pill in a quiet office, sitting across from a doctor who looked just like me… There is nothing more sacred than the right to live one’s life as one chooses – and to choose life, and to choose blessing. In having an abortion, I chose my life.”[viii]

 

As a Jewish community, we “choose life” when we care for the life and health of the pregnant person.  As Rabbi Rachel Pass shares: “As Jews, if anyone, ever again, tries to argue that abortion restrictions are justified under the prerogative of religious freedom, we can explain that our religious freedom demands that we have access to abortion care when it is needed and wanted.”

It's hard to push back against American society and the religious fervor of conservative Christianity or rightwing political opinions.  And yet, we are required to stand up and “choose life.”  Rabbi Shefa Gold teaches that “Choosing, means being able to… stand against the flow of mainstream culture, and to stand for values that are positively counter-cultural…”[ix]

That’s what we Jews do!  We stand up against mainstream culture and proudly proclaim that our Jewish values demand that we take care of the most vulnerable.

That’s what happened, some 250 years ago when a cholera plague ravaged the Jewish community of Vilna.  The great Rabbi Israel Salanter stood upon a bima, like this one, recited kiddish and motzi, and in act of defiance ate and drank on Yom Kippur.  So many were already sick and would be weakened if they fasted.  That day, Rabbi Salater’s actions, and the community’s actions, saved countless lives.

On this Yom Kippur, we too must stand together.  As our society crumbles, as our nation devalues life and fails to take care of the most vulnerable, we must act.  As gun violence increases, as our Supreme Court, and our state governments all over this country make it easier to subvert our religious values and ignore the health and wellbeing of a pregnant person, we must act.  It is time to stand firm as did Rabbi Salanter, to be as brave as Rabbi Pass, and to be as defiant as the teenagers of Parkland.  Life is precious, life is vulnerable, life is fleeing, on this day of Yom Kippur, we must remember that it is life that matters most.  “I have put before you life and death, blessing and curse.  Choose life – so that you and your children may live…” May we reclaim the meaning of what it means to be pro-life.  May we stand firm in our Jewish values that the communal needs must supersede personal liberties.  May we do all that we can, to end violence, to protect the vulnerable, and to take care of those who are pregnant.  May we always, may we always, “choose life.”  Amen.

---

[i] There are many different versions told of this story.  Some scholars believe that Rabbi Salanter did eat on Yom Kippur, others believe he just encouraged those who were weak to eat.  Still others, believe that the day’s service was shortened and that the Rabbi encouraged congregants to remain outdoors in the fresh air.  Different versions are told by David Frischmann, Three Who Ate (http://fullonlinebook.com/poems/three-who-ate/lpbc.html) published in 1911.  Louis Ginzberg also shared more of this story in Students, Scholars, and Saints (p. 184-185) https://archive.org/details/studentsscholars028068mbp/page/n195/mode/2up?q=jacob and much more information can be found here as well: https://www.talmudology.com/jeremybrownmdgmailcom/2020/2/18/berachot-50-the-three-who-ate-on-yom-kippur-for-feb-22

[ii] Deuteronomy 30:19

[iii] https://momentmag.com/ask-the-rabbis-gun-control/

[iv] https://www.newyorker.com/news/news-desk/how-the-survivors-of-parkland-began-the-never-again-movement

[v] Deuteronomy 29:9-11

[vi] Babylonian Talmud, Yevamot 69b; Babylonian Talmud, Gittin 23b; Mishnah, Ohalot 7:6

[vii] https://www.ou.org/news/statement-by-the-union-of-orthodox-jewish-congregations-of-america-on-us-supreme-courts-potential-overturning-of-roe-v-wade/

[viii] https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/i-am-a-rabbi-my-abortion-was-a-sacred-choice/

[ix] https://www.rabbishefagold.com/yk5776/