Letting Go of Hate - Yom Kippur Morning Sermon 5785

 

One of the highlights of this past summer was spending time with my oldest friend.  He’s a proud Jew who cares deeply about Judaism and Israel.  We’ve had lots of debates over the years!  We don’t always agree on every issue, but our discussions always feel important.  We were in the midst of an intense conversation about the current crisis in Israel, when a woman wearing a headscarf walked by.  She looked to be Muslim.  My friend turned to me and asked, “Do you think she hates us because we are Jews?”  I was surprised.  “No, of course not.”  He looked at me.  “I’m sorry, but I do.”

My friend is a compassionate and kind person who cares deeply about the world.  But, at that moment there was fear and perhaps a bit of anger.  She had said nothing and did nothing to us.  My friend didn’t know her story or her opinions, and yet, in his heart, he believed she hated us because we are Jews.  I silently asked myself: If we believe others hate us, does that mean we hate them too?

Unfortunately, this isn’t a new problem.  Throughout Jewish history, there have been many moments filled with fear of the other.  One surprising story is that of Elijah, the prophet.  You know Elijah!  We open the door for him at each Passover and provide a seat of honor when we welcome every baby into our community.  He represents… but wasn’t always such a compassionate figure in Jewish tradition. In the Bible, Elijah possessed a different type of temperament.  He was unpredictable, boiled with rage, and was filled with zeal. 

During the ninth century BCE, Elijah was a prophet of Adonai.  The rulers of Israel, King Ahab and Queen Jezebel, wished to bring a new religion, the worship of the idol Baal to the people.  Queen Jezebel persecuted the prophets of Adonai and murdered many in cold blood.  Elijah decided to act.  He brought the priests of Baal together for an old-fashioned showdown.[i]  Each side would ask their God to accept a sacrificial offering.  The prophets of Baal prayed their hardest, but nothing happened.  When it was Elijah’s turn, a fire came from the heavens and accepted his offering.

That’s all fine and good.  It’s what happens afterwards that is surprising and deeply troubling.  Elijah tells the Israelite people: “’Seize the prophets of Baal, let not even one of them get away.’  They seized them, and Elijah took them down to the Wadi Kishon and slaughtered [the 450 prophets] there.” 

Elijah flees and hides out in a cave.[ii]  Adonai appears and asks him: “Why are you here Elijah?”  He responds, “I am moved by zeal for Adonai.”  God tells him to stand on a mountaintop.  A great and mighty wind passes, but God was not in the wind.  An earthquake occurs, but God was not in the earthquake.  A fire appears, but God was not in the fire.  Finally, God appears in a soft murmuring sound.  God whispers, “Why are you here Elijah?”  Again, he responds, “I am moved by zeal for Adonai.”  And then… God fires him.  Literally, God says: “Go, find your replacement, Elisha the prophet.”  Because Elijah is a whirlwind of anger and vengeance, Adonai believes he’s not fit to be a prophet.

We’re living in a time where many possess a zealousness for their cause.  Hateful rhetoric and vitriolic statements raise the temperature to a boiling rage.  Certain politicians tell lies about Haitian immigrants, a modern blood libel.  Some leaders of the Israeli government unapologetically state their wish for a Greater Israel and the destruction of all Palestinians.  While at the encampments on college campuses, some chant “From the River to the Sea,” which whether knowingly or not, undermine Israel’s right to exist.  I’m worried that this type of rhetoric fans the flames and leads us towards the fiery actions of Elijah.

Judaism has always recognized that vitriol exists.  We can’t rid our world of hateful rhetoric, but we can do our part to keep hate in check.  In the Book of Deuteronomy, we learn: “You shall not abhor an Edomite for such is your kin.  You shall not abhor an Egyptian for you were a stranger in that land.”[iii] 

Too many times in the Torah, we are commanded to attack or destroy our enemies like the Midianites, the Moabites, and the Amalekites.  Why here are we specifically told to “not abhor” an Edomite or an Egyptian?

Our sages[iv] teach that during the time of Joseph, the Egyptians welcomed us with open arms.  While the Edomites were our kinspeople.  Their patriarch Esau was the brother of Jacob.  They’re family.

But you might be thinking - These statements are outrageous!  The Egyptians enslaved us and were our taskmasters for over 400 years; the Edomites our ancient enemies.  The Torah here teaches a valuable and sometimes very difficult lesson.  We can redefine our relationship with our perceived enemies, even our current or past enemies[RS1] .  The Egyptians could be viewed as taskmasters or those who welcome us.  The Edomites could be foe or family.  We too can reframe our  relationship with all those whom we disagree.

Perhaps there is a clue in a second interpretation to this verse: “You must not abhor an Edomite or an Egyptian.”  At the heart of Torah is the belief that each one of us is created b’tzelem Elohim, in the divine image.   Each of us is a unique individual who possesses our own beliefs, our own opinions, and our own actions. We are told to not abhor an Edomite or an Egyptian not THE Edomites or THE Egyptians.  We are to see humanity in each person.   

That’s hard in our black and white society.  Too many can’t distinguish between Prime Minister Netanyahu’s policies and the Israelis who protest after each Shabbat at Hostage Square.  Too many can’t differentiate between a Hamas terrorist and a Palestinian civilian. Too many can’t separate a college student who feels passionate about the suffering of Palestinians and one who has bought into antisemitic rhetoric.  I pray that we take a step back and don’t jump to conclusions about a person’s beliefs.   I sincerely believe that the only way to mitigate our feelings of distrust and fear is by breaking down barriers and learning more about who we each are as individuals.

Our great sage, Hillel, takes this a step further, in his most famous statement: “That which is hateful to you do not do to another; that is the entire Torah, the rest commentary.  Now Go and Learn!”[v]  Other religions often downplay Hillel’s interpretation of the Golden Rule and believe that his double negative is pessimistic.  “Where’s the love?” they ask.  We know there can’t always be love.  Not every political position is worthy of empathy.  There are views that are beyond the pale. Too many of us this past year have encountered antisemitism and hateful rhetoric.  We can’t ignore these comments, we must speak out.  But, we can act differently when we encounter malice.  We might want to fight fire with fire.  We might want to stew in anger.  Hillel reminds us that we must not mirror their hate or fan the flames of distrust.   

That’s not always easy.  When we’re hurt or harmed, we often just want to lash out!   Rabbi Sharon Brous in her new book, The Amen Effect,[vi] shares a different approach on how to face hate. A few years ago, a Shock Jock who had an incredible reach became an unapologetic purveyor of racism, misogyny, homophobia, and ableism.  He felt he was permitted to speak freely and share a long list of perceived grievances.  After he published an inflammatory piece targeting transgender people, Rabbi Brous recognized that his rhetoric could lead to harassment, violence, discrimination, and even criminalization of transgender friends and family members.

She reached out and asked for a one-on-one meeting.  When they met in person, she told him that his words broke her heart and endangered the safety of her congregants and people that she loved.  Unfortunately, that meeting didn’t change anything.  His writing still fuels racism and anti-trans hatred today.

Rabbi Sharon Brous summed it up this way: “Even though the meeting was a failure, it didn’t feel like a waste of time.  It was the effort to try and puncture even one layer of the thick residue of hate around his heart.”[vii]

Rabbi Brous could have hated the Shock Jock for his vicious words and actions.  She could have upped the ante, pouring more hate on his hate, enflaming tensions, but she didn’t.  Instead, she did the difficult work of sitting down and talking.  She hoped that by sharing her views, it would change his ugly rhetoric.  It didn’t work that time, but every conversation is a possibility.  Every discussion is a moment of action.  Every meeting can puncture a small residue of hate in their hearts.  That is the power of a conversation because we aren’t screaming into the void.  These days, we do too much screaming and not enough talking. 

By putting herself out there, Rabbi Brous also changed herself.  When we step up for what’s right, when we speak up for our values, when we stand alongside our community and our loved ones, we too change for the better.  We reaffirm who we are and what we believe.  We open our hearts to bring more justice and love into this world.

Long ago, Elijah was unpredictable and boiled with rage.  He boarded a fiery chariot and flew to the very Heavens.  That should have been his end, but our sages gave him a second act.  Over time, in their stories, Elijah learns and grows.[viii]  His zeal for the enemy disappears and transforms into an undying support for the downtrodden.  Elijah appears in every generation.  His greatest miracle is the opening of hearts and the transformation of how people act towards one another.  Each Passover, we welcome him into our homes, not because of his zeal, but because he will herald the coming of the Messianic time.  He reminds us that even when hate and fear are seemingly everywhere, we must not close our hearts from the world.

My friend and I have known each other for a long time.  We’ve had many enriching and challenging discussions and I’m sure there will be many in the future!  Our conversation this summer is still with me.  I hear his worries and his fears, but once again, I answer “No” to his question. I won’t assume that  every person hates us because we are Jews.  And perhaps I’m putting words in his mouth, but, “No, I don’t believe we are justified to hate others, even if they do hate us.” 

I know this is not an easy time to be a Jew.  We are scared and worried.  I believe firmly in my heart that there is a different path than hate or fear.  We have little ability to upend the political leadership in Iran, Gaza, or even in Israel.  We are unable to change every person’s perspective, especially those who harbor antisemitism in their hearts. But we do have the power to focus on our own emotions and our own actions.  We can locate the sliver of humanity in each person.  We can live by Hillel’s maxim “that which is hateful to you do not do to another.”  We can speak up for our values, our community, and never back down.  We can live our days filled not with fear or retribution, but with justice and love. It might be naïve, but I believe this is the only path forward, to make our community safe, and to bring peace to us all.  Amen.

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[i] I Kings 18

[ii] I Kings 19

[iii] Deuteronomy 23:8

[iv] See Rashi and Chizkuni’s commentary on Deuteronomy 23:8

[v] Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 31a

[vi] The Amen Effect by Sharon Brous, p. 166-168

[vii] The Amen Effect, p. 168

[viii] Becoming Elijah: Prophet of Transformation by Daniel C Matt, pp. 148-151

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Hold the Torah Close - Erev Rosh Hashanah Sermon 5783

 

Shana Tova!  As has become our tradition, I’d like to begin these High Holy Days with a story as told by Rabbi Edward Feinstein with my own twist.  Sit back, take in a deep breath, and relax!

Long ago, there was a city with two synagogues.[i]  The first synagogue was gigantic, a gorgeous Moorish building of beautiful granite with very large windows.  Most breathtaking was the Ark.  Two magnificent gold covered doors sparkled in the sunlight.  Inside that Ark were two dozen Torah scrolls covered with the finest blue velvet.  And they were crowned with silver breastplates and ornaments that would befit royalty.  The building was lavish, yet there was a problem.  There were no people.  No one came for services.  No one gathered for Torah study.  No children frolicked in the classrooms.  Not a soul descended upon that stately building, except for the rabbi.

Each Shabbat, the rabbi would enter the sanctuary, open the Ark doors, peer inside, and make sure everything was where it should be.  And then, the rabbi would gaze at the empty sanctuary and quietly whisper, to no one at all, Shabbat Shalom.

The other synagogue was the complete opposite.  Across town sat a small, old, decrepit building.  It was dark and dank.  The roof was always leaking.  It was too hot in the summer, too cold in the winter.  No one would call that building beautiful.  But, unlike that shul across town, this synagogue was filled with people.  The sanctuary was overflowing during services.  Standing room only during Torah study.  A swarm of children in the religious school.  The community felt real devotion to each other and to the Torah.

Yet, there was a major problem.  The congregation could not afford a Torah scroll.  They were embarrassed that they didn’t possess the needed funds to purchase a scroll of their own. Instead, they created a fake Torah scroll of two wooden dowels with a small piece of parchment in between.  It was kept in a very small threadbare ark.

No one, and I mean no one, loved Torah more than this congregation.   Each Shabbat, the fake scroll would be pulled out and an older congregant who was almost blind would read from memory the words of that week’s portion.  Afterwards, the community would debate!  They would discuss every word of Torah and make relevant connections to their lives.  Torah was their essence!

As happened every week, the rabbi of the large synagogue entered the sanctuary one Shabbat morning and heard a noise coming from the Ark.  “Oy!” said the rabbi.  “Is it a mouse?  Or a snake?”  The rabbi slightly cracked open the Ark doors and was thrown backwards.  Out of the Ark poured letters, thousands of letters.  Alephs and Bets, Gimmels and Dalets, even Shins and Tavs.  The letters began to line up like Army troops ready for battle.  A very large Aleph commanded the other letters!  “Left, right, left right, left…” The letters of the Torah began marching out of the Sanctuary!

“What’s happening?  Wait, STOP!!!”  The letters of the Torah turned back towards the Rabbi.  “Why are you leaving?  We’ve given you everything!  We made sure you were protected in the Ark.” 

“Yes,” said the Aleph. “You protected us.  But rabbi only YOU did!  There are no people here.  No one reads our words.  No one grapples with our text.  No one dances with us.”   

“Rabbi, you locked us away in that Ark.  We aren’t meant to be locked away. We are meant to be studied. We need a community that will love us!  

“Don’t leave us!”

“Rabbi, your community left us a long time ago!”

The letters turned and marched out of that large, beautiful synagogue.

The last letter, a little Tav, beckoned the rabbi to follow, and so the rabbi did.

Across town, the small, little synagogue, was just finishing the Torah service.  As the older congregant lifted the Torah scroll, the doors of the sanctuary burst open!  Thousands upon thousands of letters spewed into the synagogue and jumped into the fake Torah scroll.

The older congregant felt that something was different.  “It’s a miracle, our Torah is real!”

The congregant scooped up the scroll and held it close.  Then the congregation started singing and dancing with the Torah.  They were filled with such joy!

“STOP!  STOP!”  The entire community turned towards the rabbi.  “This, this is too much!  First the letters fly out of the ark, then they march down the street, and now, this!  You have stolen my Torah scrolls!”

“Rabbi, look around!  Look at this community and how much they love Torah!”  And so, the rabbi looked around and things looked strangely familiar.  The rabbi remembered, long ago, when the big congregation was overflowing with people!  As a young rabbi, the community would gather to listen closely as the Torah was read, grapple with its teachings, and seemingly dissect its every word.  Each Shabbat, young and old once danced with the Torah!  What happened?  Where did the people go?  When did Torah get locked away? 

The old congregant placed the Torah in the rabbi’s arms.  It had been a long time since the rabbi held the Torah close.  And it felt right.  The Torah needed to live and to be loved!  And so the rabbi, filled with joy, began to dance and so did the congregation.

The following Shabbat, the congregation arrived to see the rabbi sitting in the center of the front row.  The rabbi listened diligently to every word of the Torah reading and participated during the rich discussion that followed.  And when it was time for someone to lift the Torah scroll, the congregation called upon their new rabbi.  The Torah was lifted and then the rabbi and the congregation began to dance and held the Torah close! 

This evening, we as a congregation welcome the New Year for the 36^th time!  It was thirty-six years ago, that our little shul, Bolton Street Synagogue, was founded.  Our congregation’s first building was in so many ways, like that little synagogue in this story.  The building was dark, damp, too hot or too cold, yet it was filled with people who needed and yearned for community.  And like that small shul, we too didn’t have a Torah scroll of our own.

It was Wally Orlinsky, past president of Bolton Street Synagogue, who helped us acquire our first Torah scroll.  That Torah scroll came from Europe.  It was once lovingly read and cared for by a synagogue in Czechoslovakia.  It was the Nazis who forcibly took this Torah scroll and thousands of others, boxed them up, and transported them to 40 warehouses in Prague.  The Nazis wished to create a Museum of an Extinct Race.  After the war, Holocaust Scroll #605 was rescued and later provided to us as our first Torah scroll.  Its words are badly damaged that we are unable to read this scroll during services.  And yet, at every Bar, Bat, or B’nai Mitzvah we share this story.  We ask our young people to proudly carry this Torah, reminding us of l’dor va’dor, from generation to generation.

And yet, how often does the Torah seem locked away behind the Ark doors?  The Torah might seem inaccessible, an innate object removed from your daily lives. The Torah might be lovingly cared for by me, your rabbi, but seem out of reach for most of you.  How often do you get to pick up the Torah, look at its words, let alone dance with it?

Torah is not easy.  Its words are centuries old written by people who lived in a very different time from our own.  Torah can seem patriarchal, xenophobic, violent, and its focus is on a God which we might or might not believe in.  Perhaps you feel that the Torah is irrelevant or so far out of reach from your own life.

As a rabbi, that breaks my heart.  Jewish tradition believes Torah is everything.  The mitzvah to study Torah is so important that it is considered equal to every one of the other commandments.  The Talmud teaches that a synagogue (a place of prayer) can be destroyed in order to build a beit midrash (a place of study).  The Torah provides us with a link to our past and a path to our future.

Torah must be our own.  We are taught that our generation stands upon the shoulders of the giants who came before us.  These students and teachers provided us with the foundation, but we stand on top.  Our opinions, our interpretations, are equal to theirs.  We must grapple with Torah, question Torah, and add our perspective of Torah, just as they did.

Thirty-six years ago, our founders birthed a new synagogue centered on community, justice, and Torah.  Thirty-four years ago, we acquired our first Torah scroll, reminding us of both the connection to our dark past and the journey towards the future.  Today, we have a choice: to keep Torah locked away behind the Ark doors, locked away from our hearts and minds or to commit to Torah: to learn Torah, to teach Torah, to question Torah, to love Torah.  This year: sing and dance with us on Friday evenings.  Study Torah during services.   Join us for Simchat Torah to see the Torah up close.  Grapple with its words on Saturday mornings as part of Taking Hold of Torah.  Read a book, take a class, delve into the sea of Torah!  For Torah must not be locked away.  It must live in each one of us.

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[i] This story is my own interpretation based upon two versions of this tale, “Lifting the Torah” as retold by Rabbi Edward M Feinstein in his book Capturing the Moon and a sermon written by Rabbi Jason Rosenberg “Dancing with Holiness”

This is Not Normal Times. We Must Unite Against Hatred.

I’m not sure about you, but these last few days have been the most depressing, discouraging, and upsetting of the past year.  It has been a year of lows, but this past week’s events in Charlottesville, were the most searing of all.

We watched as Neo-Nazis, White Supremacists, and avowed Racists marched openly in army fatigues, carrying torches and semi-automatic weapons.  We saw Heather Heyer, a young woman who cared deeply about others, murdered while marching for justice.  We lost two Virginia State Police officers, H. Jay Cullen and Berke Bates and many others injured in the attacks.

The scene was vicious and the remarks by our president were bewildering, utterly lacking clarity, and horribly damaging to the future of our country.  Yet, it was words by another man, an ordinary man, that truly moved me and made me reflect upon the horrors of this last weekend.

AlanZimmerman, is the synagogue president of Congregation Beth Israel, the Reform and I believe the only synagogue in Charlottesville, Virginia.  I apologize if you already read his words which were shared widely, but it bares repeating.

The congregation knew for weeks that a protest would occur this past weekend in Charlottesville.  Yet, the police refused to provide them with an officer during services.  Luckily, they were able to hire a security guard, for the first time in their existence.  During the service, three men dressed in fatigues and armed with semi-automatic rifles stood across from the street.  Parades of Nazis passed his building, shouting, “There’s the synagogue!” with chants of “Seig Heil!” and other anti-Semitic language alongside swastikas and other Nazi symbols. 

Alan’s heart broke as he advised congregants to use the back entrance instead of the front and to please go out in groups, for their safety.

Later that day, Nazi websites posted a call to burn his synagogue.  He and one of his rabbis wondered, “Should we go back to the temple to protect the building?” What could they do if they were there?  In precaution, they had already deemed an attack within the realm of possibilities and had removed their Torahs, including a Holocaust scroll from the premises.

Throughout his poetic and haunting article, Alan kept coming back to the same phrase:  “This is America in 2017.” 

As a Jew growing up in Ohio, I experienced small amounts of anti-Semitism.  Jokes and pokes by so-called friends or others.  Yet, I always believed that the Jewish community went overboard on calling out everything as anti-Semitism.  It was our “sheep calling wolf” moment.  Yet, this moment is not the years of my youth.  This is not normal times.  This is 2017 in America.

Our Torah portion, Re’eh, speaks about this issue directly.  The Torah describes the existence of false prophets.  These are individuals (and groups of individuals) who will lead us down the wrong path, who will turn us away from our morality and ethical behavior.  They are powerful because of their charisma.  They have power because of their many followers and of their message which deeply impacts people’s thinking.  Yet, we know that they are false prophets; they will lead us astray.

What should be our answer in combating these false prophets?  The Torah provides one line, one answer:  “You shall walk after Adonai your God and fear God.  You shall keep God’s commandments and obey God’s voice, serve God, and cleave to God" (Deuteronomy 13:5).

This doesn’t seem like a powerful response.  When there is a false prophet, when there are those who actively seek to hurt us or destroy our very being, our answer is to walk after Adonai and keep God’s commandments?  It seems too passive, too meek.

Yet, yesterday, a rabbinic colleague, Rabbi Alex Kress, shared an incredible gem written by Rabbi Avraham Mordechai of Gur, a Chasidic rebbe from the turn of the last century.   The Gerrer Rebbe teaches that this phrase, “You shall walk after Adonai, fear God, keep the commandments” appeared previously in last week’s Torah portion.  Last week, the statement was singular.  When you, each of you, walk with God…  Yet, this week’s phrase in the plural, “When all of you walk…”

The Gerrer Rebbe teaches that in normal times, each person can be God-fearing alone in our own homes.  We don’t need each other; we can do it by ourselves.   Yet, (And these are his words), yet, when heresy and anarchy prevail in the world, the power of the individual is insignificant, and there is need for good people to combine, to form a mighty force, which will defend against our detractors. 

When the Torah speaks about the false prophets, it is writen not in the singular but in the plural.  When they (and they are always a they), when they come together, we are insignificant by ourselves.  We must unite together against those who wish to destroy us.

This is not normal times.  This is America in 2017.  We can’t do it alone, we are insignificant.  We must do it together.

And together we will.  These were some of the brightest moments of last weekend:  It was John Aguilar, a 30 year Navy veteran, who took it upon himself to stand guard over the Charlottesville synagogue.  It was dozens of strangers who stopped by the synagogue and asked if they could stand alongside them. It was their wonderful rabbis who stood on the front lines with other Charlottesville clergy opposing hate.

This is not normal times.  This is America in 2017.  We can’t do it alone, we are insignificant.  We must do it together.

And so we will.  On Monday August 28^th, I alongside others from Bolton Street will caravan down to Washington for the 1,000 Ministers March on Racial Injustice (it’s not just for rabbis!).  Alongside the interfaith community and the Religious Action Center for Reform Judaism, I and others will march.  If you are able, please join me!

We will reach out to our interfaith allies.  We will continue to work on justice issues around education, racism, and anti-Semitism.  Our Social Action Committee is gearing up and we need your help.  Let us know if you wish to help.

And I urge you to make donations of tzedakah to Jewish and non-Jewish organizations that are working for justice.  We need people and dollars, to make systematic change.

In a few days, the Solar Eclipse will occur on the shores of our country, for the first time in many years.  There will be darkness across our country, yet only for a few minutes.  The sun will shine again; the rays of light will be a beacon to us all.  This is now a time of darkness, yet together, we can bring light into our world.  One candle at a time will bridge the darkness towards light.  Together, our light will shine.  Amen.

Saying Shalom...

This past Friday evening, was my first service at Bolton Street Synagogue in Baltimore, MD as the new rabbi.  This lovely congregation in the heart of Baltimore City is my new congregational home!  The words below are adapted from my first sermon.  This was my opportunity to say Shalom... to introduce myself and my vision!  Lech Lecha, may we go forth to ever greater strength... together!

Shabbat Shalom!  I’m sure there are a ton of thoughts going through your head right now...  Who’s this new Rabbi?  What’s his story?  What’s he like?  And what about Bolton Street Synagogue?  Is the congregation going to change?  Will it be different?  Will I not feel at home anymore?  But really… who is this new rabbi?

Believe me change and transition are hard!  Tonight, we begin anew.  A new rabbi for you, a new congregation for me!  As I thought about this first sermon, it thought about what I wanted to share with you.  About my vision, about my hopes, and about me!  My rabbinate and my life revolve around relationship and stories.  So what better way to start than to share some stories.  About the moments that impacted me and more importantly changed my rabbinate.  So here we go!

Picture it, a classroom of fifth grade students!  About a dozen students.  In front of you is a rabbi.  Not me, I’m only in fifth grade!  It’s Rabbi Ed Garsek, one of my rabbis.  He was teaching my class that day and we were studying Torah.  I’m not sure what I said or even what I did, but I do remember Rabbi Garsek’s response.  He looked directly into my eyes and he said to me: “You’ll be a great rabbi one day.”  And those words changed my life.

Rabbi Garsek saw something in me.  A spark and he pulled it out of me.  From that day, I wanted to be just like him: a teacher, a friend, a mentsch.  My rabbinate is based upon the lessons he taught me.  To live Judaism.  To guide others.  To truly know a person, their thoughts, their passions, their fears, and help them live a better life.  My rabbinate is built upon transformative moments.  It’s these small moments, face-to-face, that transform not only our lives, but the lives of our community, and the greater world.

About ten years later, I’m now a college graduate.  I’m living in Boston, working in the Jewish community.  And I’m searching, searching for a spiritual home.  A couple friends and I shul shop.  Each Friday evening, we travel to a new synagogue to experience worship and look for a community.  Reform, Conservative, Reconstructionist, Renewal, Non-Denominational.  We try it all… yet nothing sticks.  Nothing feels right. 

That’s when we decided to create our own service.  We called ourselves the Minyanaires and over the course of a year, twice a month, we joined together for services and a potluck dinner.  It was informal, it was filled with singing, and it was brimming full of community.  I knew everyone there, a dozen of us, or so.  We prayed, we studied Torah, and we ate!  Since that day, I’ve never found a community that felt the same as that one.  I’ve been searching for that community.  A place to call home, a place where others feel comfortable.  A spiritual community that is built on relationship, where we study, grapple, learn, pray, eat, and join hands to change the world.

Now move ahead with me.  I decided to follow Rabbi Garsek’s advice and I enrolled in the Hebrew Union College, the Reform Rabbinical School.  I spent five years in Israel and New York City.  My student congregations were in Rocky Mount, NC; Williamsport, PA; Mount Sinai Hospital in the Palliative Care Unit.  I was ordained as a rabbi and became the first Assistant Rabbi at Scarsdale Synagogue.  Later, I moved to Long Island to become an Associate Rabbi at Temple Sinai of Roslyn. 

I love being a rabbi.  I loved teaching, lifecycles, hanging out with the kids, and studying with adults.  But, there was one moment in my rabbinate that changed my life.  It all began through an e-mail.  A rabbinic friend and colleague from Chicago, Rabbi Seth Limmer, asked if I would join him for a 40 day march from Selma Alabama to Washington DC.  This was a march coordinated by the NAACP during the summer of 2015.  This was Black Lives Matter.  This was Police Shootings.  Ferguson.  NYC.  Baltimore.  This was about justice and making our world a better place.   It would be a 40 day journey, a walk across the south.  And they needed a rabbi each day to carry the Torah.  I would travel for one day, but the Torah would travel all forty.

And so, there I was, in the deep south, a small town in Georgia about 2 hours from Atlanta.  It was powerful to march and carry the Torah, but even more importantly was the relationships.  Hearing the stories of my fellow African-American marchers.  Learning about the injustice, the fear they had for their kids, the challenges they went through.  This was about making a different.  Praying with our feet.  Our world was in turmoil and my role, our role, is to make a difference.  To do our part with the interfaith community, to change our world for the better.

These three stories are just small moments in my life and my rabbinate.  There are plenty of others, but these three express who I am and my vision of Jewish life and of Bolton Street Synagogue.  That vision is to create sacred connections through study, prayer and tikkun olam, in order to bring about transformative change in our lives and our world.  Transformative change is the key.  And that only exists through relationship.  We must know one another, be comfortable with one another, and trust one another.

We build sacred connection through study.  We learn Torah because these ancient words impact our lives for the better.  But more importantly, we learn from one another because each of us has Torah to teach.

We build sacred connection through prayer.  There is power when we pray together, sing together, and join together face-to-face.  It’s how we recharge, how we hope, how we dream of the future.

We build sacred connection through tikkun olam.  When we join hand-in-hand, we have the ability to transform hearts, advocate for change, and rebuild a broken world.

You’ve already learned a little bit about me.  I’m excited to learn more about you.  Together, through study, prayer, and tikkun olam, we’ll build stronger relationships.  Yet, these Jewish actions must do something more, they must transform us into better people, a better community, and a better world.  I’m looking forward to doing that with you for a long time to come!

Thank You Temple Sinai of Roslyn

A few weeks ago, Temple Sinai of Roslyn, honored me for my five years of service as one of their rabbis.  It was a true honor and gift.  These were the words I shared in gratitude for all of their support!  It has been a true honor.  From strength to ever greater strength as I journey forth to Bolton Street Synagogue in Baltimore!

One of the greatest gifts, I’ve been given as a rabbi, is to be welcomed into your lives at moments of great holiness and intimacy.  I’ve been invited to sit alongside you at the hospital room, to listen and hopefully bring a little bit of comfort.  I’ve been honored, to stand alongside side you at a funeral or shiva minyan and hear the stories of your loved ones.  And, I’ve been overjoyed to officiate at B’nai Mitzvah, weddings, baby namings, and countless services, to see the mazel and happiness in your lives!

These sacred stops alongside the journey of life have become an incredible gift to me.  Over the last five years, you’ve constantly reminded me about what matters most: family, friendship, love, dedication, making an impact on the world.  You’ve invited me into your lives, and through that invitation, you’ve changed me for the better.

With all of these blessings, there is one moment, that occurs often, yet not too often, that for me is the pinnacle experience, the most holy and sacred moment of my rabbinate.  That is when I’m able to share words with you from the Birkat Cohenim, the priestly benediction. 

I’m sure you’ve heard these words, probably countless times.  At B’nai Mitzvah, weddings, baby namings, even the High Holy Days.  May God Bless You and Keep You.  May God’s face shine upon You and be Gracious to You, May God’s face be lifted upon you and grant you peace.

When I stand upon this bima or at a beach, or a catering hall, or your home, when I look at the face of a wedding couple, a young thirteen year old, a tiny baby, a congregation filled to the max, and recite these words, I feel a sense of great joy.  I watch your faces as I bless you with these words.  And I reflect upon all of your hopes and dreams to come.  In its truest sense, it is an honor and a blessing to be given this great responsibility to share these words with you all.

And how fitting, that on this Shabbat, as I say goodbye, as I reflect upon my five years at Temple Sinai of Roslyn, that these words, the Birkat Cohenim, are found smack dab in the middle of this week’s Torah portion.  It is besheret, meant to be!

I’ve been thinking about why these words matter so much to me.  And I believe it connects to two different aspects that have been at the forefront of my rabbinate: Teaching AND Relationship!

This prayer was first recited by Aaron, Moses’ Brother, the first Cohen Gadol, High Priest of Israel.  He blessed the people three thousand years ago, yet amazingly this blessing continues to be given today.  As a rabbi, I have the great privilege of passing on the words of our tradition that have become the foundation of who we are!  When I offer this blessing, I think back to all of the other rabbis and leaders who have blessed our people and how from generation to generation, we continue to learn, grow, and strive. 

It has been my greatest honor to teach, to learn, and to continue to share the words of our tradition with you all.  It gives me great comfort to know that I stand upon the shoulders of all those who came before me, and to know, that others will continue this path after me.

But, most importantly, is that this blessing is offered face-to-face!  As the blessing is given, we look into each other’s eyes.  At that moment, we are not strangers, but we are in relationship.  And, it is the relationships that I have built during my time here that have been most important to me.  It is these relationships that have helped me flourish.  It is these relationship that matter the most.  I’ve been honored to be a part of this community, to learn from you, to grow from you, and be a part of you.  I have so many thank yous to be given, which I’ll share later at dinner, but I want to thank you all for all that you have done for me.  Todah Rabbah, it is so much appreciated.

Thank you for opening up your lives to me.  Thank you for making me one of your rabbis, your teachers.  Thank you for all of the blessing and kindness you’ve given me.  And thank you for being you, for your friendship!  I know that there will be many blessings and thank yous given to me, but now I have the opportunity to thank you all one last time.  I ask you now, to please rise:

May God Bless You and Keep You

May God’s Face Shine Upon You and be Gracious to You

May God’s Face be lifted Upon You and Grant You Peace.  Amen.