The Mitzvah of Growing a Tomato

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Over the last few years, I yearned to have my own garden.  My dream was to have the space, the time, and the energy to grow my own tomatoes.  I never had a place of my own or the gumption to create a garden of my own.  After moving to Baltimore last year and after purchasing my first home, I finally had my first opportunity to see my dream move to fruition.

Honestly, let me tell you, I have no green thumb.  My house plants are always withering, while the perennials outside in the flower box never seem to return.  Plus, I was a novice.  I knew nothing about tomatoes or even how to care for a plant.  A few weeks ago, I watch horrified as my new tomato plants began drooping.  I realized quite quickly that I needed stakes to provide them with support.

Nonetheless, without much knowledge, but with spirit and fortitude, I began my adventure.  With constant watering, a watchful eye, and a daily prayer for a miracle, my tomato plants began to flower and produce tomatoes.  I’ve watched the miracle of nature produce its first fruits, and it is truly a blessing.

As a rabbi, I spend much of my days indoors: teaching, meeting, leading services, and visiting with congregants.  Each year, at Tu Bishvat, Jewish Arbor Day, I teach about the importance of nature and the natural world.  Yet, besides a few strains of parsley that are planted on Tu Bishvat that might, just might, miraculously make it to Passover, I’ve had no other connection to planting or growing.

Yet, Jewish tradition is deeply connected to the land.  At the very beginning of the Torah, Adam and Eve, those first human beings, are commanded by God “to till and to tend” this world of ours.  Our Torah is filled with commandment after commandment of how to take care of the earth: to let it lay fallow every seventh year, to leave the fruit trees standing during battle, and to provide the first fruits to those at the Temple in Jerusalem. 

Plus, we Jews are deeply connected to the Land of Israel.  We visit the land and stop to touch its soil, offering a blessing after arriving to the Holy Land.  We plant a tree in Israel during moments of simcha and celebration.  We are proud when we hear of the Israeli government’s new technological miracle around water conservation or tree preservation. 

For me, the yearning to grow a tomato was about all these things.  It was about connecting to the physical land, it was about the miracle of nature, it was about caring for the environment.  However, there was something even more important.  I wanted my son to see that we were growing tomatoes.  I wanted him to recognize that the world around us is fragile and needs our support and strength.  If we are constantly locked up, inside our homes with screens in front of us, we ignore that miracle of nature.  I wanted him to join me: to prune, to water, and to care for these precious plants.

For we learn in the Talmud about the story of an older man who decides to plant a carob tree.  The carob tree only produces its fruit seventy years after being planted.  Yet, this didn’t dissuade that older gentleman.  He remarked “As my ancestors planted for me, so too do I plant for my children.”  That’s the lesson isn’t it? That’s the mitzvah of the tomato tree.  To teach ourselves and our children, the importance of taking care of this world, so that the world we know will live on to the next generation.  We reflect this vision through our actions and pass these values on to our children as we pray that they too will “till and tend” this earth.

Now that I’ve achieved dream number one, next up, learning to bake fresh challah each week for Shabbat! 

The Jewish View: Many Types of Leadership

This week, we begin the Book of Deuteronomy which is a retelling of the previous four books.  It is a reflection of the forty years in the desert.  Moses remembers all of the successes and challenges of leading the Jewish people.  At first, Moses was sole leader of the people.  From sunrise till deep into the night, the entire community came to him to solve their problems.  With this responsibility, Moses became tired and burnt out!  His father-in-law Jethro goaded him to find others who would lead alongside him and be his partners in strengthening the Jewish people.

Forty years later, Moses reflects upon this moment and tells the people which characteristics he looked for in a leader.  A leader would be a Chacham – a wise person, a Navon – a discerning person, and a Yaadah – an experienced person.  We know how to define experienced; that is a person who possesses prior moments of leadership!  But what is the difference between wise and discerning?

The rabbis answer that question as they often like to do, with an illustration.  A Chacham, a wise person, is a banker who would examine customers’ money when they arrived at the bank.  However, when no one came to the bank, the Chacham would take out her own money and examine it instead.

What about the Navon, the discerning person?  In this illustration, the Navon was also a banker.  This Navon would also examine customers’ money when they arrived at the bank.  Yet, when no one was in the bank, the Navon would wait anxiously and do nothing until the next customer would arrive.

The rabbis believed that the Chacham and the Navon, the wise and the discerning person, were quite different, not in knowledge, but in temperament and outlook.  A Chacham, a wise person, had plenty of internal resources.  She could achieve action on her own.  She was self-motivated and always willing to go the extra mile!

A Navon, a discerning person, was different!  She is the person who possesses deep intellectual knowledge and enjoys spending time with others, interacting with others.  The Navon cares deeply about those in our community.  She is a people person!

Moses reminds us that there are many traits of leadership.  Our community possesses the Chacham and the Navon.  We must recognize these different leaders in our community and honor them for their successes and their personalities.  Whether we work better with others or achieve success when we are alone; whether we think about the details or focus on the broader vision, whether we have street smarts or book smarts, all these characteristics are needed to make our community stronger.  May we honor each of us for the aspects that make us unique and make us a blessing.

This D'var Torah was published in the Baltimore Jewish Times.

The Spirituality of Being Outdoors

May it be my custom to go outdoors each day

Among the trees and grass,

Among all growing things,

And there may I be alone,

And enter into prayer,

To talk with the One to whom I belong.

-Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlav

As the Chasidic Rebbe, Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlav, taught hundreds of years ago, there is something uniquely spiritual about being outdoors.  Our sages even remind us that every synagogue is required to have at least one window so that we can look out into the world that surrounds us.  This window prevents us from being blind to the world of nature and to the world that exists outside the synagogue walls.  What better way to fulfill this commandment than by opening our doors and heading outside?

That’s why this summer, at my congregation, Bolton Street Synagogue, we are trying something new!  Yes, Bolton Street Synagogue has always had our services outside in the Meadow, both at Rosh Hashanah and at Shabbat, for many years.  Yet, this summer it will be different!  We will be joining together in our Meadow every Friday evening during the months of July and August.  This will, of course, be weather permitting.  It's important to make sure that everyone is comfortable and safe.  My hope is that the weather will hold up and we can be together in the Meadow for many of the services this summer.

Personally, I love praying outdoors.  I find myself closer to the Holy One when I watch the sun set in the distance, hear the birds chirp, and feel the wind upon my shoulders.  There is something uniquely spiritual that can’t be found in any indoor building, even our beautiful sanctuary.  Plus, there is an informality about being outside.  I love watching people come to services in t-shirts and shorts with flip flops and sandals! As the Rebbe teaches, may we frolic outside with the trees, the animals, and with each other.  May we enter into prayer and gain something greater than ourselves.

Rosh Hashanah Sermon: Open Doors, Open Hands, Open Hearts

It was the Tiki Torches.  Those Tiki Torches signified that everything had changed.  The news coming out of Charlottesville was horrific.  The violence, the bigotry, the brazenness of the protesters was deeply troubling.  I couldn’t believe that this was America in 2017.  In the past, the protesters would have worn hoods; they would have gathered in the darkness of night.  Here they were, marching proudly in the midday sun, yelling, “Blood and Soil,” “Jews will not replace us.”  The Tiki torches looked almost medieval; a nod to the past, to the Third Reich and to “Pitchforks and Torches” – vehicles used to scare us and put us in our place.

Charlottesville shook me to the core.[i]  There always was and will always be bigotry.  Anti-Semitism, racism, hatred of all kind, has been a part of our country’s dark history since our very founding.  Yet, this moment just feels different.  This year just feels different. 

So let us be unequivocal.  We firmly deplore these and any acts of anti-Semitism, Islamophobia, racism, or bigotry.  We stand firmly with our interfaith allies.  We will always speak out against hatred of any kind.  We deplore all who were ambiguous in their condemnation of these acts.  There is right and there is wrong.  We stand together and when there is no moral voice, we will be that moral voice.

Yet, I keep coming back to the Tiki Torches.  Last night, I began these High Holy Days with a story of how each of us must be a light.  We need you to light up a corner of our synagogue and a corner of our world.  The Tiki Torches were used to bring light.  They were there to scare us, frighten us, shock us.  We will not be scared.  We will not be frightened.  Instead, I urge us to reclaim the torch, to reclaim the light.[ii]  We will transform fear into hope.  We will transform hatred into love.

The bigots and the White Supremacists entire wish is to extinguish Judaism; to eradicate our proud religion.  And our response will be: to create a proud and vibrant Jewish future.  Today, I’d like to share with you my vision for the future of Bolton Street Synagogue.  How will we transform our synagogue.  How will we journey forward together.  How will we build upon our past and create a proud and vibrant community.

Open Doors

Long ago, there was a question about why Saul, than an ordinary man, merited the great honor of being named King of Israel.  In a wonderful midrash,[iii] a parable, the rabbis share that Saul was chosen as King of Israel because of the merit of his grandfather, a man known as Ner (meaning lamp).  What did Saul’s grandfather, Ner, do?  Ner lit lamps for the public.  There were always dark alleyways between people’s homes and the Beit Midrash, the House of Study.  In the darkness of night, without a torch guiding the way, many didn’t come to the synagogue to study, pray, or gather together.  It was too frightening and there were too many barriers to venture out into the darkness of the night.  Ner lit lamps to banish darkness.  The torches allowed all to be together.

This leads us to the first aspect of community, which I’d like to call: Open Doors.  Bolton Street has always been a community that is known for its openness.  It doesn’t matter our age, our sexuality, our skin color, our background, how we define family, or even our religion.  All are welcome to enter these doors. 

Yet, we know that we can always do better.  Open Doors means everyone feels welcome.  What about the new guest that fails to be welcomed?  What about the person who sits alone waiting for an invitation?  What about the visible and invisible barriers that prevents those from joining us, engaging fully in Jewish life?  Open Doors means we do our best to knock down all obstacles that drive us apart and create new pathways to bring us together.

Open Hands

A man[iv] was travelling from place to place when he saw a castle aglow in flames.  The man said, “Is it possible that this castle lacks a person to look after it?  Who will put out the fire?”  The owner of the building looked out and said, “I am the owner of the castle.”  Similarly, Abraham, looked out at the world and said, “Is it possible that this castle, our world, has no one to look after it?”  And God said, “I am the Master of the Universe, and he replied to Abraham, “Lech Lecha… Go forth…”

In this Midrash, a man sees a castle ablaze and searches for the owner, in order to extinguish the fire.  And Abraham, the first Jew, looks out at the world on fire and asks, “Who is responsible for all of this?”  And God answers: “From your question, I know that you are the one!  Lech Lecha, go forth, for it is now your responsibility to care for my world.”

That is the essence of what it means to be a Jew, of what it means to be a part of the Jewish community.  It’s what I’d like to call Open Hands.  Our responsibility is to reach out to those in need.  Whether we call this Tikkun Olam (Healing of the World), Tzedakah (Charity), Social Action, or Gemilut Chasadim (Acts of Loving Kindness), our first responsibility is to care for and heal the world.

The man looked out and saw a palace on fire.  He didn’t wait until his house was burning down in order to act.  No, he first reaches out to help those in distress.  That is our foremost responsibility as a synagogue community.  We are guided by the Jewish past.  We are reminded that we were slaves in Egypt; that we encountered hostility and bigotry; that we were the downtrodden, the stranger, and the less than human.  Yet, we don’t turn our backs to the world.  We reach across faith lines to assist all who are in need.  Our past guides us; as the prophets remind us, we must open our hands to all who struggle, all who are challenged, here and everywhere.

Open Hearts

Almost seventy years ago, the German and Austrian Jewish Community was devastated during Kristallnacht, the night of broken glass.  On that fateful evening, thousands of synagogues, Jewish businesses, and homes were destroyed!  Arsonists burned down buildings, while windows were broken.  Shards of glass were everywhere.  The Jewish community laid in ruin just as the Holocaust was about to begin.

One young man, Walter Schwarz, lived through this horrible ordeal.  In the aftermath of Kristallnacht, Walter swore that if he survived, he would one day learn to rebuild the shards of glass into something beautiful.  What was broken, would one day become whole.

Walter survived and Baltimore became his new home.  He became a founding member of our congregation and fulfilled his long promised vow.  Well into his 70’s, Walter learned how to make stained glass windows at the JCC; he had never worked with stained glass before.  He took pieces of broken glass and created the breathtaking stained glass window that was located in Bolton Hill and now sits prominently in our lobby.  The window serves as a reminder of where we came from and a symbol of our past.  A Jewish star remembers the 6 million while the 10 commandments proudly recognizes the essence of who we are as a Jewish community.  As sunlight shines forth, a spectrum of colors shines down upon our lobby.

The stained glass window and Walter’s story symbolizes the third aspect of community: Open Hearts.  Walter took something which was broken and helped build something new and vibrant.  As we begin the next chapter of Bolton Street Synagogue, what do we wish to build, together?  How will we maintain our progressive Jewish values, yet not lose our vibrant Jewish past?  How will we keep tradition alive, but also change with the times?  How will we define “Jewish community” when many of our members and loved ones aren’t Jewish?  Open Hearts mean that we open ourselves to the diversity that is our community, yet continue to delve down the path of modernity and tradition.

Another aspect of Open Hearts means strengthening our relationship with each other.  Jewish community has always been built upon a brit, a covenant.  A brit means that we have responsibility for each other.  That we look out for each other, embrace each other, care for each other.  Part of creating a brit, a covenant with one another, means opening our hearts to each other’s strengths, but also each other’s weaknesses.  Open Hearts means being forgiving and empathetic.  We must recognize that all of us make mistakes, none of us is perfect.  Let us open our hearts to our entire persona and to our entire community.

As a rabbi, I’ve been blessed to serve many communities, from the tiny chavurah to the largest synagogue.  I love being a rabbi.  I love leading services, teaching Torah, guiding young and old, leading my community.  Yet, I’ve always searched for something more; yearned for a community that truly felt like home.  This past winter, when Brian, Caleb, and I visited Bolton Street for the first time, we knew we were home.  We felt warmth and love permeating everywhere.  We loved the dedication to tradition and the willingness to think differently.  We saw the stewards of the past and the builders of the future.  Brian and I wished to find a community that we’d join even if I wasn’t the rabbi; a place where Caleb would grow up and feel loved and supported.  We found it, here, at Bolton Street.

As your rabbi, I promise to be by your side, to guide you, and nourish your souls.  I promise to teach, but also to learn; to lead, but also to listen.  I promise that I’ll push us forward, but always remember our past.  I will be there for you, but I need you to be there for me too.  I need you to support me and guide me on this new endeavor, together.

On the start of this New Year, I ask you again to roll up your sleeves.  I ask you: come to services, attend a class, volunteer around the synagogue, give back to the community.  I ask you: share your passion, give of yourself, meet me, and join with old faces and meet new faces too.  In this New Year, we will respond to hatred and violence by building upon our proud past and creating a vibrant Jewish future.  May we open our doors, open our hands, and open our hearts.  Together, we will transform our world, transform our synagogue, and most importantly transform our lives.  Ken Yehi Ratzon, May it be so.  Amen v’Amen.

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[i] Much appreciation to the Central Conference of American Rabbis (CCAR) for its webinar “Post Charlottesville from the Pulpit.”  Thank you to Rabbi Amy Schwartzman, Rabbi Mari Chernow, and Rabbi David Stern for their thoughts and reflections as I prepared for this sermon.

[ii] Gratitude to Rabbi Adam Allenberg for his commentary and thoughts about Charlottesville in the HUC-JIR Podcast “Bully Pulpit” collegecommons.huc.edu/bully_pulpit/charlottesville_huc/

[iii] Leviticus Rabbah 9:2

[iv] Genesis Rabbah 39:1.  Many thanks to Rabbi Dvora Weisberg for her thoughts in the HUC-JIR Podcast “Bully Pulpit.”

Erev Rosh Hashanah Sermon: A Hundred Lights Shining in the Darkness

I've always loved the High Holy Days.  As a kid, when the rabbi began his sermon, my friends would go outside to play in the coatroom or run down the hallway.  I’d be inside the sanctuary listening intently to the rabbi's words (or at least making a wager with my sister on how long the rabbi would talk)!  I loved singing Avinu Malkenu and hearing the blast of the shofar.  The High Holy Days were always a homecoming.  There’d be lots of kibitzing and showing off the latest outfit, but it was truly about being together, connecting with friends and family after a long summer.

As we welcome the New Year 5778, I’m thrilled to welcome you back home!  As you probably know, this is my first High Holy Days at Bolton Street Synagogue!.  From the first time I visited Bolton Street back in December, I’ve had this date circled on my calendar.  I couldn’t wait to lead Erev Rosh Hashanah service outdoors in the meadow; and here we are!  Whether you are a first time visitor or a long time member, welcome home!

At my first service, back in early July, I shared a little bit about myself and my story.  I told you about my rabbi, Rabbi Garsek, who when I was only ten years old, saw something special in me.  As we studied together in my fifth grade classroom, Rabbi Garsek looked into my eyes and said, “Andy, you’ll be a great rabbi one day.”  I’m not sure what he saw in me.  I wasn’t the loudest, the cleverest, or the most gifted speaker.  Yet, my rabbi saw something in me that I didn’t see in myself.  And his words changed my life. 

Rabbi Garsek was a special man.  It was his menschleicheit: his kindness and caring nature that drew me towards him.  It was his love of Judaism and his big heart that propelled me to follow in his footsteps.  He encouraged me to become the person I am today; to become the rabbi who stands before you.

Rabbi Garsek taught me many lessons, but one of the crucial lessons I took with me was the centrality of COMMUNITY in Jewish life.  He believed that Judaism not only encourages, but demands that we form relationship during the peak moments in time.  When we pray, we join together with at least ten people (a minyan).  When we learn, we study with at least one other study partner (a chevrutah).  When we celebrate holidays, at least three should join together at the holiday table.  Judaism believes in the power of community.  We can’t make change alone; our lives, our synagogue, our world can only be transformed when we are in relationship, together.   

My sermons during these High Holy Days will focus on that theme of COMMUNITY: on our commitment to each other, on the importance of individual responsibility, and on our relationship with those outside our walls.  Tonight, I’d like to share a story that illustrates my vision for our beloved Bolton Street Synagogue.  This story expresses my hope for our future and describes who I am as a rabbi.  So, sit back, take a deep breath, and enjoy one of my favorite stories!

Many[i]  centuries ago, in a faraway little village, deep in the mountains, lived a wealthy man.  This man was getting on in years and began to reflect upon his legacy.  He had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams in regards to business, wealth, and success, yet something was missing.  He wished to give back to the community that supported him throughout his life, but what would be the proper gift?  After spending months reflecting upon his dilemma, the man realized that his community lacked a proper synagogue.  He and his fellow Jews would gather in someone’s house to pray, but they didn’t have the resources to build a fitting home for God.

And so, he decided to construct a beautiful synagogue.  His planning would be in secret.  No one would know.  He hired craftsmen and craftswomen from far away to build his masterpiece.  The construction of the building took many years – much longer than he anticipated.

Finally, the building was complete.  The rabbi and the man decided that the new synagogue would officially open its doors on Erev Rosh Hashanah.  The village was abuzz with excitement for the first service in the new building.  At 5:00pm, on the eve of the Jewish New Year, the doors of the synagogue were opened for the first time.  Hundreds of men and women, children and babies, young and old, rushed into the sanctuary.  They were awed by its magnificence.  It was truly the most beautiful synagogue anyone had ever laid eyes upon.  The wood of the bima glistened like gold; the Ark doors gleamed like rubies; the eternal light sparkled like diamonds; the menorah, stained glass, and Torah, were truly the most splendid in the world.  The congregants oohed and awed at the beauty that surrounded them.

Slowly the sun began to set.  As the sky became darker, the hubbub began to die down.  The excitement and the energy that pervaded the building seemed to vanish in an instant.  Everyone looked around the building with puzzled looks upon their faces.  Finally, a brave little girl approached the man.  “Excuse me, sir, there’s something missing!”  “Something missing!  What do you mean?” said the man.  “There’s a beautiful ark, a menorah, and a Torah scroll.  What possibly could be missing?!”  The girl looked up and pointed to the ceiling, “The lamps!  The lamps are missing!  There’s absolutely no lights in here!”

“Ah, yes,” said the man with a big smile upon his face.  “If you look around the sanctuary, there are brackets that cover the walls.  These brackets will hold up different lamps, one lamp for each person.  Tonight, you all will receive a lamp.  Each time you are here, the area where you are seated will be lit and will be filled with light.  But, each time you are not here, that area will be dark.  Part of the synagogue will be darkened.  Your community is relying on each of you to be the light.”

Tonight, on this eve of Rosh Hashanah, I’d like to remind you that you possess a light.  Your light guides you.  Your light shines out in the darkness.  Your light provides warmth and comfort to your loved ones, and especially to our community.

As a rabbi, I too possess a light.  My light teaches our history and our past.  My light guides and supports our community.  My light leads us forward into future.  Yet, my light is just one candle flickering in the night.  One candle is not enough to banish the darkness.  It takes hundreds of lights, sparkling together, to create a beacon in the darkness.

My vision of our beloved Bolton Street Synagogue is a community that comes together, supports each other, cares for each other, and depends upon each other.  Our synagogue must be a covenantal community, where we recognize and act on the needs, passions, hardships, and dreams of those that surround us.  We must know each other and work together to change our lives and our world for the better.

We each possess a light, yet we use our light in different ways.  Perhaps, the spirituality of services connects you to the Holy One.  Perhaps, studying our ancient texts helps connect you to our Jewish past.  Perhaps, gathering together for a celebration helps connect you to one another. Perhaps, reaching out to those in need, helps connect you to our broader society.  Whatever the case, we need each of you to be the light in order to banish the darkness.  Your community is relying on you to be the light.

Many years ago, my rabbi saw something in me.  At the time, I might not have been the loudest or the cleverest, but I had my strengths: I was kind, I was compassionate, I cared about my community and I understood that it wasn’t about one person; it was about all of us working together. It was hundreds of candles, coming together, shining ever brightly.

On this eve of the New Year, I call upon each of us.  Don’t worry, I’m not asking you to become a rabbi!  No, I’m asking you to be YOU.  I look into your eyes and I say to each of you, “You are great!  You are special!  You are unique!”  We need you.  We need your passion, your energy, your time, and your dedication.  I ask you to be a light: to volunteer, to pray, to gather, to learn, to teach. 

As we join together in song, volunteers will pass out a small candle to each of you.  When you receive your candle, turn it on.  This candle is my gift to you.  May it serve as a reminder of all you have to give; may you bring light, goodness, kindness, and joy into the world.  Amen v’Amen.  Shana Tova!   

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[i] This sermon is based upon a story entitled “The Nobleman’s Legacy.”  My story is adapted from many versions with a debt of gratitude to Rabbi Robin Nafshi for sharing this story with me.

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.

Thoughts About Charlottesville

For millennia, Jewish tradition has taught of the dangers of hatred and violence.   The rabbis explained clearly that the Second Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed because of baseless hatred.   We learn that when one group hates another without cause, it can lead to the destruction of societal cohesion. 

In recent days, we’ve watched the breakdown of our own society.  Who would think that the actions perpetuated by white supremacists in Charlottesville could occur in the year 2017?  We watched in horror as Neo-Nazis and Fear Mongers marched openly carrying torches and machine guns.  We heard the news about the young woman murdered in a terrorist attack and read the accounts of those in the local Jewish community who feared for their safety.  Racism, bigotry, and anti-Semitism are still very much alive in our day.  Like the rabbis of old, we cannot stand idly by as hatred and violence occurs in our midst.  We must join together with the broader community to seek out justice and love.

The Reform Movement and the Religious Action Center put out statements over the last few days about the terrible violence that occurred this weekend.  I urge you to read more here and here   And a very brave synagogue president of theCharlottesville synagogue shared his thoughts about how his community dealt with the devastation.

In a few weeks many will gather in Washington, DC for the 1,000 Minister March on Washington.  I alongside a few from Bolton Street Synagogue will be travelling down to Washington to join together with the Jewish community and our interfaith allies (it’s not just for rabbis!). To learn more and to register ReligiousAction Center.

Join the Reform Movement in sharing photos on social media with the hashtag #BeTheLightForJustice.  It might be a small act, but it does have the potential to ease our pain.  Please share a picture of yourself holding a candle to help spread the light.

Finally, please consider to make a donation of tzedakah.  There are a plethora of Jewish organizations including the Religious Action Center, the ADL, T’ruah, or others who work deeply with the Interfaith Community to combat racism, hatred, and anti-Semitism.  Our donations can help begin to build a world of wholeness and peace.

Soon Elul will be upon us.  The month prior to the High Holy Days begins the process of looking inwards and seeking the change of behavior we wish for ourselves in the year ahead.  May these days of Elul help us and our country begin to turn towards t’shuvah, towards renewal and transformative change.

L’shalom,

Rabbi Andy Gordon