Please see below for recent Rabbi sermons and articles.
Balak
July 19, 2024
Shabbat Shalom! How many of us have ever done something that went against our gut feeling? How did it turn out? Probably the way your gut thought it would, right? Well, this week’s Torah portion, Balak, teaches us about the importance of following our intuition, our gut feeling.
Balak, the king of Moab, felt threatened by the Israelite people, after learning how they escaped slavery, and defeated the Emori. Now the Israelites were encamped at the border of Moab, preparing to enter into the Promised Land. Balak feared that the Israelites would destroy the Moabites. So, he decided to take action.
Balak knew that God was helping the Israelites, so he knew he could not merely overtake them with physical force. Instead, he called upon Balaam, the prophet, to curse the Israelite community. When he first reached out to Balaam to meet with him, Balaam refused, because God had told him not to go. After Balak reached out to Balaam again, God allowed Balaam to go. Balak had promised Balaam a handsome reward in exchange.
While en route, Balaam’s donkey stopped in the middle of the road three times, for the donkey had seen an angel wielding a sword. This angel was sent by God to stop Balaam from cursing the Jews. Balaam could not see this angel, so each time the donkey stopped, he would beat the donkey, in an attempt to get her to go again. After the third time, the donkey spoke, saying, “What have I done to you that you have struck me these three times?” Balaam said to the donkey, “For you have humiliated me; if I had a sword in my hand, I would kill you right now.” The donkey said to Balaam, “Am I not your donkey on which you have ridden since you first started until now? Have I been accustomed to do this to you?” He said, “No,” (Numbers 22:28-30). In other words, the donkey was saying, “You know me. I would never steer you wrong. You should trust me by now. If I am stopping, there must be a reason, even if you cannot see it.” The same holds true for our intuition, our gut feeling.
In fact, in preparation for tonight’s service, I watched a video on https://reformjudaism.org/torah/portion/balak, which suggests that Balaam and his donkey are really one being: Balaam represents the brain, and the donkey represents the guts. Balaam was able to convince himself to do what Balak wanted, as he would be rewarded with riches. Yet, he knew in his gut that he was wrong. It was an internal struggle to decide whether to go or not, to curse the people or bless them. It is a metaphor for trusting our gut feeling.
Ultimately, Balaam did not curse the Israelite people. Instead, he blessed them. He went with his gut. And so should we. Even when we are not entirely sure why, it’s always best to follow our intuition, for we know from past experiences that that is always the best course of action. Shabbat Shalom!
Drash
July 12, 2024
In this week’s parashah, Chukat, Miriam, the sister of Moses and Aaron, has died. After her death is announced in the Torah, there is no mention of the people mourning her loss. Instead, right after her death, the people complained that they were thirsty, and there was no water for them to drink. The Torah reads, “Miriam died and was buried there. The community was without water, and they joined against Moses and Aaron. The people quarreled with Moses, saying, ‘If only we had perished when our brothers perished at the instance of the Eternal! Why have you brought the Eternal’s congregation into this wilderness for us and our beasts to die there? Why did you make us leave Egypt to bring us to this wretched place… There is not even water to drink!’” Instead of expressing their grief over the loss of their beloved Miriam, the people immediately complained. While it may seem selfish that they were complaining over a lack of water, there is a link between Miriam’s death and the water.
“There is a midrash about a prophetic dream that Miriam had before Moses was born. In it, a man told her to tell her parents that they would have a son who would be thrown into the water. The waters would become dry, and wonders and miracles would be performed through him. This child would save the People Israel and be their eternal leader,” (Visiting Miriam’s Well: A Study Guide, Women of Reform Judaism). As we know, this prophecy came to fruition. Miriam’s mother gave birth to Moses, whom she put in a basket and sent down the Nile River. While floating down the river, Miriam (only about 6 years old at the time) followed him, watched over him in an effort to keep him safe. Later on, when Moses and Miriam were adults, the waters parted for the Israelites to cross, so that they could escape slavery.
In another midrash, God gave Miriam a well as a result of her devotion to the Israelite people. She gave them emotional and spiritual nourishment in times of distress. With the well, she was able to give them physical nourishment as well. This well accompanied the Israelite people on their journey to the Promised Land, until the day of her death.
When Miriam died, the well dried up, causing the people to complain. Moses turned to God for help. God instructed Moses to take his staff and “order the rock to yield its water.” In the midrash of the well, the well was actually a rock. This rock.
This is where the modern tradition of Miriam’s cup comes from. At Passover seders, many people put out an empty glass for Miriam, and each person pours a little of their own water back into her cup, as a way of thanking her for all the nourishment she gave us.
As members of the Jewish community, let us strive to be like Miriam, giving nourishment to our community. It is our responsibility to replenish the well, keep her memory alive, and help our community to thrive.
Korach
July 5, 2024
Shabbat Shalom! This week’s Torah portion is called Korach, and comes from Numbers 16:1-18:32. In this parashah, Korach was jealous of Moses and Aaron’s position as leaders of the community. He organized a rebellion, with two hundred and fifty people, saying, “You have gone too far! For all the community are holy, all of them, and the Eternal is in their midst. Why then do you raise yourselves above the Eternal’s congregation?” (Numbers 16:3). He was accusing Moses and Aaron of thinking that they were better than the rest of the community.
There is nothing wrong with challenging leadership. In fact, challenging leadership can even be crucial at times. However, the way in which Korach handled himself was problematic. Korach’s behavior reminds me of a petulant child, throwing a tantrum because they didn’t get what they wanted. Instead of privately approaching Moses and Aaron to express his concerns about their leadership in a constructive manner, he chose to pick on them in a public forum, trying to belittle them.
In Pirkei Avot (“The Ethics of Our Fathers”), we read, “Every dispute that is for the sake of Heaven, will in the end endure; But one that is not for the sake of Heaven, will not endure.” In other words, if both sides are arguing for the purpose of seeking the truth, then it is for the sake of Heaven. Any other kind of argument is not. In the case of Korach, he was arguing for the sake of power, and therefore not for the sake of Heaven. If Korach had been able to keep his jealousy in check, maybe he would have become a great leader of the Israelite community in his own right.
Shabbat and Shavuot
June 14, 2024
Shabbat Shalom! This week we celebrated the holiday of Shavuot. On Shavuot, we celebrate the receiving of the Torah and the Ten Commandments at Mt. Sinai. Shavuot is always followed by the Torah portion, Naso. At first glance, Naso may not seem to have anything to do with the holiday of Shavuot. However, upon further research, I have learned that there is a strong connection between the two.
To summarize, parashat Naso comes from Numbers 4:21−7:89. In this parashah, a census is taken, the ritual of the Sotah is delineated, we learn about Nazirite vows, Moses consecrates the Sanctuary, and the heads of each of the twelve tribes of Israel bring offerings. The word “sotah” refers to a woman suspected of committing adultery. The ritual of the Sotah is used to determine whether or not she is guilty. A Nazir or Nazirite is someone who “has vowed to consecrate themselves to God for a period of time, abstaining from all intoxicants… hair cutting.” They are also forbidden from coming near a corpse, even if the deceased is a close relative, as they will be deemed ritually impure. “The word nazir itself means ‘separate,’ (and in reflexive conjugations it means “abstain”), but in modern Hebrew it is the word used for ‘monk,’” (https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/what-is-a-nazir/).
So how does this parashah connect with the holiday of Shavuot? The name of our Torah portion, “Naso,” is often defined as “take a census,” but it literally means, “lift up.” In taking the census of each of the tribes, we read, “Lift up the head of the children of…” As Rabbi Doniel Z. Kramer explains in his D’var Torah on the JCCA website: Our Rabbis teach that “Shavuot represents the climax of what would be the highest Jewish experience—to hear the words of the Ten Commandments given directly by God. Thereafter, every Jew who reaffirms an allegiance to the Torah and its commandments and ethical teachings, should proudly be ‘lifting up their heads’ in thankfulness for this special relationship with the Divine,” (https://jcca.org/news-and-views/parashat-naso-like-gifts-to-the-divine-every-human-being-has-value/).
Just as Shavuot is always followed by parashat Naso, it is always preceded with parashat B’Midbar. In B’Midbar, a census is taken as well. Rabbi Lawrence Edwards of Congregation Or Chadash in Chicago writes, “B’midbar is always the Torah portion read immediately before Shavuot, suggesting that, in order to be ready to receive the Torah each person must be counted (“naso”) and standing in the right place.” The same verb of “naso” is used here as well. First we must lift up our heads/minds to hear/receive the Torah (parashat BaMidbar), then we receive the Torah (Shavuot), and finally, we must lift up our heads in thanksgiving (parashat Naso).
We believe that all Jewish people throughout time stood at the foot of Mt. Sinai to receive the Torah and the Ten Commandments. Therefore, we must understand the phrase “Naso et rosh,” “lift up the head,” to be more than just an idiom for taking a census. We are not just counting bodies. We are counting souls.
I’d like to refer back to Rabbi Kramer’s drash. He shared the following: “A Chassidic rabbi with many children was once asked in an interview how many children he actually had. He replied, ‘One!’ Incredulous, the questioner persisted, and the rabbi clarified: ‘I was correct when I told you that I only have ‘one’: I have one Shmuel, one Leah, one Sarah.….’” God did not give the Torah to one group of people. God gave the Torah to each and every one of us. We must “lift up our heads” in gratitude and pride to accept the Torah into our hearts and lives. Shabbat Shalom!
October 8
Sermon for 5/17/24
Shabbat Shalom! This past week, we observed two modern Jewish holidays: Yom HaZikaron and Yom Ha’Atzmaut. Yom HaZikaron is Israel’s Memorial Day, when we honor the memory of fallen Israeli soldiers. It is a somber holiday. Yom Ha’Atzmaut is Israel’s Independence Day. It is typically a joyous occasion. However, it is difficult for us to want to celebrate Israel’s independence in this current climate.
Israel is still at war with Hamas. Anitsemitism is running rampant, particularly on college campuses across the United States. It has been 224 days since the attack on October 7. Hostages have not yet been released. Innocent lives have been lost. It’s really hard for us to want to celebrate when we have lost so much. However, as I have said time and again, if we don’t celebrate our holidays, all our holidays, it is as though hatred and antisemitism have won. Therefore, it is imperative that we celebrate.
Last Shabbat, many of the Jewish organizations in Western Massachusetts (where I live) came together to host Yossi Klein Halevi for the weekend. For those of you who do not know, Yossi Klein Halevi is a senior fellow at the Shalom Hartman Institute in Jerusalem and co-director of the Institute’s Muslim Leadership Initiative (MLI), which teaches emerging young Muslim American leaders about Judaism, Jewish identity and Israel. He is an author, whose latest book “Letters to My Palestinian Neighbor,” is a New York Times bestseller. I was fortunate to be able to attend one of the three lectures he gave last week.
During Halevi’s talk, he said something that really struck a chord with me. He said that we need to focus on October 8, the day after Hamas attacked innocent people attending an outdoor concert. Yes, October 7 was a terrible day. As a global Jewish community, we grieve and mourn those who lost their lives, and we are sad and worried about the hostages. However, the next day, we didn’t give up or give in. We did not play the role of victim. Instead, we decided not to let hate win. Halevi said that the Jewish people have an instinct for solidarity that kicked in right away.
Halevi moved to Israel in 1982. When I spoke with him one-on-one, he mentioned that this is the worst time he has experienced living in Israel. To the congregation, he said that October 7 was the death of the promise of Zionism because the government failed to keep the victims safe. October 8 represents preserving the hope of Zionism. While I am not one to talk about politics, I thought his perspective was worth sharing. I’d like to add that I think that October 8 represents more than preserving the hope of Zionism; it represents the hope of preserving the Jewish people.
I’d also like to take this opportunity to remind all of us that while Israel was established as a Jewish state, it was meant to be more than that. We read in the Declaration of the Establishment of the State of Israel, “THE STATE OF ISRAEL will be open for Jewish immigration and for the Ingathering of the Exiles; it will foster the development of the country for the benefit of all its inhabitants; it will be based on freedom, justice and peace as envisaged by the prophets of Israel; it will ensure complete equality of social and political rights to all its inhabitants irrespective of religion, race or sex; it will guarantee freedom of religion, conscience, language, education and culture; it will safeguard the Holy Places of all religions; and it will be faithful to the principles of the Charter of the United Nations.
WE APPEAL — in the very midst of the onslaught launched against us now for months — to the Arab inhabitants of the State of Israel to preserve peace and participate in the upbuilding of the State on the basis of full and equal citizenship and due representation in all its provisional and permanent institutions.
WE EXTEND our hand to all neighboring states and their peoples in an offer of peace and good neighborliness, and appeal to them to establish bonds of cooperation and mutual help with the sovereign Jewish people settled in its own land. The State of Israel is prepared to do its share in a common effort for the advancement of the entire Middle East.
People often forget these words. It is important for us to remember that Israel, the modern Jewish state of Israel, was meant to be a heaven and haven for all peoples. It was meant to be a place of hope. That’s why the national anthem is “HaTikvah,” “The Hope.”
Rick Recht is an American Jewish singer/songwriter. He wrote a song about “HaTikvah,” and it’s called “The Hope.”
This is the hope
The hope is still real
A Jewish home
In Israel
This is the time
We stand as one
If not now when
We must be strong
Our hearts turn to the east
This is the hope that holds us together
Hatikvah, the hope that will last forever
This is the hope that holds us together
Hatikvah, the hope is still real
This is the hope
Two thousand years
We pray for freedom
Through pain and tears
This is our faith
This is our voice
This is our promise
This is our choice
Our hearts turn to the east…
Hatikvah, the hope is real
Hatikvah, our home Israel
Lihiyot am chofshi b’arzeinu
B’eretz tzion Yerushalayim
GSJC Annual Meeting
4/21/24
This week we will celebrate the holiday of Passover. Many of us have been preparing our houses for the holiday by eliminating all hametz, all foods with leavening in them. Traditionally, we take a candle and a feather, and go through every crevice of our homes to make sure that there isn’t even one drop of hametz left. On Monday night, Jewish people around the world will attend a seder, a meal with a specific order and specific foods to help us remember the Exodus. Once we were slaves, now we are free.
Passover is my favorite holiday, as it is extremely experiential. Every morsel of food we eat helps to tell the story. The Passover meal is called a seder, which means, “order,” because there is an order in which we must eat the food to tell the story properly. We must not sit up or hurry through the seder. Instead, we are supposed to recline and relax because we are free. When we were slaves, we did not have the luxury of being able to sit back. We ask questions, sing songs, and eat foods that not only fill our bellies, but fill our souls. Matzah ball soup is Jewish penicillin, and everything is better with schmaltz (chicken fat).
Why do we retell this story every year? I think, given the events of October 7, and the threats we have had onour own building, we know why. I often say that we retell the story of the Exodus to remind ourselves of what it was like to be enslaved, to be persecuted just for being Jewish. Others are currently enslaved. We know how they feel, and we must help. However, I feel the need to add that we retell the story to remind ourselves that while we are still being persecuted, and some of our own people are currently being held in captivity, we need to remember that we have prevailed in the past, and we will prevail again. In fact, by being here at GSJC, by celebrating Passover, we continue to prevail.
For all of us, these past six months have been difficult. It is easy to want to stay away, to stay at home, hiding under the covers. But everyone keeps coming back, and we have continued to keep our doors open. We need each other, to support each other. By being here, hate has lost and we have won. Let’s keep winning.
Judaism and The Solar Eclipse
Sermon for 4/12/2024
By Rabbi Alana Wasserman
Shabbat Shalom! How many of you were able to step outside on Monday to witness the solar eclipse? I was fortunate to be able to do so. Where I live, we were able to see 93% of the eclipse. In 2017, my family and I lived in Greenville, SC, where we were able to see the totality. While 93% was great, 100% was amazing. The world went dark and quiet and peaceful for four minutes.
An eclipse is such an awe-inspiring event. It’s not merely the moon blocking the light of the sun (or the other way around, if it is a lunar eclipse). The rest of nature is affected by this event. Birds and bugs change their sounds; animals act as if night is approaching. And yet, eclipses have not always been seen as something positive in Judaism. In fact, according to the Talmud, eclipses (both solar and lunar) were considered bad omens for the whole world.
I’m not entirely surprised by this notion. Darkness can be scary. It can represent fear of the unknown. Things are easier to see and do in the light, and much more difficult in the dark. Bad things are more inclined to happen when others can’t see them. In the Talmud, we read, “The Sages taught: When the sun is eclipsed it is a bad omen for the entire world. To what is this matter comparable? It is comparable to a king of flesh and blood who prepared a feast for his servants and placed a lantern before them to illuminate the hall. He became angry at them and said to his servant: Take the lantern from before them and seat them in darkness.” While it is not mentioned why the king became angry with his servants, his punishment was to keep them in the dark. The rabbis understood this to mean that suddenly taking away the natural light is a sign of God’s anger or disappointment in us, just as taking away the lanterns signified the king’s displeasure towards his servants.
Yet, a solar “eclipse doesn’t bring about total darkness. Even at totality, there is a penumbra around the moon, and before and after rays of light explode outward. These “rays of hope” remind us that God is always with us, even in the darkness,” writes Seth Rogovoy of “The Forward” in this article, The secret Jewish history of the solar eclipse (forward.com).
Today we know there is a scientific explanation for the eclipse, and that it is not something to be feared. Instead, we acknowledge it as a natural wonder. Yet, some people still see the eclipse as a grave moment, not one deserving of a blessing. For example, the Lubavitcher Rebbe Schneerson believed that eclispes were “meant to be opportunities for increasing prayer and introspection – as opposed to prompting joyous blessings, [and so] we do not recite a blessing when witnessing one.”
However, when it comes to other natural wonders, we obligated to recite a special blessing: Baruch Ata Adonai, Eloheinu Melech Ha’Olam, Oseh Ma’aseh Breishit, which means, “Blessed are You God, Ruler of the universe, who forms the works of Creation.” We say this blessing when we are in awe of a mountain, lightning, or natural body of water. In my opinion, I think an eclipse is worthy of this blessing as well, as it is also a natural wonder. We see birds and trees and grass everyday, so it can be easy to forget the wondrousness of nature. Seeing something as special and unique as an eclipse reminds just how special nature, God’s creation, really is.
Shabbat Shalom!
The Beginning of Life
Sermon for 3/8/24
Shabbat Shalom! Last year, at our Adult Education class on Theology, the subject of death and the afterlife came up. I promised that I would devote an entire Adult Education class to this topic at another time. That time will be this Sunday. In an effort to prepare for this Adult Ed, tonight we will learn about what Judaism says about when life begins.
A few weeks ago, we read from Parashat Mishpatim, which says, “When men fight, and one of them pushes a pregnant woman and a miscarriage results, but no other damage ensues, the one responsible shall be fined according as the woman’s husband may exact from him, the payment to be based on reckoning. But if other damage ensues, the penalty shall be life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound, bruise for bruise,” (Exodus 21:22-25). If a miscarriage results from a pregnant woman being hurt in a fight, then she (and her husband) will receive monetary compensation for her loss. However, if a man or woman dies from being hurt in a fight, it says, “the penalty shall be life for life, eye for eye…” Now, we are not going to discuss the death penalty tonight (maybe that could be another Adult Education class for next year). Instead, I want to point out that this means that the unborn fetus is not considered alive, according to Jewish law. So, when does life begin, according to Jewish law?
In order to answer this question, I would like to share with you an article from TheTorah.com written by Dr.Ronit Irshai. In “A Fetus Is Not an Independent Life: Abortion in the Talmud,” Dr. Irshai says that the rabbis teach us that there are four stages of fetal development that lead towards personhood. They are:
- “Until the fetus is formed—40 days in the Hellenistic medical concept—the fetus has no status at all.” One of the texts Dr. Irshai uses as a reference is, “m. Niddah 3:7 [If] a [woman] miscarries on the fortieth day, she need not be concerned about [it being] a fetus. On the forty-first day, she should count [her birth impurity as] for both male and female, and her menstrual impurity.” This leads into the second stage, which says,
- “From 41 days until the beginning of active labor, the fetus is a part of the mother.”
- “At active labor, the fetus is an independent, though inferior, life.”
- “Once the head (or more) of the fetus is outside the mother, it is a human life like any other.”
According to the Talmud, when a woman is in active labor, the fetus begins to become a person. However, only “once the head (or more) is outside of the mother, (is it truly) a human life like any other,” (A Fetus Is Not an Independent Life: Abortion in the Talmud – TheTorah.com). From conception until that point, the fetus is not considered a person yet. Labor and delivery is what changes the fetus’ status “from nonperson to person,” (The Beginning of Life in Judaism | My Jewish Learning).
To go a step further, I decided to do a little more research as to why parents wait until the 8th day to announce their baby’s name. I came across something that I had never learned before. According to the Zohar (the primary book of the Jewish mystical movement known as Kabbalah), a “boy only receives the full measure of his soul at the Bris, and a person cannot truly be “named” until attaining that completion, (Zohar – Lech Lecha 93a, Ta’amei Minhagim 929).”
Last year, we decided to have an adult education class on death and the afterlife because it came up in our adult education class on God and theology, which is why we are having that class this Sunday. Just as that class opened up a new topic for us, so too does the topic of “when life begins” open up many other topics: conception, abortion, women’s rights, the death penalty, etc. The purpose of tonight’s “sermon” was really for us to learn what Judaism teaches. I hope we all learned something, and I look forward to learning even more with you on Sunday. Shabbat Shalom!
Gifts of the Heart
Sermon for 2/16/2024
Shabbat Shalom! This week’s Torah portion is called Terumah, which means “gifts.” In this parashah, God commands the people of Israel to help build the Tabernacle so that God may dwell among them. Why does God need a Tabernacle? Isn’t God supposed to be everywhere? What is the purpose of the Tabernacle?
Sometimes, it can be hard for us to find God or holiness. It can be especially difficult when there is so much hatred and anger in our world. Our own synagogue has experienced this hatred firsthand with two bomb threats since October 7. Our newsfeeds and social media are overflowing with article after article about the continuous rise of antisemitism around the world. Which is why it was such a delightful surprise to find an article in the Forward about a Palestinian restauranteur who invited 1300 people to his restaurant for Shabbat dinner at the end of January.
Back in December, Abdul Elenani opened a new branch of his restaurant, Ayat. After it opened, Elenani and his wife, Ayat (for whom the restaurant is named) received many hateful comments online, including death threats, due to their opposition to Israel’s invasion of Gaza. Instead of arguing, Elenani decided to take a different approach. He took to Instagram, inviting people to come to Shabbat dinner at his restaurant. In addition to his own cooking, he also ordered kosher food to ensure that everyone would feel welcome. He said that he wanted to give people “an opportunity to share stories, embrace diverse perspectives, and celebrate our shared humanity,” (Palestinian Restaurant Hosts Shabbat Dinner for Jewish Community (businessinsider.com)). And they did. People from different backgrounds came together to break bread, celebrate Shabbat, and learn about each other in the hopes of creating peace. There were Zionists, anti-Zionists, Palestinians, and Jews. While he did receive some initial backlash from members of his own community, that did not deter Elenani, nor did it deter many others from his community. “We’re trying to get into just the essence of Judaism, the essence of Islam, and how when it comes together, it’s really a beautiful thing.”
Did this Shabbat dinner solve all of the world’s problems? No, it did not. But what it did do was create an open dialogue in a peaceful manner between two opposing sides. “As long as we’re doing something positive in the world, that’s all I care about,” Elenani said (Why this Palestinian restaurant hosted Shabbat for the neigborhood – The Forward).
So what does all this have to do with building a Tabernacle? Well, when God commanded the people to build the Tabernacle, God said, “Tell the Israelite people to bring Me gifts (t’rumah); you shall accept gifts for Me from every person whose heart is so moved,” (Exodus 25:2). In other words, God wants people to donate items for the Tabernacle, but God wants these donations to come from their hearts, and not because they were told to do so. This adds to the holiness of the structure itself. However, I think there’s even more to it.
Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks once wrote, “It is then that God said: Let them build something together. This simple command transformed the Israelites. During the whole construction of the Tabernacle there were no complaints. The entire people contributed – some gold, silver, or bronze, some brought skins and drapes, others gave their time and skill. They gave so much that Moses had to order them to stop. A remarkable proposition is being framed here: It is not what God does for us that transforms us. It is what we do for God,” (The Home We Build Together | Terumah | Covenant & Conversation | The Rabbi Sacks Legacy). Building the Tabernacle was about creating holiness within the community, just as Elenani created a holy space with his Palestinian Shabbat Dinner. He brought the food, and the guests brought their own perspectives to share. That was everyone’s gift of the heart – and listening to each other in a peaceful and respectful manner.
It is my hope that as we continue on in 2024, we have more news articles like this, and less about hate and antisemitism. Let us all bring gifts of the heart into everything we do, so that one day, we will have peace. Shabbat Shalom!
Tu B’Shvat and MLK Weekend
Sermon For 1/12/24
By Rabbi Alana Wasserman
Shabbat Shalom! This weekend, we celebrate Martin Luther King Day. This month, we also celebrate the holiday of Tu B’Shvat, the “birthday of the trees.” We use Martin Luther King Day as an opportunity to learn about racism, and what we can do to combat it. We have taken Tu B’Shvat to be more than just “the birthday of the trees;” we see it more as a day to learn about issues facing our environment today. Now, originally, I thought I would only talk about Tu B’Shvat this evening, but, recently, I was introduced to the term “environmental racism.”
What is “environmental racism?” According to the Natural Resources Defence Council (NRDC), “The phrase environmental racism was coined by civil rights leader Dr. Benjamin F. Chavis Jr. He defined it as the intentional siting of polluting and waste facilities in communities primarily populated by African Americans, Latines, Indigenous People, Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders, migrant farmworkers, and low-income workers… sociologist Robert Bullard… expanded the definition… as ‘any policy , practice, or directive that differentially affects or disadvantages (where intended or unintended) individuals, groups, or communities based on race,’” (What Is Environmental Racism? (nrdc.org)). Studies have shown that African Americans breathe in air that is 38% more polluted, and African Americans have a higher rate of asthma. Environmental racism is an injustice that has been going on for decades.
So what can we do to combat environmental racism? We can become a part of the environmental justice movement. We can learn about the environmental issues currently facing minorities in our own towns and cities and see where we can make improvements. We can listen to the people in the communities most impacted by environmental racism, and work with them to create policies to help reduce pollution.
In the Torah, in the story of creation, God created human beings on the 6th day. We read that we were all created Btzelem Elohim, in the image of God, which means that no one person is greater or less than another; we are all equal in the eyes of God.This is a reminder that while we may all have our differences we are all of equal worth.
There’s a midrash that goes along with the story of creation. After God created Adam and Eve, God showed them the rest of creation. God said, “Look at my works! See how beautiful they are – how excellent! All has been created for your sake… So reflect on this, and take care not to foul or destroy my world. For if you do, there will be none to repair it after you. And what is worse, you will bring death even to the righteous people in the future.”
Tu B’Shvat is about more than just trees, and Martin Luther King Day is about more than just one man. It is our responsibility to take care of the earth, not just for ourselves, but for all peoples. Let us come together to fight environmental injustice, and work for the day when everyone will have access to clean, fresh air and water.
Mel Gibson: To Forgive Or Not To Forgive
Yom Kippur Sermon 5784 (2023-2024)
By Rabbi Alana Wasserman
Shanah tovah! One day during the summer, when chatting with my husband and my friend, we came upon the subject of Mel Gibson and antisemitism. As you may know, in 2004, Gibson produced, directed, and co-wrote “The Passion of the Christ.” Both the Anti-Defamation League and the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops issued a statement calling the movie “troublesome,” and “anti-Semitic.” Two years later, Gibson was pulled over for drunk driving. During his traffic stop, Gibson used some choice expletives to describe Jews. He also told Sheriff’s Deputy James Mee, “The Jews are responsible for all the wars in the world.” Following this, he asked Deputy Mee if he was Jewish, which he is.
During this conversation with my friend, she informed us that in 2017, a news article came out, announcing that Gibson had been donating substantial funds to an organization called The Survivor Mitzvah Project, which helps Holocaust survivors living in the former Soviet Union, with home visits, financial aid, and medical supplies. Until this moment, I was unaware of Gibson’s donations. After this conversation, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was Gibson’s way of trying to do teshuvah. Was he seeking penance for his horrible anti-Semitic behavior? If so, are we obligated to forgive him?
When thinking about forgiving someone, we must first think about what actions the offender took to show they are truly repentant. In Judaism, this is called teshuvah. The Hebrew word teshuvah literally means, “turn” or “return.” In the context of the High Holy Days, we turn away from evil and turn towards good. We return to the path ofrighteousness. The rules regarding teshuvah are spelled out by Maimonides in his “Laws of Teshuvah.” According to Maimonides, there are three steps to teshuvah: 1. Confess; 2. Take action so that you learn from your mistake, and never do it again; and 3. Apologize to those whom you have wronged.
How do we know if someone’s teshuvah is truly enough, meaningful, worthwhile?I want to preface the answer to this question by saying that no one is perfect. We are all human, and teshuvah is supposed to be a deep and meaningful process for all parties involved. Since we are talking about a celebrity in this particular instance, let’s look at how other celebrities repented for their misdeeds. In 2022, Whoopi Goldberg was suspended from “The View” for two weeks due to remarks she made about the Holocaust. She said, “The Holocaust was not about race,” and, as we all know, the Nazis saw the Jews as an inferior race. In addition to issuing multiple apologies, Goldberg reached out to the Anti-Defamation League (ADL). Frederic L. Bloch, the chief growth officer of the ADL, said, “We criticized this misinformed statement and called for Goldberg to get her facts right and apologize. She did so, and graciously invited our CEO Jonathan Greenblatt to come onto The View to talk about the racial underpinnings of the Holocaust and the problems caused by comments like Goldberg’s.” By acknowledging her mistake, reaching out to the ADL to educate herself so that she will not make the same mistake again, and making formal apologies, Goldberg completed the necessary steps of teshuvah.
In 2020, Nick Cannon was temporarily fired as host of “The Masked Singer” as punishment for antisemitic statements he made on his podcast, “Cannon’s Class.” After Cannon issued an apology, he began a collaboration with the ADL CEO, Jonathan Greenblatt. They co-host a podcast called “2 Hate Or Not 2 Hate.” The purpose of the podcast is to talk “about the equation of our two communities from two different perspectives… We voice our side, or the perspective as a Black man, and then he voices his side from a Jewish man. Just even that alone is helpful and educational for both communities,” said Cannon in an interview with AllHipHop. By acknowledging his mistake, reaching out to the ADL to educate himself so that he will not make the same mistake again, and making formal apologies, Cannon also completed the necessary steps of teshuvah. In both Cannon and Goldberg’s cases, they also took steps to educate other people so that they will learn not to make the same mistakes they did.They both showed that they are truly remorseful.
After someone apologizes, it is up to the injured party to decide whether or not to forgive. What does it mean to forgive? In Judaism there are three levels of forgiveness: mechilah, selichah, and kapparah. Kapparah means “atonement” or “purification,” and is only granted by God. As we are talking about human beings forgiving other human beings, I would like to focus on the other two kinds of forgiveness: mechilah and selichah. Mechilah basically means “pardon.” The offender has taken all the appropriate steps for teshuvah, and the victim has deemed that they no longer owe them. This pardon is not heartfelt, but closes the chapter on the incident. It happened, it’s done, let’s move on separately. Selichah, on the other hand, means “forgiveness,” and is heartfelt. While the relationship between the offender and victim may have been altered, their relationship can move forward together.
Now let’s look at what steps Mel Gibson has taken on his path of teshuvah. After his anti-Semitic tirade, he did apologize for his behavior. In his apology, he said, “I’m not just asking for forgiveness. I would like to take it one step further, and meet with leaders in the Jewish community, with whom I can have a one on one discussion to discern the appropriate path for healing.” While this is a lovely sentiment, it is something Gibson did not follow through with. As far as I know the only step he has taken besides saying these words is donating money to The Survivor Mitzvah Project. While donating money to such a noble cause is important, Gibson has missed the mark. I have not heard him do anything to educate himself on Judaism or anti-Semitism. He has not taken the appropriate steps to ensure that he will never do or say anything antisemitic again. In fact, instead, he seems to have made himself the victim. In an interview with Stephen Colbert in 2016, he said, “it’s a pity, after 30 or 40 years of doing something, you get judged on one night. And then you spend the next 10 years suffering the scourges of perception.” He mentioned nothing of the suffering he caused to the Jewish community.
In order to be able to forgive someone, Judaism says that the offender must successfully complete all the steps of teshuvah. I’m not sure that Gibson has done that, and therefore, many of us in the Jewish community wrestle with forgiving him. We cannot accept hollow apologies, especially when it comes to antisemitism. That leads us down a dangerous path. Yet, we need to be able to find some sense of healing and wholeness, and so does Gibson. Today is our day of atonement. The word atonement is made up of three words “at-one-ment.” On this day, we are looking for ways to make ourselves one, whole again. While repentance and forgiveness can help, they are not the only ways to achieve wholeness and healing. In Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg’s book “On Repentance and Repair,” she quotes psychologist Martha Crawford, saying, “There are many ways to come to terms with harms and violations perpetrated by others. Forgiveness is only one of them. Holding people accountable is another.” We must hold Mel Gibson, and others like him, accountable. It is my hope that he will take further steps to educate himself and find the atonement that he seeks, so that we may find the at-one-ment that we seek. When he does, I will be ready to give the forgiveness that he will deserve.
As we reflect on the past year, may each of us hold ourselves accountable for our own misdeeds. Let each of us continue to learn and grow as we seek to do our own teshuvah, and let us hold others accountable for their misdeeds so that they may do heartfelt, meaningful teshuvah as well. The process of teshuvah and forgiveness is not easy, but it is important, as it helps to transform us from the person we once were to the person we hope to become in the New Year. Gemar Chatimah Tovah.
The Black Dot
Kol Nidre Sermon for September 25, 2023 (5784)
By Rabbi Alana Wasserman
Shanah tovah! There is a story in the public domain that I would like to share with you tonight.
One day, a professor stood in front of his class, and informed them of a surprise exam. He held up a sheet of white paper with a black dot on it and instructed his students to write an essay describing what they saw. At the end of the period, the professor read each student’s paper aloud in front of the entire class. Every student described the black dot – it’s size, it’s shape, it’s location on the page, etc. However, not a single student described the rest of the paper – not it’s size, not it’s shape, not it’s color. Everyone focused solely on the black dot.
At the end of the class, the professor told the students that no one will receive a grade for this test. Instead, he wanted to give them some food for thought. The point of this exercise was to remind the students that there is more to life than just the dark spots. The black spots of our lives don’t define our lives. They don’t define who we are. We must look at the bigger picture, the whole picture. I think this story is very apropos for Kol Nidre and Yom Kippur.
The ten days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are referred to as Aseret Y’mei T’shuvah, which means the Ten Days of Repentance. During this time, we reflect on the past year, and we focus on the mistakes we made, our misdeeds, and take appropriate action to repent and seek forgiveness from those whom we have wronged.We focus on the black dots of our lives. We do this so that we can begin the new year with a “clean slate.” However, the truth is, none of us ever really has a clean slate. The black dots don’t disappear.
On Rosh Hashanah, many of us went to a body of water to perform the ceremony of tashlich, which means “to cast away.” When performing tashlich, we take birdseed (we used to take bread, but that is not safe for the wildlife), and symbolically cast away our sins of the past year by throwing the birdseed into the water. But the truth is that we don’t actually throw away our sins. They remain with us. Just like the black dot on the white paper, our sins cannot be washed off.
What is the point of doing teshuvah if we are never fully absolved of our sins? Does the fact that we never really get a clean slate mean that we are bad people? Are we forever punished for our misdeeds? Or is there something more for us to learn here?
It is disheartening to think that we never truly have a clean slate. Yet, we need to remember that no one is perfect. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote in God In Search of Man: A Philosophy of Judaism, “Should we… despair because of being unable to retain perfect purity? We should, if perfection were our goal. However, we are not obliged to be perfect once and for all, but only to rise again and again beyond the level of the self. Perfection is divine, and to make it a goal of [humans] is to call on [human beings] to be divine. All we can do is try to wring our hearts clean in contrition… To be contrite at our failures is holier than to be complacent in perfection.”
No human being is perfect. Therefore, striving for perfection only sets us up for failure (as we are not divine beings). What we can do is strive to do better. Whenever we sin or make a mistake, the thing to do is pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and figure out how not to do that again.
On page 85 of our prayer book, Mishkan Hanefesh for Yom Kippur, there is a reading entitled, “Study Text on T’shuvah,” by Louis Newman. We read, “Resh Lakish said: ‘Great is repentance, for it transforms one’s deliberate sins into merits’ (Talmud, Yoma 86b). In general, we think of repentance as a way of achieving expiation for the wrongs we have done. But Resh Lakish’s teaching points us in a new and surprising direction… The focus is not on changing the past, but on defining a new direction for the future… Transgressions can become the springboard for tremendous moral growth, if only we do the hard work of t’shuvah that enables us to learn from our mistakes.” Newman then goes on to quote Rabbi Soloveitchik, who said, “Sin is not to be forgotten or blotted out… sin has to be remembered. It is the memory of sin that releases the power within the inner depths of the soul of the penitent to do greater things than ever before. The energy of sin can be used to bring one to new heights.”
The black dots of our lives, the sins we committed in the past, are not meant to be erased. They are supposed to stay with us, so that we may learn and grow from them. They are the impetus for us to make positive changes in our lives. They are the force to make us better people.
The only way these spots can help to make us better people is if we confront them head on. That is no easy task. Most people just wish they could go back in time and prevent their misdeed from ever happening in the first place. But unless someone invents a time machine, we do have to do the work of teshuvah. To quote Rabbi Amanda Greene of Chicago Sinai Congregation, Yom Kippur “is not only a day to examine who we are, but a day to examine who we are becoming… our regret is our reminder of the past, a symbol of how we can learn from our past, a symbol of how it is never too late to do Teshuvah,” (https://www.chicagosinai.org/worship/sermons/from-regret-to-comfort).
And here is the good news: the more we learn from the dark spots that we already have, the more likely we are to have less dark spots in the future. The regret of our misdeeds is not meant to be like a scarlet letter, letting everyone know we were wrong. Instead, they are more like warning signs saying “WRONG WAY” or “DEAD END.”
As we enter into the year 5784, let the dark spots of our past not impede the vision of our future, but instead, help us to get to a better future. Let us see ourselves for what we really are – a lovely piece of paper with a few smudges. We are not this (a piece of paper with giant splotches), but something more like this (a piece of paper with a smattering of dots). Let us remember that the dark spots are a part of who we are, and who we will be, but they are not all we are.
Gemar Chatimah Tovah!
“The Measure”
A Rosh Hashanah Sermon 5784 (2023-4)
By Rabbi Alana Wasserman
Shanah tovah! As many of you know by now, I started a tradition years ago of beginning at least one High Holy Day sermon with a section of a song from a Broadway show. Today, I would like to begin with “Seasons of Love,” from the musical, “Rent.”
Five hundred twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes
Five hundred twenty-five thousand moments, oh dear
Five hundred twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes
How do you measure, measure a year?
In daylights, in sunsets
In midnights, in cups of coffee
In inches, in miles, in laughter in strife
In five hundred twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes
How do you measure a year in the life?
Today, as we reflect on the past year, and prepare to welcome the year 5784, we think about how we measure our lives.
Earlier this year, our synagogue book club read The Measure, by Nikki Erlick. In this story, everyone in the entire world over the age of 21 wakes up one morning to find a box with a string inside of it. Each string is a different length. Without giving away too much of the story (SPOILER ALERT!), the strings determine the length of each person’s life. The book raises a number of questions: What would you do if you were given a short string? What would you do if you were given a long string? Would you even open the box to find out? How do you measure your life? Today, as we celebrate Rosh Hashanah, and take a cheshbon hanefesh, an accounting of our souls, I ask the same question as they do in both The Measure and in “Rent”: how do we measure life/a yearof our lives?
In Judaism, counting is important. In the story of creation, we read, “There was evening, there was morning, the first day… there was evening, there was morning, the second day…etc.” all the way to Shabbat. We are taught to count the Omer (the days between Passover and Shavuot). We count to make sure there are enough people to form a minyan (a quorum of ten people). We even have the Book of Numbers in the Torah. However, sometimes counting has nothing to do with numbers.
Every Shabbat morning, we read a line from Psalm 90 during Pesukei d’Zimra, “Verses of Praise,” “Teach us to count our days rightly, that we may obtain a wise heart.”Clearly, we are not talking about counting days like 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7… otherwise, the line would end with “teach us to count our days.” What does it mean “to count our days rightly?”
Let us look to our fore-parents, Sarah and Abraham, for some guidance. In the first line of the Torah portion, Chayei Sarah (“the life of Sarah”) (Genesis 23:1), we read, “And the life of Sarah was one hundred twenty-seven years, these were the years of the life of Sarah.” While Sarah’s age is repeated twice, the line is not redundant. Instead, we understand this line to mean that Sarah lived to be one hundred and twenty-sevenyears old and she made the most of each of these years – she made them count. With the passing of Abraham, we read “And these are the days of the years of Abraham’s life which he lived, a hundred and seventy-five years. And Abraham expired, and died in a good old age, an old man, and full of years...” The rabbis interpreted these lines to mean the same thing – the repetition of Abraham being old was meant to show that he made the most of every day. How can we make the most of every day?
According to the Talmud, we make the most of every day through acts of righteousness and lovingkindness. In a section of the Talmud called Berakhot (18a-b), we learn that those who are righteous in life are considered alive even after death. Their contributions to the world are so great that they live on. Take our matriarch, Sarah, for example. The Torah portion that begins with her death is called Chayei Sarah, which means, “the life of Sarah.” Even in death, she is thought of as alive because of all her acts of lovingkindness. Another example is Moses. Our sages said that Moses did not die, but instead, ascended up to heaven.
In teaching that the righteous never die, the Talmud goes on to say that those who are wicked in life are considered dead even while they are still living. I understand this to mean that those who are wicked bring negativity into the world, which kills the soul.
A righteous person will live on through others because of their righteous deeds. They brought good into the world, and it continues long after they are gone. The opposite is true for the wicked. No one wants to remember those who brought evil into the world. Remember, we are taught to blot out the names of Amalek and Haman. We wish to forget them.
A person’s life is not measured by how long they lived, but how they spent their time, the actions they took, the love they had. A person’s life is measured in good deeds, a person’s life is measured in love. As Ms. Erlick wrote in The Measure (AGAIN, WARNING, POSSIBLY ANOTHER SPOILER!), “perhaps the length (of the string) didn’t matter. That the beginning and the end may have been chosen for us, the string already spun, but the middle had always been left undetermined, to be woven and shaped by us.” We all know when our lives began (on our birthdays). In this book, everyone also has the opportunity to know when it will end. The point of both the book and our actual lives is not to worry about how many years we have on this Earth, but instead, to make our time on Earth matter.
In our liturgy this morning, we read, Utshuvah, utfilah, utzdakah maavirin et roahag’zeirah. “But repentance, prayer, and righteous acts temper judgement’s severe decree.” No one is perfect. This line reminds us of that. However, this line also reminds us that we have the opportunity to change, to make our lives better, to give our lives meaning and purpose, by doing good deeds. Those good deeds are the true yardstick by which we measure our years, not the number of days. Love is how we measure our years.
“Seasons of Love” ends with the line, “Measure your life in love,” (which I will not sing, because it is in an extremely high note!). That is what Judaism teaches us to do. As we enter into 5784, let us fill our days with acts of righteousness and love. For when we do, our lives will be full. Shanah tovah!
The Last Day
Rosh Hashanah Sermon 5784/2023-4
By Rabbi Alana Wasserman
Shanah tovah! A few weeks ago, I watched a webinar from the Central Conference of American Rabbis called, “Sermons For 5784: Preaching To The Heart And Mind.” One of the teachers of this webinar, Rabbi David Stern (Senior Rabbi of Temple Emanuel in Dallas, Texas) began his segment by asking the following question: “Would you plant a seed if you knew that today was the last day of Earth’s existence?” Rabbi Stern was inspired to ask this question by poet and philanthropist, W. S. MerwinIn the late 1970’s, Merwin took steps to revitalize a large section of land in Hawaii that had been destroyed by deforestation and improper care of the land. By 2010, Merwin and his wife created the Merwin Conservancy, which covers over 19 acres, and protects over 3000 trees that had been planted in the place where the deforestation had occurred. This question really piqued my interest, as my daughters have been expressing their concerns over the environment more and more over the last few months. However, I also think this question can be applied to more than our environmental concerns. So today, on Rosh Hashanah, Hayom Harat Ha’olam, the birthday of the world, our day to take a cheshbon hanefesh, an accounting of our souls, I throw this question to all of us: Would you plant a seed if you knew that today was the last day of Earth? Why or why not?
Why would someone want to plant a seed on the last day of the Earth anyway? If it’s the last day, that means there is no future, and therefore no need for planting anything new, right? Yet, I cannot help but wonder if I would (or at least have someone do it on my behalf, as every plant I touch dies). I asked my older daughter, Peri, what she would do, and she told me that she would go ahead and plant the seed. When I asked her why, she said, “Because why not? Until it’s gone, it is still our Earth. Also,what if something changes at the last second, and today is not the last day? What if the change is the seed?’
When Peri said this, she reminded me of a saying by Rabbi Hillel: “B’makomshe’ayn anashim histadeil lihiyot ish,” which means, “In a place where there are no people, be a person,” (Pirkei Avot 2:6). What Rabbi Hillel meant by this is in a place where there’s no humanity, no compassion, no love, no care, be the one to bring it.Literally and figuratively, “be a mensch!” In planting a seed on the last remaining day of Earth’s existence, Peri would be bringing humanity, compassion, love, and care to an otherwise sad and desperate time.
It is easy to give up, especially when there seems to be no hope left. Places and times devoid of hope tend to be devoid of humanity. Yet, when we heed Rabbi Hillel’s words, and “be people,” we bring back hope and at least the notion, the possibility that we can come back from the brink. In 2020, we faced a global pandemic, and yet, here we are today, back in person. Our first responders, our healthcare workers (and many others) were the ones to bring humanity in the face of death and destruction. As Jews, we have stared annihilation in the face multiple times, and yet, here we sit, celebrating Rosh Hashanah 5784. Those who stood up and continue to stand up to antisemitism, both Jews and righteous gentiles, have always brought humanity when others have chosen to not act with love and compassion.
Growing up in the 1980’s and 90’s, there was a global crisis: a hole in the ozone layer (the ozone layer protects the Earth from the Sun’s harmful ultraviolet light). Scientists discovered this hole in the atmosphere over Antarctica. It was caused by CFC’s – chlorofluorocarbons – manmade chemicals that can be found in things like aerosol cans, refrigerators, and air conditioners. So why don’t we hear about the ozone layer crisis today? Because it is no longer a crisis. In the late 1970’s a meteorologist named Jonathan Shanklin discovered the hole. While he was sure that something was wrong, his bosses were not convinced. By 1985, Shanklin and two of his colleagues,Joe Farman and Brian Gardiner, published their scientific findings. They were the ones who initially suggested that CFC’s were to blame. Ultimately, as a result of their findings, something unprecedented happened. Every country in the world agreed to something called the Montreal Protocol, which was a plan for all the countries to phase out all CFC’s. To this day, it is the only universally ratified treaty. As a result, the hole in the ozone is on track to be completely repaired by 2066. If Shanklin hadn’t acted on his findings, by 2050, there would be ozone depletions all over the world, wreaking havoc not only on the Earth itself, but on the health and wellbeing of all its inhabitants. One person’s actions can make a difference. Shanklin and his colleagues planted a seed, and it made all the difference. They brought in humanity.
We live in uncertain times. Climate change, fires in Hawaii, the war in the Ukraine, poverty, mass shootings, prejudice and racism… the list goes on. With all these terrible things going on, with all the uncertainty we face, why should we take action when it seems like no matter what we do, it doesn’t seem to make enough of a long-term global impact? I bet Mr. Merwin didn’t think he’d be saving an entire section of an island, and Mr. Shanklin didn’t think he would be saving the world by reporting his findings, and yet, they did. Now, I know that holding the door open for someone whose hands are full may not be on the same scale as fixing the hole in the ozone layer, but that doesn’t mean it is insignificant. Donating a dollar to someone in need may not seem like much, but to someone who doesn’t have a dollar, it could mean the whole world.
Today is the birthday of the world. It is our day on which we reflect on the past year of our lives. What did we do right? What could we have done differently? What seeds (either literal or metaphorical) could I have planted to try to make a difference?We often hear people say, “live each day as if it were your last.” Maybe, we should say, “live each days as if it were your first.” Every day is a chance to start over, a chance to be a mensch, a chance to plant a seed. As we begin the year 5784, I say, let’s grab a watering can, some soil, and a seed. Let’s plant something wonderful for today, and for tomorrow. Shanah tovah!