Sermons

When will the Sabbath Day finally come for us as Jewish people? When will our day of rest truly arrive? These might seem like odd questions to ask on Shabbat, which is our designated day of holy rest. This week’s Torah portion, before delving into the detailed building of the Mishkan, or tabernacle in the desert, gives us God’s command to observe Shabbat, the Sabbath day. As many of us know, we are supposed to rest on Shabbat; which according to our Rabbis from the Mishnah can be operationalized as refraining from 39 categories of work, or Melakhot. Rather curiously, our Torah portion this week only mentions one of these 39 categories: We are told, “Lo t’vaaru eish b’chol moshvoteichem b’yom HaShabbat- You shall not kindle fire in any of your dwellings on the Sabbath Day.” No fire is to be ignited on Shabbat. We are supposed to rest, not deal with active, and even dangerous, flames. 

This portion is so filled with building instructions and the beautiful generous and righteous giving of the Children of Israel; a people who give so much that they have to be told to stop; these children of Israel- the builders of the beautiful Mishkan, are the same people who, today, are not being offered a Sabbath Day…a Shabbat of rest, by the world-at-large, and maybe sometimes even by one another. The flames of Jewish hatred and antisemitism are constantly being kindled. How are we to rest on our Shabbat when it seems like so many are at work to send our traditions, our homeland, our people, into flames. I have talked with many who are anxious and downright fearful about what the world has in store for our people. What does it mean when antisemitic posts on the internet skyrocket by more than 1,000 percent on the very same day that Israel is attacked? I am talking about October 7th, 2023. This is before any response from Israel. The embers of antisemitism were always glowing right beneath the surface, and the attacks of October 7th were a gust of wind blowing the embers across the world and starting what seem to be uncontrolled wildfires. 

What makes this conversation all the more difficult is that the wildfires have also engulfed this conversation into a political one. No matter where one falls on the political spectrum, I have been hard-pressed to find any Jew who is not disturbed by videos of masked individuals at a prominent New York City University calling for the murder of Israeli Jews, and glorifying terror groups Hamas and Hezbollah as justified freedom fighters. When did the hatred of Israel and the calling for the destruction of the Jewish state and the Jewish people themselves become awkwardly entangled in a struggle between democrat and republican? My best educated guess is that the actors who wish to see Jews and our only Jewish state as no more likely figure that the best way to dismantle a people is not to do so with rockets, gunfire, and hostages in dark tunnels (That does not work!) but by taking the advice of our own 16th president Abraham Lincoln; who made it famously clear in his 1858 speech at the Illinois Republican State Convention that “a house divided against itself cannot stand.” Israel’s right to exist as the only democracy in the Middle East and the safety of the Jewish people on a University Campus in the largest city in what is supposed to be the most free country in the world…these things should not be much of a source of division for Jews. However, when the clearest waters of our commonality are muddied with politically partisan issues, it becomes more difficult to take a stand for our people. This seems intentional. Let us not be fooled. According to Gallup, Americans with sympathy toward Israelis was at 64 percent in 2019. Fast forward to 2025, to today, in the wake of the most horrific attack on Jews since the holocaust, and that number of American sympathizers with Israel has plummeted to 46 percent. Now, less than half of this country feels for the plight of Israelis, and I do not believe it would be going out on a limb to say that this likely correlates to the attitude toward Jews in America as well. We need one another, but we also need others.

As we just discussed and spieled about during Purim last week, there have been many times in our history when the future looked very bleak, but we have always found ways to overcome even the most precarious of situations. I find hope in some of the most important things that our tradition has to offer–divrei, words. I was lucky enough to be able to be part of a multi-faith forum at a local junior high school last week. Students visited five different tables during their social studies class period. They visited stations with information about the traditions of Jews, Muslims, Christians, Hindus and Sikhs. While this educational aspect was a productive experience, what I found the most heartening was lunch time. All of us clergy people from different backgrounds sat in the middle of the room together, and save for those fasting for Ramadan, we ate together. Even those fasting sat with us. We had spiritual conversation…we were human to one another. I serve on many of these multi-faith forums and panels. The criticism usually is that these are ideal settings, and they don’t represent or tackle the real problems of the larger world. I am starting to disagree with this notion. Why? Because I keep doing them. I keep sharing words with people who might think, live, and pray differently from myself. If this were to happen enough—if these offerings were continuously made, would we have too much peace, too much understanding, too much togetherness, too many small conversations? This is doubtful! As the children of Israel were told before they began building the Mishkan, The correct materials must be offered…the same goes for productive dialogue. 

We can do our part by continuing the conversations that extinguish the flames of hatred. Mechabeh, or extinguishing a flame is also one of the 39 melachot, or categories of work, that Jews are told to avoid on Shabbat. We need allies to stand up for us and fight fire with us. We cannot extinguish the flames on our own. We need friends of all backgrounds and faiths to demand that the masks of those who wish us harm are removed, and that the hatred is brought into the plain light of day. When will we be allowed a true Sabbath day; a real rest? When the flames of antisemitism are extinguished, not only by us, but by the world who sees the value in a Jewish future. What we cannot do is add fuel to the fire by taking the political bait of those who would use our peoplehood as pawns. Our existence is apolitical. Our safety is not negotiable. Perhaps we can agree on that. When the flames finally clear, I hope we can all have a nice lunch together, not with the same exact views about everything…not with naivete of difference, but with shared humanity. Humanity must also be willing to share with us. 

May we all be blessed to see clearly through the smoke rising from the flames of hatred. We must give one another oxygen as we also offer the ruach, the breath of fruitful words and conversation to those who misunderstand and miscast us as a people. We work to share a true Sabbath day, and know that our tradition also tells us that it is not our duty to complete the work, but neither are we free to desist from it. So, as Torah tells us, let us rest, and then keep building our future of harmony with beautiful materials in abundance. 

Shabbat Shalom

– Rabbi Josh Gray

I was at home a couple of weeks ago with Lena, my four, almost five-year-old daughter. It was what Lena likes to call a “Daddy-Daughter Day,” and we were having fun just hanging out playing with her newly acquired Barbie Dream House. Lena suddenly stopped playing with her ballerina Barbie, looked directly at me, and said: “Daddy, I want you to put a braid in my hair.” At that moment, I began to internally panic a bit. I hadn’t thought much about this type of thing, especially since her hair has really just gotten long and thick enough to do anything with. Also, I grew up with two brothers; put the three of us together, and I can almost guarantee that we have braided hair a grand total of zero times. This was a skill that I had just never acquired. This braiding however, was what Lena wanted during our Daddy-Daughter day. I wanted to give her this braid, but I needed instructions. I could not do this on my own. I grabbed my laptop, and went through a few tutorials on YouTube, while Lena sat patiently in front of me. While watching a video entitled, “The Perfect Simple Braid,” I put my all into braiding little Lena’s hair. There was just enough to create a single, small braid. I put the rest of the world aside for those few minutes and I focused solely on making this one braid for Lena. Divide the hair into three separate parts, put this strand over this strand, and then this strand over that strand. Repeat, repeat etc. The result was fairly decent, much to my surprise. Lena proceeded to say, “Thanks, Daddy,” not comprehending the degree of effort that this took. She then went on to play for only a few more minutes before nonchalantly untying her braid. The moment was over. I later realized that it really wasn’t. 

These moments when we offer something of ourselves, even when we don’t know exactly what we are doing…are these not some of the holiest moments…the cathedrals in time that make up the substance of our lives? This week’s Torah portion is entitled, Terumah, which translates to “offerings.” The people of Israel are charged with gathering the materials for, and then building the portable mishkan, or tabernacle, that will accompany them throughout their 40-year journey in the wilderness. God says, “V’asu li Mikdash v’shachanti b’tocham- They shall make for me a sanctuary, and I shall dwell among them.” Throughout this Torah portion, God goes into extreme detail regarding the materials needed to construct this tabernacle; including every measurement, ring, loop, and pin needed to hold it all together. No detail is spared. These holy instructions actually take up five parshiyot, or one-third of the entire Book of Exodus. To the modern reader, some of these sections can seem a bit long-winded, overly focused on minutiae, and difficult to glean meaning from. 

Let’s consider where the people of Israel have come from and where they are now. After being an enslaved people for over 400 years, they left Egypt as an “erev rav,” or a mixed multitude. There was not much, save for the collective bondage they had endured, that brought them together. Miracles played out in front of their eyes: a sea had split, manna rained down from the sky…but, perhaps rather surprisingly, none of this truly brought them together as one. Only when they were tasked with the creation of this Mishkan, and fulfilling its very specific instructions, did the children of Israel truly align as a people with future purpose. 

I look at this Mishkan-making, and my moment braiding Lena’s hair as examples of what life might really be all about. The Mishkan is portable, and was never meant to be permanent. Once the children of Israel come into the promised land, there will no longer exist a need for the impermanent structure of God’s dwelling. One day, King Solomon’s Temple would be built with intentions of immutability. Lena will grow up, and with the help of her mom, her friends, her own videos and tutorials; she will be able to do anything she wants with her own hair. There will come a time when she won’t need to say, “Daddy, I want you to put a braid in my hair” ever again. We, as Jews have always known in our souls that the seemingly transient moments of our lives are not without great purpose. God will know that the people of Israel are ready for a relationship with holiness that extends beyond the current moment and into the future. The structure of the mishkan and its intricacy is a sign of that commitment. Maybe Lena will remember that I took the time to braid her hair, even though I was unsure of the process. The instructions were a bit baroque to me also. Maybe she will know that I will do whatever I can to foster my relationship with her…to be there for her when she needs me. This can be extended to all of the relationships in our lives that we wish to nurture…this includes our relationship with God. 

Terumah…offerings. What are we bringing to our relationships with one another, with those we love and care about? What are we bringing to our relationship with the Divine? There is likely not much of a separation between these. In my own reading of Torah at this exact moment in my life, I was especially drawn to the keruvim, the two cherubs that sit atop the cover to the holy ark, the holiest and innermost part of the entire mishkan. According to some of our great sages, these keruvim had children’s faces. In my own two children, with Lena’s braid being a recent example, I find so much holiness in every moment. But that’s just me. The mishkan has many aspects, many materials, and so many layers. All of us can find something of ourselves in this elaborate structure. It seems especially fitting that we are instructed to make the seven-branched menorah from one single piece of gold. All of us branch off from the same beautiful substance of Oneness, create light on our own branches, but always know that we share a common root. This imagery is surely no accident. 

On this Holy Shabbat, let us all be blessed to make time to follow the holy instructions, and build something beautiful.. We can build our relationships with God as we foster love and nurturing in those around us. We must take the time to gather the materials, and then we can proceed to create something incredible, remembering that physical permanence is not the measure of holy meaning. If we all focus on the moment, and allow ourselves not to be distracted by the finite nature of our physical futures, we can create holiness not only in time, but also in the space we happen to be residing in. The mishkan is gone from physical space, but our Torah still builds it for us. The braid is now long gone from Lena’s hair, but the holy moment of connection will remain. Right now, I am pretty good at pigtails, and I will relish the moment. The perfectly impermanent nature of the holy now is always with us. We just have to keep construction going. 

Shabbat Shalom,

– Rabbi Josh Gray

Our prayer service is sprinkled with so much mention of peace. Shalom Aleichem, Shalom Rav, Sim Shalom, Oseh Shalom, the list goes ever onward. An abundance of prayers for peace are directed toward, or include, Israel. The first word in Hebrew that mostly every Jewish child learns is the word for peace, shalom. With shalom in mind, we know that in the land of Israel, in Gaza, and also in the arenas of discourse around the world focused on Israel, there seems to be everything but shalom. This Shabbat might be especially charged with a feeling void of shalom, as we are reeling from the brutal loss of Kfir and Ariel Bibas, and their missing mother Shiri, victims of October 7th. We honor that current pain as I continue tonight…It is no secret that in November of 2024, the United Nations released a report calling Israel’s warfare in Gaza consistent with the characteristics of genocide…What an accusation, especially when coupled with no unanimous condemnation of Hamas’ barbaric actions. On the other hand, the Israel Defense Forces have what is called the “ruach zahal,” which means, “Spirit of the IDF.” This is a code that is supposed to represent the values of the Israeli military, and it is said to spring from three fundamental values: Defense of the State, its citizens and residents, patriotism and loyalty to the state, and finally, human dignity. Every IDF soldier is charged with preserving human dignity. Human life and purity of arms are later mentioned in the IDF’s ruach zahal. How can this democracy with such a large focus on human dignity and the value of life be called everything from irresponsible, to war criminals, to genocidal? These are widespread terms…we must not shy away from them.

A section of this week’s Torah portion again rises from the page to meet the moment. Parsha Mishpatim, which means ordinances, lays out for us many laws, both civil and criminal. I would like to share one with you this week. The first verse of Exodus chapter 22 says in Hebrew, “Im bamachteret yimazei ha-ganav v’hukah vameit ein lo damim- If the thief is discovered while tunneling in, and he is struck and dies, there is no blood-guilt on his account.” If the thief is discovered while tunneling in. The terror group Hamas, which killed thousands of Israeli citizens and took hundreds more hostage on October 7th 2023, is quite famous for what the Israel Defense Force calls “The Gaza Metro.” What is the Gaza Metro? Hamas itself reported two years before the attacks of October 7th, that it had an elaborate network of tunnels underneath Gaza; a network that stretched about 500 kilometers, or 310 miles long. This is about half the length of the New York Subway system’s total tracks. These tunnels contain spaces for launching rockets and other attacks, logistics areas, and also transportation sections. We also know they have been used to seize and keep hostages stolen from Israel on October 7th.

Let’s not pull punches here. Hamas uses these tunnels for theft. They steal resources meant for infrastructure, they steal safety from Gazans, they steal lives from Israelis, and they have been used to literally steal people from Israel and keep them. This conversation; it is uncomfortable and difficult. The fact remains that our Torah talks about it. Our holiest book tackles this subject head-on. In a section of Torah so full of ordinances, and discussion about crime and punishment, we are given instructions regarding the difficult principle called, “l’harg’cha hashkeim l’hargoh- If someone comes to destroy you, act first, and destroy them.” This is certainly a troubling passage to confront, but an important one nonetheless. Our Torah, backed by our Talmud, makes it clear that the elimination of the threat; of the one who is tunneling into your home to pursue you, loses their right to safety, and possibly even life. Rashi, our great French sage, says that the one who wipes away this person has no “blood guilt,” or “lo damim,” because it is as if the attacker who is tunneling in had no blood at all. In Judaism, blood, “dam,” is the life force, or the source of our lives. With this in mind, the tunneling thief has already forfeited their life in taking such heinous actions against another. 

It is no secret to me that even broaching these ethical and moral subjects brings out differences of opinion, of philosophy, and of information. Differences are good. Opinions across the spectrum of belief do ensure that none of us are shouting into an echo chamber of non-productive noise. Perhaps, no matter our thoughts about the intricate geopolitics of Israel, Palestine, and the surrounding areas, we can come to a place of agreement that is steeped in Torah values. As Jewish people, we have been pursued by so many who wish to do us harm throughout our long history. If we discover the thief tunneling in, stealing what is most precious to us… lives…I ask…what is the correct response? How do we know when “purity of arms,” as outlined by the IDF, is still being maintained? Let’s look at some of this Purity of Arms Code, or Tohar Ha-neshek: “IDF servicemen and women will use their weapons and force only for the purpose of their mission, only to the necessary extent, and will maintain their humanity even during combat. IDF soldiers…will do all in their power to avoid causing harm to [their] lives, bodies, dignity and property.” This charge holds even as hostages are still captive, and the small trickle that emerges back to Israel from Gaza looks disturbingly similar to their grandparents emerging from liberated nazi death camps. It holds even to this moment of anger, sadness, and pain amidst the lost faces of little red-haired Bibas boys.

As Jews, we are charged with maintaining the dignity of humanity, defending ourselves, and also being examined endlessly underneath the microscope of world opinion and criticism. This is a difficult task, but one that our people are equipped to handle. It is possible to be two things at the same time. We can uphold our moral and ethical principles, and we can defend ourselves. We can also make mistakes…we can also be imperfect. Would the world have us sit idly by while terror tunnels in? Would we be still for fear of criticism? I say “us” and “we” because what happens in and to Israel impacts us, whether we like it or not. The fate of the State of Israel is intertwined with the fate of the Jewish people, and any winds in the east will be felt here in the west. 

Let all of us, on this holy Shabbat, remember the tunnelers deserve to be stopped. The thieves who have proven themselves dangerous have already sacrificed the “damim,” the stuff of life. How do we maintain our righteousness, our sense of self, our purity of arms, through such impossible terrain? When others descend into the dark tunnels of inhumanity, how do we maintain our humanity? Perhaps we must always remember that the goal is not defense and destruction. The goal is, has always been, and always should be, shalom. Let us, no matter our current hurt, no matter our pain, not lose who we want to be while protecting who we are. Our challenge is immense. We will be criticized, and we can even be the critics. We meet the challenges together in the difficult discussions with respect and dignity…We wrestle with the good and the right together. But we do it above ground in the daylight; not in the dark tunnels reserved for terror and bloodlessness. The light that shines on our faces, even through the tears of despair and loss, this light provides the fuel needed to endure, as we cling white-knuckled to hope. Endure we will. It is what we do. 

Shabbat Shalom.

I will never forget my first lesson with Marko. Marko was my voice teacher when I was in my early 20’s in New York City. I have definitely mentioned him before; but this first experience is worth bringing up. I was walking hastily in the upper west side of Manhattan with a backpack full of music and a bundle full of anxiety. Looking for a studio of some kind, I found myself at an address that looked an awful-lot like a residential brownstone. I pushed the buzzer and the door clicked. I walked through the hall, arrived at the entrance of a cute apartment, and was warmly greeted by a small man with a big smile. One of the first things I noticed upon entering was that the entire apartment seemed like it was being swallowed up by this grand piano. The walls were lined with records and tapes of various operas. Marko wanted to start singing right away. He opened his mouth to give me an example of a vocal exercise. Out of the mouth of this very small, heavily Greek-accented man came the biggest voice I had ever heard in my entire life. It wasn’t loud like a scream or a yell. It had layers and waves to it, it shook me to my core, and I noticed that even the acoustics of the piano were impacted by its power. Part of me felt thrilled, and part of me felt overwhelmed. I was just a young man from some town somewhere. What was I getting myself into? Part of me felt inadequate and wanted to run, and part of me felt elevated. The duality was striking. 

This week, we are introduced to the “Ten Commandments,” or what are sometimes referred to as “Aseret HaDibrot,” the ten statements. I am not here tonight to talk specifically about each statement or commandment on its own. I want to discuss the reaction of the people of Israel to hearing them. God’s speaking of these Ten Commandments is one of the most unclear moments in our Torah, and this is probably on purpose. Our text seems to convey that all of the people of Israel heard the ten commandments directly from God. Some of our sages say they heard only a couple. Others say they actually didn’t hear any of them at all, and they were reported solely by Moses to the populace. What we do know is that directly after the Commandments are conveyed in this section of Torah, this powerful line is given to us: “All the people witnessed the thunder and lightning, the blare of the horn and the mountain smoking; and when the people saw it, they fell back and stood at a distance.“You speak to us,” they said to Moses, “and we will obey; but let not God speak to us, lest we die.” 

The people of Israel were so overwhelmed with the experience of experiencing God that they became frightened. The people of Israel needed an intermediary, and this partly explains the prophetic power of Moses. Now, let me be clear about this, nothing on this earth, at least in my experience, can likely be compared to this holy moment, but we can only use our own sensory experiences to even attempt to connect with this moment of pure revelation. When I was reading, I thought of Marko’s voice as a much smaller version of the experience. When something that seems elevated and powerful strikes you so directly, it can almost be too much to handle. The Israelites talk about witnessing thunder and lighting, listening to the sound of a shofar, seeing the smoke on the mountain. This was certainly a lot to take in. Sometimes when Marko’s voice overwhelmed me, his wife would come into the room, also an opera singer, and she would sweeten the moment a bit with some levity or her pleasant soprano voice. I would leave those lessons exhausted, but longing to hold on to every little thing that I had learned, without even always knowing exactly what that was. While obviously very different, there is something about the voice, “HaKol,” that can take a moment on this earth and bring it to another rung of holiness. It’s no surprise that music, singing, and chanting are such vital aspects of our prayer services. There is something about the soundwaves that bring us somewhere else, even if it is a fleeting moment. 

Feeling elevated can not only be thrilling, but it can absolutely be scary. We talk in our Siddur about a God whom we desire to see. We say, “O let our desire be so strong that it tears the veil that keeps you from our sight.” We say that we want that connection, but the question becomes…do we really? When the Israelites were granted a hint of God in a direct fashion they became overwhelmed and cowered in fear of the grand power of the moment. MAYBE, and hear me out, it wasn’t Marko’s big voice that overwhelmed me, and it was not God’s awesome revelation that overwhelmed the people of Israel. I certainly ascribe to the fact that we were all created b’tzelem Elohim-in the Holy Image of God. Kabbalah tells us that during creation, fragments of the Ein Sof, The Infinite Endlessness, shattered, a process called “shevirat ha-keilim,” or the shattering of the vessels. This scattered Divine light now exists in everything. So, we are made in a Godly Image, and also contain a Divine Spark. We are no strangers to God. I do not believe we are afraid of God as a separate entity. Perhaps we are intimidated by God in ourselves. In Marko’s booming voice, I saw the potential inside of myself. I saw the trumpets blaring, the smoke and the thunder and lightning. In the moments of direct contact with God, the Israelites saw their own potential to be a holy people, to be as close to God as one can possibly be on this physical plane. While it has become something of a cliche, I think it is still worth noting Marianne Willaimson’s quote. “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. It is that we are powerful beyond measure.” Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel calls Godliness which is not able to be described by words as “ineffable.” Heschel tells us that the ineffable exists “within and beyond things and ideas”, and that those sparks that live inside of us make all of us “something transcendent in disguise.” Sometimes Divine experiences speak to us outside of our rational understanding.

When we experience hints of the Divinity, of the power, of the holiness that lives inside of us, do we face it with openness, strength and courage, or do we back away, cower in fear, and lean into the disguise? Do we muzzle the music? Are we truly open to meeting God without a veil? I suppose we have to be willing to meet ourselves. It can certainly be easier to live life as a passenger, and look through the window of our life’s journey. There we might catch glimpses of the beauty of God’ creations. But, if we take ownership of the driver’s seat, we might give ourselves the ability to stop the train when we need to bask in the illumination of a holy moment. If we allow ourselves to be powerful, can’t we do anything? 

Let us be blessed on this Holy Shabbat to begin the work of allowing ourselves to be powerful. When we discover the Godliness that lives within ourselves, we then become more able to receive moments of elevation, meaning, and purpose. There is nothing wrong with our comfort zones, but in order to truly tear that veil that keeps God from us, we must be able to see ourselves without disguise. We must be willing to accept that the booming voice can be our own, and that God can be our partner in navigating the duality of living in the world, and understanding that we are all ladders reaching up to heaven. Everything we do impacts something greater. Wow. How powerful we all are! Let your voice ring out. Let your Divinity show. We need you…always now more than ever.

Shabbat Shalom

– Rabbi Josh Gray

I was sitting at my desk in the temple during religious school this past week. I was thinking about the return of our Israeli hostages, and how it relates to the biblical demand to let all of our people go from Egypt. 3 here and 4 there is not enough. God made it clear in Exodus, that all of us need to be free, and until then, we won’t be satisfied. Our traditions inform today, and that has not changed. In thinking about the welfare of our fellow Jews, my second grade Hebrew School Teacher came to mind. She was a warm and wonderful woman. I wondered what became of her, and figured that she most likely has passed away. My mind then went to the simplicity of the Jewish coffin. Jewish people, education and Jewish coffins. “Rabbi Yochanan Ben Zakkai,” I thought! Who is this? Ben Zakkai was alive in Jerusalem during the Roman siege of the city, and the subsequent destruction of the 2nd Temple in the year 70 of the Common Era. Ben Zakkai knew that the fall of both the city and the Temple were inevitable. As food and supplies dwindled to almost nothing, he could see the writing on the wall, and he put himself out on a limb to essentially save Judaism as we know it today. The Temple would shortly be gone, and the ritual sacrifices and offerings that made up Jewish practice would clearly go with it. What to do? Periodically, the coffins holding the departed were allowed to be removed from the city walls of Jerusalem. This was the only way out. Ben Zakkai, desperate to act, and not go down with the zealots, put himself, living and breathing, into a coffin to be taken out of the city with the dead. When outside of the city walls, he approached the Roman general at the helm of the siege, Commander Vespasian. Ben Zakkai buttered up the commander, telling him that he was sure to be Emperor one day. Ben Zakkai made it clear that Jerusalem was inevitably transferring to Roman control, and that he would just like to make one simple request. This was a request with an impact we feel to this day. Zakkai asked only for “Yavneh and its Sages.” Yavneh, a small town south of present day Tel-Aviv, would soon become the center of rabbinic Judaism. A center of learning, and study was established in Yavneh. As the Temple fell, the study of Torah, Jewish law, and the traditions of Yavneh lived on. I was able to learn the Aleph Bet from a Jewish teacher 2,000 years later halfway across the world because Ben Zakkai, and others, thought it important to preserve our peoplehood.

Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai was willing to put himself in a coffin and face possible death. Why? For the sake of Jewish survival? Yes. For the sake of Jewish education and tradition? I ask; Are they not the same thing? In this week’s Torah portion, Bo, we have a line that is very telling. In reference to our prescription to celebrate Passover, our Torah lets us know that our children will ask, ‘what is this service to you?” Torah prescribes this question as inevitable. As soon as this is asked: “What is this service to you,” we become our own versions of Rabbi Yochanan Ben Zakkai. We take on the crucial responsibility of keeping Judaism alive through thorough explanation, practice, and education.

I suppose this child’s question is my question for all of us this week? In terms of not just Passover, and not even just children, but general Jewish practice, I ask: What is this service to you? “Mah Ha-avodah hazot lachem?” What are we teaching the next generation of Jews, and others who are curious, about what Judaism is? Why should we gather on Shabbat, or Holidays? This is something we wrestle with consistently in the world of Jewish education and overall sustainability. Our children are not always completely bought into learning Hebrew or Jewish history, the festivals, and culture, if there is no “why.” Are we ready with a “why” when we are inevitably asked? Rabbi Michael Strassfeld wrote a book called “Judaism Disrupted: A Spiritual Manifesto for the 21st Century.” Rabbi Strassfeld claims he almost called the book, “Judaism: Why Bother?” He comments on the fact that many people are asking themselves that exact blunt question. “Why bother?” He claims that the life that has been given to us is the most precious possible gift, and that Judaism offers wisdom and practice that enables us to use that gift to its fullest potential: infusing it with meaning and purpose. Are we conveying that, and how?

I do believe that every person is on a spiritual journey to find ultimate meaning and purpose. Judaism can serve as a compass on that journey. We are so often told that we need to be willing to meet people exactly where they are at. Or do we? This is a question that is salient to the Reform movement of Judaism, perhaps in particular. How much do we bend our traditions before we find them bent so far back that they snap into something unrecognizable? So yes, Jewish survival seems undoubtedly focused on Jewish education and practice, but the question, in my estimation, is what is Jewish education? What is Jewish practice? What should they be?

Rabbi Strassfeld mentioned meaning and purpose. Does everybody have the same concept of meaning and purpose? Do we learn to read Hebrew to get through a Bar or Bat Mitzvah? Do we learn to read Hebrew to connect with the beautiful ancient texts of our tradition? Do we even bother to learn to read Hebrew at all? Who decides who learns what and why? Again, our Torah makes it very clear that the CHILDREN WILL ASK. I think this is the most important point of our discussion. The ask might not come in an extremely overt way. The ask might be in the form of a comment, a second of interest, a perking up of the ears. The ask can come from any person, in various stages of life. I view the sparks of inquiry as sacred opportunities and entrances to our beautiful tradition. Will we be ready with fruitful and meaningful answers when the fleeting moments of curiosity are inevitably broached? Will we be living our lives with Jewish meaning and purpose when we are looked to as examples of the what and the why? Again, what is this service to you?

Rabbi Yochanan Ben Zakkai went to great lengths to keep the questions alive. Within the questions exist the secrets to our survival and flourishing as a people. I believe that in our modern times, we must be willing to look beyond the Judaism of “because this is what we do and have always done.” Tradition and routine can be great and even necessary, but they need to be infused with kavanah (intention) and sometimes even practical application. We must ask ourselves: What was Rabbi Yochanan Ben Zakkai willing to lie down in a coffin to protect? When we see our hostages re-enter a Jewish state, tears in their eyes, embracing loved ones; I know there must be something beautiful and magical to all of this. Two-thousand years later, can we find what ben Zakkai was so fervently safeguarding and fighting for; Re-forming but not watering down? One more time I ask, “What is this service to you?” What is Judaism to you? What can we tell and show those who ask…for we know that they certainly will. If we manage to find even a hint of the Ben Zakkai inside of us, we can keep our beautiful traditions alive and well through any siege, physical or spiritual, now and in the future.

Shabbat Shalom.

– Rabbi Josh Gray

God is an understanding and empathetic therapist this week. This might seem like an odd area of focus given the fact that this is the Torah portion that brings the first seven plagues on Egypt. In the current midst of Israeli hostages returning home after over 400 days in captivity at the hands of Hamas in Gaza, we might need God the therapist more than ever. This week, God shows us something we can use to this very day: a beautiful and complete understanding of the fact that recovery does not take place in a moment. In the context of Torah, God understands that the transition for the Hebrew people from subjugation to self-determination will be intricate. This is true for every type of recovery; even in our own modern times. Whether it is recovery from substance abuse, from physical or emotional abuse, a toxic relationship, from trauma, even from being held hostage for 471 days; Recovery is a process, and one that will more than likely be ongoing with twists, turns, and ups and downs throughout a lifetime. In this week’s Torah portion, Va’era, Moses and Aaron come to us directly following what they thought would be a simple and righteous task. They have come into Egypt under God’s direction and insist that the Hebrew people be released from slavery in order to serve God. How have the Egyptian oppressors responded to this Godly directive? This demand absolutely makes the people of Israel’s lives harder right away. Pharaoh decides to make the already backbreaking work of the Hebrew slaves more difficult. Moses, the subsequently confused and concerned messenger, asks God, “Why have you done evil to this people?”

God assures Moses that the recovery of the People of Israel will be a process. The beginning of this parsha gives us what is often referred to as God’s 4 expressions of Redemption. God tells Moses, first “v’hotzeiti” I will take you out of Egypt. Second, “v’hitzalti,” I shall rescue you from their service. Third, “v’gaalti,” I shall redeem you with an outstretched arm. And finally, “v’lakachti,” I shall take you to Me for a people.” Rabbi Bachya, a Spanish commentator from the 13th and 14th centuries tells us that these 4 expressions of redemption refer to, respectively: God taking the people out of a slavery role even before leaving Egypt, God physically removing the people from Egypt itself, God splitting the sea and removing the power that Egypt has over the people, and finally, God will take the Jewish people as God’s own, giving them Torah and purpose as a nation. In rabbinic tradition, these 4 expressions of redemption are the reason behind the 4 cups of wine that we traditionally drink at a Passover Seder. We honor not just the journey, but each step taken that makes it up.

To this day, and in myriad different forms, there exist a multitude of steps to healing from an abusive or traumatic experience, and none are one-size-fits-all. Some of the steps that I ascribe to are: First, acknowledging trauma, abuse, or the problem that needs recovering from as it is. We need to honor that fact that the trauma or abuse is even present or has occurred. Once this step has been taken, one can then lean into their networks of support. Next, seeking appropriate therapy and professional help is likely vital. Finally, practicing meaningful self-care in an ongoing fashion will help to maintain wellness. Of course these steps will be different for each person, and for each situation. The common theme that runs through all of this is the fact that we need to understand that we cannot simply stomp into our own Egypts and demand an instant recovery. It can be easy for someone outside of a situation of trauma or abuse to be critical: These people are in a bad or toxic situation.Why don’t they just leave? How can they claim to love someone who treats them like that? Why don’t they just stop drinking? They’re out now, why can’t they just move on? Do we want to be like Moses and Aaron this week, waltzing in, asking for what we want and how we want it, and then expecting a smooth outcome? This is fairly unreasonable. There are so many factors to be cognizant of. What Pharaoh or Pharaohs are keeping someone feeling trapped in their Egypt, Mitzrayim, literally meaning, a narrow space, unable to budge, not just physically; but emotionally, or spiritually? What hearts have been hardened, or what habits have been ingrained into the system or psyche of both the oppressed and the oppressor?

The people of Israel were enslaved for at least 430 consecutive years before Moses and Aaron showed up with God’s plan to implement. The Israeli hostages we just saw return home were held for at least 470 days before being released. But what does it mean to truly be released? 20th century philosopher Isaiah Berlin coined terminology known as “Two Concepts of Liberty.” He posits that we have negative liberty, which can be described as the absence of any coercion by an external force. This is not unlike telling formerly enslaved people that they are free. There might technically be a lack of coercion, but people need to feel what Berlin would call positive liberty. This goes a step further than simply being free from a situation, and involves feeling empowered to master the self and to actually break free emotionally from any binding chains. This is often referred to as the difference between the freedom from and the freedom to. We can be technically free, but the beast of oppression, abuse, trauma and toxicity can still hang around one’s neck in a most crippling fashion. The toxic person, the toxic substance, the situation might be gone; this does not signify the end of bondage. True, God must first release the people from their physical bondage, God must then release the people from the environment in which they were slaves. God must then show the people that there is no one looking over their shoulder, ready to snatch them back into slavery. Sometimes a splitting of the sea needs to happen in order to prove that safety exists outside of constraints. Only once these “Freedom Froms” are worked through can the Torah finally be given. The Sinatic moment of receiving Torah; this represents the freedom to create a new people with dynamic and active purpose moving forward. What is the Torah of recovery today? Does the person in recovery feel empowered to begin a new and meaningful life? How will the hostages who will be granted their freedom from bondage transition into freedom to create a life wherein they actually feel free to become?

With perhaps more questions than answers, let us be blessed on this Holy Shabbat to take the lead of God as trauma-informed therapist this week: to understand that redemption and recovery, whether from the biblical chains of slavery, or from any modern situation, is a complex and multi-layered process that is rife with ups and downs, with forward and backward steps. May we be blessed to know that freedom from is different from freedom to. May we do all we can, with the help of our God, to enable ourselves and others to break free from the shackles of unwellness, and to embrace the Torah of our lives…a vast and unending source of wisdom, joy, truth, health, and perhaps most importantly, holy purpose beyond the chains of trauma. Everyone can get there, so long as even a glimmer of hope still endures. God understands the process, so let us be patient and kind with ourselves and with one another as we move out of our Egypts toward our own Sinais and beyond.

Shabbat Shalom.

– Rabbi Josh Gray

I want to share two lines with you this evening, both from some very famous, but very different, sources: First, “I don’t want anything to happen to him while my mother’s alive.” 

This line comes to us from the 1974 Francis Ford Coppola film, The Godfather: Part II. This film, which is the second part of a trilogy, delves deeply into the violent organized crime world of the Corleone family. The line is uttered by the youngest son, Michael Corleone, played masterfully by one of my favorite actors, Al Pacino. Michael’s older brother Fredo, played by the late John Cazale, has betrayed Michael, and betrayed the family. He does this by going behind Michael’s back and making deals with family enemies. It’s unclear exactly what Fredo did, but we do know that his actions resulted in an attempt on Michael’s life while he was sleeping in his home. This all stemmed in some way from jealousy. The older brother, Fredo, was jealous of the power and attention given to the younger, Michael. Fredo, upon admitting his wrongdoing, famously cries out to his younger brother, “They said there was something in it for me, Mike!” Michael Corleone appears to eventually, albeit begrudgingly, forgive Fredo; but Pacino’s stony-hearted eyes tell a different story during a chilling hug. Michael proceeds to coldly tell his associates that line we mentioned: “I don’t want anything to happen to him while my mother’s alive.” Michael waits until their mother passes, and then he has his own brother killed. This is pretty ruthless and calculated behavior.

Now onto that second line to explore together: “Perhaps he will nurse hatred against us and he will surely repay us all the evil that we did him.” In this week’s Torah portion, Vayechi, Jacob passes away after 17 years in Egypt, and Joseph is still in a powerful position in Egypt. Joseph is the Michael Corleone of this message. We know that Joseph’s brothers had him thrown in a pit many years ago. Some wanted him dead, others wanted him sold. Nevertheless, they wanted him gone. They knew what they were doing, and of the life-threatening consequences their actions would have on their younger brother. Again, the root of this was jealousy. Joseph’s many brothers could be seen as the Fredo here. This awareness of harm is in contrast to Fredo, who, famously a bit naive, did not seem to truly realize the gravity of his actions. In a powerful position in Egypt, Joseph did what Michael Corleone appeared to do. He truly seemed to forgive the brothers. He told them that everything that had happened was part of God’s plan, and that he harbored no ill will toward them. All was forgiven, and it was time to put the past behind them. They were, after all, family. 

This is where the narratives become disparate from one another. Michael Corleone’s killing of his own brother based upon a grudge stemming from past jealousy and betrayal; this is exactly what Joseph’s brothers are worried about. Their fathers’ death, the death of Jacob, was Joseph’s chance to have his Michael Corleone moment, to punish his brothers for the pain they had caused him without causing their father any more heartache. When Joseph could take revenge, when he could easily have his Michael moment, he says, “Fear not, For am I instead of God?” He goes on to comfort them, and Torah says, “Vaydabeir al-libam-he spoke to their heart.” Joseph truly meant his forgiveness. It was genuine. Our great sage Rashi claims that Joseph realized that if the brothers, a large group of people, could not succeed in harming him, how could he, one person, succeed in harming them? He saw God at work. Joseph truly believed that all had happened for a holy reason and he forgave. 

It seems as if sibling rivalry and jealousy can mostly be boiled down to how the children were treated by their parents. Receiving different treatment from a parent, whether it’s objectively true or perceived, is likely the most consistent predictor of sibling rivalry and competition. It is glaringly clear that this goes well beyond the years of childhood. Doctor Megan Gilligan, an Iowa State University professor of human development and family studies, describes seeing sibling rivalry and jealousy across the lifespan. She writes about the fact that these feelings persist into folks who are in their 50s and 60s, and even following parental death. We can learn a lot about prevention from Jacob’s behavior and favoritism toward Joseph; but at some point the children become adults, and it’s time to take rivalry, jealousy, and impulse, and transform it into the intentional actions that come with a more developed brain…also a developed soul. Will these actions be holy or not? This is the challenge. We all face it in one way or another.

Joseph seems to master any impulse to do harm. He is able to act intentionally, and not bear a grudge. Some of our sages and Midrash describe how Joseph began to drift apart from his brothers after their father died. He stopped eating with them, and associated with them less and less. Perhaps Joseph did not feel as comfortable with his brothers after what they had done, but he certainly did not seek retribution. Great 19th century Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch comments on the fact that parents are generally the center of the family for siblings. When they pass, it is often the case that siblings drift apart. This happened with Joseph and his brothers. The brothers mistook this natural disconnection for something far more dangerous to their lives. They feared the Fredo treatment, and made this panic clear with their words about Joseph’s potential hatred and repayment for the harm that was caused him.

The death of Michael Corleone’s mother,  and Jacob’s death; they both bring up the fact that family systems are complex. Parents are not perfect, there is likely favoritism involved, and not everyone draws the same straw in life. Am I telling you that you should forgive people no matter what harm they do to you? Absolutely not. I am in no place to do so. We talk on the High Holy Days about the complexities of making Teshuvah, and there are many facets to that process. What I am here to tell you is that Michael Corleone and Joseph both teach us something this week. We are given a gift by God as we grow both physically, and hopefully, spiritually. We are given the choice. The choice of how we will react in a given situation. No one can take the choice away from us. It can be completely natural to feel like Michael Corleone when he pulls Fredo close to him, and lets him know “you broke my heart!” Joseph likely felt heartbroken by how he was treated as well. It is the choices we make in the wake of others’ choices that will define who we are and how close we can become to God. It is easy to be holy when others around us are acting holy. How do we respond when we are the lone light in a disarray of darkness?

May we all be blessed on this holy Shabbat to choose not as Michael Corleone, but as Joseph…to fully allow ourselves to feel the reality of jealousy, rivalry and hurt; but to take these very human emotions and use them for the good…to elevate ourselves. To prove to ourselves we are more than the impulse for revenge and reprisal. To consider that justice sought through violence might not be justice at all. Let us find God in moments of heartache and betrayal. If we can find holiness in hardship, imagine the incredible possibilities and pathways to God that await us every day. When we have power and we have opportunity, how will we use it? Joseph: God and forgiveness, or Michael: vengeance, violence and a holy void. The choice is always yours. 

Shabbat Shalom. 

– Rabbi Josh Gray