It is devastating that another week is passing without a ceasefire in Gaza. It feels impossible not to write to you about it. The scale of destruction and starvation is worse than anything we have known since World War II. I want to invite you to take 10 minutes to listen to the personal story of Dr. Tariq Haddad, who has lost more than 100 family members. He is a Cardiologist who grew up in Gaza and recently declined an invitation to meet with Secretary of State Blinken.
My desperate desire for a lasting peace brought me back to a question that Israeli Journalist Gideon Levy asked in an interview in January. He sits on the editorial board of the newspaper Ha’aretz. On January 17, he asked: “The question which bothers me more than anything else…having said what happened on the 7th, as barbaric as it was…Does this give us Israelis the right to do anything we want after the 7th forever, without any limits, no legal limits, no moral limits? We can just go and kill and destroy and destruct as much as we wish? That’s the main question right now.” There are many ways that I have heard Jews and Israelis justify the mass destruction of Gaza. For some it is about safety, for others settlement. But what scares me the most, is the desire for revenge. Gideon Levy’s question raises an ethical question about retaliation. The earliest version of this question is begged in this week's parsha, Mishpatim. Quite (in)famously Exodus 21:23-24 asserts a vision of retributive justice known in shorthand as “an eye for an eye”, וְאִם־אָסוֹן יִהְיֶה וְנָתַתָּה נֶפֶשׁ תַּחַת נָפֶשׁ׃ However if there is a fatal injury, you shall take a life for a life. עַיִן תַּחַת עַיִן שֵׁן תַּחַת שֵׁן יָד תַּחַת יָד רֶגֶל תַּחַת רָגֶל׃ an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a hand for a hand, a foot for a foot. It is always dissonant to read a section of Torah that we decidedly think is unethical or unjust. Most of us were taught from a young age that two wrongs do not make a right. That we do not take an eye for an eye, nevermind a life for a life. And certainly not 30,000 Palestinian lives for 1,200 Israeli lives. Of course we can’t because each human life is irredeemably holy and unique. Because the value of one’s eye or one’s hand cannot be equated. What is the value of a painter’s hand or a bus driver’s eyes? But it's not surprising that the far right wing settler movement is so focused on corporal revenge. Lest we forget they read the bible as both Divine prophecy and instruction manual. Just as I do not believe in a life for a life, I also do not believe that gay sex is an abomination or that we are called to embody the teachings of the book of Joshua and resettle Judea and Samaria. While I have deep love and reverence for Torah, we are the descendents of rabbinic Judaism. For nearly 2,000 years we have understood that when the Torah says take an eye for an eye, what it means is to compensate the person for what they have lost. Try to make them feel whole again. Post-temple Judaism does not believe in revenge wars. The reason I feel so able to wholeheartedly read this passage of Torah, and so many others, is because we are empowered to update it. The rabbis made clear that there are five ways to determine Jewish law. Of course one of them is, “Because it says so in the Torah!” But there is in fact something more powerful, our Svara. Svara is our informed moral intuition and it actually takes precedence over the words of the written Torah because it is a means of making Torah more just. In every generation we are called to make Torah more ethical and more whole. To ensure all its paths are paths of peace A few weeks ago, we began another cohort of our Adult B’nei Mitzvah class. In the second class I unwrapped the Torah and invited the students to come close and ask questions. It is one of my favorite things to do. Whether I am showing the Torah to kids or adults, someone always asks some version of this question: “Does it have the vowels in it?” Or “Does it have the trope marks? If not, how do you know how to read it?” The answer is always no, no matter which Torah you are looking at. Which is why reading Torah is not merely reading, it is revelation. I experience the way a leyner lifts the words off the scroll and sings them into the room as pure magic.
Thank you to everyone who reads Torah at Kol Tzedek. You are of incredible service to this community. And to Char Hersh, for coordinating leyning and make sure Torah can be revealed each week. I do not take any of this for granted. The Torah service is meant to return us to Sinai, week after week, as many as three times a week! Which is a bit ironic, because from what I can tell, Sinai wasn’t much of a Torah service. Sinai was thunder and lightning, shofar blasts and looming clouds. It was Moses on the mountain for what felt like forever. And the people gathered at the foot of Mt Sinai, eager and terrified. Exodus 19:16 reads, וַיְהִי בַיּוֹם הַשְּׁלִישִׁי בִּהְיֹת הַבֹּקֶר וַיְהִי קֹלֹת וּבְרָקִים וְעָנָן כָּבֵד עַל־הָהָר וְקֹל שֹׁפָר חָזָק מְאֹד וַיֶּחֱרַד כׇּל־הָעָם אֲשֶׁר בַּמַּחֲנֶה׃ On the third day, as morning dawned, there was thunder, and lightning, and a dense cloud upon the mountain, and a very loud blast of the horn; and all the people who were in the camp trembled. Based on the description in this week’s Torah portion Yitro, one might expect, or at least imagine, fireworks and a laser light show each week. Meanwhile the Torah service is all pomp and circumstance. It is highly scripted, ceremonial, and sometimes staid. The proscriptive calls and responses followed are by a sea of Hebrew few can understand. How did this become our weekly opportunity to stand again at Sinai? We read in the 8th chapter of the book of Nehemiah (at the very back of a Tanakh), “The entire people assembled as one man in the square before the Water Gate, and they asked Ezra the scribe to bring the scroll of the Teaching of Moses with which the LORD had charged Israel… They read from the scroll of the Teaching of God, translating it and giving the sense; so they understood the reading. Nehemiah the Tirshatha, Ezra the priest and scribe, and the Levites who were explaining to the people said to all the people, “This day is holy to the LORD your God: you must not mourn or weep,” for all the people were weeping as they listened to the words of the Teaching.” This is the very first Torah service. It probably took place a few thousand years after Sinai, likely around 300 years before the common era. Which was itself some 2300 years ago. The echoes of similarity, as Ezra opens the scroll and the people rise (in body or spirit), is eerily familiar. The continuity of practice that spans exile and diaspora is striking. As is the depth of emotion, the people prostrate and weep. But perhaps what is most familiar is the fact that there were Levites working the crowd translating the text. The emphasis on understanding is core to learning Torah. In Nehemiah 8:2 it specifies, וְכֹל מֵבִין לִשְׁמֹעַ, everyone who could listen with understanding, was present. By the time of Ezra and Nehemiah, the people were speaking Aramaic and very few understood Biblical hebrew. It required translators. When I first learned this text, it was a relief to realize that the problem of translation is not merely a postmodern, assimilationist dilemma. We live in a time when listening with understanding is feeling increasingly impossible and urgently needed. It is meaningful for me to imagine that listening in a way that increases our understanding is core to what it has always meant to receive Torah.Torah was never meant to be inaccessible. In fact, it has always required translation and interpretation. There is a midrash that imagines that in the moment when the Holy Blessed One revealed the Torah, it was whispered into the heart of every Israelite so that each person could uniquely understand and receive it. Each week, with hearts full of longing, we sing Bei ana rachetz - דְּתִפְתַּח לִבָּאִי בְּאוֹרַיְתָא - Please open our hearts through your Torah. May we merit to channel the drama of Sinai into our Torah service each week, as Torah is revealed to each of us anew. And may our study of Torah allow us to listen in ways that increase understanding and bring us closer לְטַב וּלְחַיִּין וְלִשְׁלָם, to goodness, to life and to peace. Every Wednesday the Kol Tzedek office is home to an afterschool program called KTTS+. With 15 kids and 3 teachers, it is a raucous time in a small space. So much so that the rest of the staff has learned to clear out and work from home. I, on the other hand, love sticking around so I can waft in their Torah learning.
This past Wednesday I had the joy of joining their closing prayer circle. Together they weave incredible harmonies as they make their way through the Ma’ariv service in their home-made prayerbook. But the highlight is undoubtedly the last song “Towards Justice”, which made it into the standard matbeah (service structure) at the students’ insistence. Written by Eliana Light, the lyrics are an adaptation of the famous words of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. who said, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” To hear these young people singing with all their hearts, “Lord give me the strength to bend the arc of the universe towards justice…with love” buoyed my spirit. Around the Jewish world, this shabbat is referred to as Shabbat Shira because it is the week in which the Israelites sing the Song of the Sea in Exodus 15 as the cross from slavery to freedom. This week’s parsha includes within it one of my favorite verses in all of Torah, describing how it is that the Israelites made it across the sea, it says (three times!) that they crossed b’toch hayam b’yabasha, in the midst of the sea on dry ground. The water swells up and a path emerges. We too are called again and again to find a way forward even when it feels impossible. It is fair to say that this week’s Torah portion is the foundation for all of liberation theology. After hundreds of years of enslavement, the Israelites actually crossed the sea. They found their way to dignity and divinity as free people. This is the story that creates a shared mythology across human time and religious traditions, in more than 70 languages. The message of this week’s Torah portion is echoed in the words of Dr. King and sung in the harmonies of Kol Tzedek Torah School students. Yesterday I had the incredible honor of meeting with the Secretary General of the United Nations, Antonio Guterres, former Prime Minister of Portugal. It was incredible to shake his hand (twice) and thank His Excellency for his time and courage to call for a humanitarian ceasefire. I was part of a delegation of 10 rabbis. We were on his official schedule as “American Rabbis” sandwiched between his meetings with Japan and Montenegro. We came to express our support for his remarks at the G77 supporting a humanitarian ceasefire, to ask him what we can do to make it a reality and to understand his vision for arriving at a lasting peace through diplomacy. In trying to describe his presence, my best adjectives lead me to Yoda. His presence was tender, clear, generous, gracious and honest. I never imagined that there could be life-long politicians who remained so soft and open-hearted. He opened by recounting and apologizing for the painful history of the Inquisition in Portugal and making clear that one his proudest accomplishments was revoking that edict as prime minister. He shared a clear and compelling understanding of antisemitism, including the pernicious role that Evangelical Christians play worldwide in supporting the state of Israel at the expense of Jewish safety. He was so grateful and gracious and told us that “our meeting would help him reconcile his day.” He was flanked by a team of aides who wept as we offered him the priestly blessing: May the Holy One bless you and protect you. May the Holy One shine upon you and be gracious to you. May you feel empowered to work for peace, Shalom. I have been to the United Nations twice this month and have been consistently inspired by its vision and potential.. I am very much still learning about its history, purpose and power which is intertwined with World War II and the Nazi Holocaust. I was relieved this morning when the International Court of Justice, which is part of the United Nations, voted nearly unanimously to demand that Israel do everything in its power to prevent the plausible genocide of the Palestinian people in Gaza. The provisions all but call for an immediate ceasefire. To understand their implications and enforcement I recommend this segment on Democracy Now, including KT member Raz Segal. The ruling of the ICJ has significant symbolic impact. I must say it is spiritually devastating to have the highest court of justice rule that the State of Israel, which imagines itself as light among nations, is on the path to committing genocide in the name of Jewish safety and security. If you are in need of space to process this decision, I invite you to join a virtual gathering hosted by Rabbis for Ceasefire Sunday night at 8 pm EST. This will be an opportunity to reflect on the ICJ decision to order provisional measures to prevent genocide in Gaza hosted by beloved and trusted colleagues, Rabbis Dev Noily and Margaret Holub. You can register at bit.ly/ICJGathering. Even after 400 years of slavery, even after 75 years of brutal occupation, the arc of the universe does bend towards justice. May we have the courage, clarity and stamina to partner with the holy one and do our part. Nothing quiets a city like a snow day. The blanket of white flakes concealing layers of grit and litter, and dampening the noise pollution of modern urban life. The blare of sirens is replaced by the crunch of boots. The imprint of shoes, snow angels and sled tracks abound. To quote my 8 year-old neighbor, “Snow is my favorite color!”
I have just returned from my neighborhood sledding hill. I never feel more like a kid than I do when I am sledding. My inner child is elated. The sledding hill was a sea of colorful children in marshmallow like snow suits, joyful and inevitably tearful, and falling all over the place. There was free hot chocolate, snow forts and snow ball fights galore. Being at the park felt like I was inside the pages of a great kids book or a dynamic snow globe. As winter storms and freezing temperatures sweep over much of Turtle Island, Philadelphia has been blessed with an actual legitimate snowfall. Given that in recent years I have been found having a “snowball fight” with the dusting on my deck, this is a complete delight and triumph of the natural world in the time of global warming. But what is the blessing for a snow day? This question appeared in the Kol Tzedek slack this morning. There are so many amazing Jewish blessings to be said over the natural world. A blessing for rainbows? A blessing for a shooting star? A blessing for seeing the ocean after a long period of time? A blessing for an earthquake, a comet, mighty winds or lightning? That said, if you look in a prayer book, you will not find a clear answer about snow. This is clearly a mistake. Maybe we can attribute it to the fact that many of the blessings were written to address the natural wonders of the Land of Israel, and it had a rather temperate climate. But Jews have been living in freezing places like Babylon (modern day Iraq) and Ukraine for thousands of years. You would think it might have been edited in. Some rabbis suggest saying the seasonal blessing that is inserted into the weekday Amidah, Mashiv ha-ru'ah u-morid ha-geshem, thanking God for making the winds blow and the rain fall. Snow is afterall a kind of frozen rain. I suggest saying Oseh ma’aseh v’reishit - thanking God for making all of creation. It is the same blessing you might recite over an awesome storm or a shooting star. It says, the natural world is amazing and wonderful. As I was taking in the snow day today, I thought to myself, this is a kind of nature-imposed Shabbat. A day in which we slow down and find joy right where we are. And then we come home spent and cozy up with a hot drink. Just think of the words of the shabbat zemer Menucha v’Simcha, “Light of gladness, O light of gladness, Peace unto Israel, Sabbath day of bliss, weave thy magic spell, Weave thy magic spell… Blue skies and green fields, blue skies and green fields, Ocean's unceasing tide. Glorious hosts of heaven, beaming far and wide, Beaming far and wide. Mighty whales and dragons fierce, mighty whales and dragons fierce,… God's hand formed them all, sure God’s works abides, Surely God’s works abide.” May this snow day weave thy magic spell, glorious hosts of heaven, mighty whales and dragons fierce, God’s hand formed them all. And may we allow it to inspire our experience of rest and joy on shabbat all year long. We learn in Pirkei Avot (1:18) that the world is sustained by three things: on law (justice), on truth and on peace. Earlier this week, I was teaching this text to a group of Kol Tzedek teens and they noticed the difference between what the world is founded on (Torah, Avodah and Hesed), and what allows it to endure. The teaching ends with a quote from the prophet Zecharia (8:16), "When there is truth and justice, there will be peace in your gates.”
"אֱמֶת וּמִשְׁפַּט שָׁלוֹם שִׁפְטוּ בְּשַׁעֲרֵיכֶם…" They noticed that the order of these three things is significant. Suggesting that a just legal system and truth are necessary for shalom, for peace. Or in the words of the protest chant, “No justice, no peace!” This teaching calls to me as the International Court of Justice begins adjudicating whether Israel is committing genocide against Palestinians. This teaching leads me to even greater resolve that no military solution will provide peace and safety for Israelis and Palestinans. That we must do everything in our power to hasten a ceasefire, to save the lives of Palestinian civilians, Israeli hostages and soldiers and prevent the possibility of world war. Which is why I traveled to the United Nations with Rabbis for Ceasefire. On Monday, I was part of a delegation of five rabbis from the U.S. and Israel who met with the Deputy Representative of the United States Mission to the United Nations to implore the U.S. Ambassador to support a permanent and lasting ceasefire. Then on Tuesday, I joined a group of 36 rabbis on a tour of the United Nations. I was so surprised by the beauty of the building and the incredible art exhibits, including a very moving exhibit about the Palestinian Nakba which lined the walls of the lobby. Our tour group was escorted inside the U.N. Security council, the very room where questions of war and peace are discussed, the very room where the U.S. has consistently used its veto to block a ceasefire resolution. Once inside, we unfurled banners, blew a shofar and began reading from The Universal Declaration of Human Rights which was adopted by the United Nations in 1948. Not surprisingly, this passionate group of rabbis had planned a yizkor ritual that would easily span more than an hour. Less than 10 minutes in, we were forced to stop because “Demonstrating is forbidden in the United Nations.” We were undoubtedly a prayerful disruption. I do not share this to communicate conformity or alignment about political strategy or policy. There are many important and needed theories of change and strategies for bringing about change. Please know, I welcome your dissent and disagreement. I value your insights and honor your truths. That said, since October 7, I have participated in a swell of direct action in D.C., Philly and NYC, all designed to disrupt business as usual. And it has got me thinking about the role of disruption in liberation struggles. Which is also the theme of this week’s Torah portion. Parashat Vaera includes the narrative of the first seven of ten plagues that Moses and the Holy One inflicted on Pharaoh and the Egyptians to free the Israelite slaves. Moses and Aaron repeatedly come before Pharaoh to demand in the name of G‑d, “Let My people go, so that they may serve Me in the wilderness.” Pharaoh repeatedly refuses. G‑d then sends a series of plagues upon the Egyptians. The waters of the Nile turn to blood; swarms of frogs overrun the land; lice infest all people and beasts. Hordes of wild animals invade the cities; a pestilence kills the domestic animals; painful boils afflict the Egyptians. For the seventh plague, fire and ice combine to descend from the skies as a devastating hail. Still, “the heart of Pharaoh was hardened and he would not let the children of Israel go, as G‑d had said to Moses.” Each of these plagues was a divine disruption, causing profound human suffering. I have personally heard from some angry people who have found themselves in the path of these disruptions. Late to work, late to pick up their children, cab drivers, a person in labor and trying to get to the hospital. The war is not their fault. Just as the Israelite enslavement was not the fault of the ancient Egyptians. On April 16, 1963, in his Letter from a Birmingham Jail, the Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King Jr, wrote, "First, I must confess that over the last few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro's great stumbling block in the stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen's Council-er or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate who is more devoted to "order" than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says "I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I can't agree with your methods of direct action..." With the death toll in Gaza exceeding 20,000 people including more than 8,000 children, I need to know that I did absolutely everything I could to bring about a lasting peace and stop this war. And that includes talking openly with any and all of you who disagree with me, who are curious, confused and questioning. Please know, I want to sit with you and talk about this. I feel great pride in seeing how many Kol Tzedek members are organizing. Your devotion is itself a spiritual practice. The truth is that it has never been popular to be anti-war. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel is most famous for having marched in with Dr. King in Selma. It was King who brought Heschel into the Civil Rights movement. But what’s less talked about is that it was Heschel who brought King into the movement to stop the Vietnam War. On April 4, 1967 Martin Luther King, Jr., delivered his seminal speech at Riverside Church condemning the Vietnam War. Declaring “my conscience leaves me no other choice,” King described the war’s deleterious effects on both America’s poor and Vietnamese peasants and insisted that it was morally imperative for the United States to take radical steps to halt the war through nonviolent means (King, “Beyond Vietnam,” 139). And so too must we. Disruption is a holy tactic of bringing about justice. Disruption is at the core of our liberation story. I pray our disruptions bring us closer to “a positive peace which includes the presence of justice.” May we have the courage to hear the words of the prophets and the rabbis” “There can be no peace in our gates without justice.” I began my week at the Met, where I had the incredible opportunity to witness the inauguration of Philadelphia’s new mayor and city council, including our own badass member Rue Landau, who boldly raised her right hand and swore on the sacred text of her choosing, “The Color of Law: A Forgotten History of How Our Government Segregated America.” Of the many pastors and preachers who spoke (and there were many!), it was the words of Mayor Parker’s pastor, Reverend Dr. Alyn E. Waller, Senior Pastor of Enon Tabernacle Baptist Church, that resonated most.
With his eyes closed and his heart focused, his prayerful invocation echoed the beginning of the Amidah. He began, “Eternal God our Father, God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob,” and then he continued, “God of Harriet, God of Simone, the God of Cherelle, God of Martin, Malcolm and Medgar…” (You can see his prayerful presence here at 1 hour and 57 minutes.) He located the political moment both in time and place. Philadelphia was a landmark city for freed slaves in the time of abolition. And Cherelle Parker as the 100th Mayor, the first woman, a black woman. The entire ceremony felt like church (and also like Yom Kippur because it ran more than 4 hours) and I was quick to offer an Amen to this pastor’s words. It felt especially poignant to invoke Harriet, Martin, Malcolm and Medgar this week, as we begin reading the book of Exodus. It returned me to one of my most beloved Harriet Tubman quotes, “I freed a thousand slaves. I could have freed a thousand more if only they knew they were slaves.” Many rabbis have called attention to the moment in our Torah portion when they imagine that the Israelites become aware of their own enslavement, and therefore the possibility of getting free. Exodus 1 begins with the ominous recounting that a new King rises over Egypt and treats the Israelites ruthlessly. Yet they survived, they endured and they even multiplied. It is not until the very end of Exodus 2 that we learn that the Israelites had been enslaved for generations. Again a King dies and this time it leads to a collective awakening. The Israelites moaned and groaned, they cried out and finally the Holy One heard them. Exodus 2:24 reads, “God heard their moaning, and God remembered the covenant with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.” Which is to say, the God of Harriet, Simone and Martin. Here I understand the language of the Divine as an externalized articulation of human spiritual awareness itself. This is the moment of Israelite awakening, of remembering their human potential and dignity. It is a moment of insight into their own experience of suffering, which is the beginning of liberation. One of the enduring gifts of my sabbatical was the opportunity to sit a longer meditation retreat. Last January, as I entered my second week of retreat, I noticed the presence of both calm and concentration. This felt new in my practice. At which point one of my teachers shared with me the seven factors of awakening. They are: Mindfulness (sati), Investigation (dhamma-vicaya), Effort (vīriya), Joy (pīti), Relaxation (passaddhi), Concentration (samādhi) and Equanimity (upekkhā). She noted I was experiencing some of these qualities, which felt shocking, since I always imagined awakening to be over the mountain and beyond my reach. But she insisted, no, awakening is within your grasp, in fact it is already within you. Apparently it is understood in the Dharma that when any factor of awakening is present, all of the factors are in fact present. Which is to say, if I felt calm, it was also possible to feel equanimity (which most often eludes me). Returning to our parsha, I see this pivotal moment at the end of Chapter 2, as the beginning of our collective awakening through Moses. In the coming verses Moses will experience mindfulness as he encounters the Holy One at the Burning Bush. He will investigate, asking God over and over why him? He will effort to free his people. There will be joy as they sing and dance across the sea. And there will be moments of equanimity at Mt. Sinai, as the thunder and lightening makes way for profound silence and the people respond “Naaseh v’nishmah,” we can do this. One teacher once reminded me, equanimity doesn’t happen on the cushion. It happens when you get a flat tire on the highway. Or in the case of our community, I am hoping it happens as we prepare to move into a new building, while responding to an evolving pandemic and organizing to hasten a ceasefire. This is a stressful time, for so many of us personally and for us collectively. My prayer for us as people and as a community is that we take this parsha and this moment as an invitation to recommit to our own capacity to cultivate awareness and to awaken. To see this as our spiritual path and obligation. To know that the path to liberation begins with curiosity which energizes our commitments, which allows us to settle and focus, which is unexpectedly delightful and sustainable. Cultivating any of these qualities makes all of them possible. Liberation is not in the heavens. It begins right here, in our hearts, and radiates out until every city is a city of shalom. May it be so. Today is one of my family’s favorite days of the year. In addition to being my partner’s half birthday, December 22 is the day after the winter solstice. Which means, the days are officially getting longer. My kids woke up this morning, got dressed, and ran downstairs singing, “Light is returning, even though it is the darkest hour…no one can hold back, back the dawn.” Then they started playing dreidel and remarked it still feels like Hanukkah. This might be related to the fact that we have not yet put away our menorahs. Partly because it's been a busy week and partly because until the days were getting longer, we needed the reminder.
This, as it turns out, is a core human need. So core, even the first human being, Adam HaRishon, had this experience. In Masechet Avodah Zara (8a), Our sages taught: When Adam saw that the days were getting shorter, they said: "Oy, I did the wrong thing and therefore the World is getting darker and is returning to chaos. Death has been decreed upon me!" This midrash recounts the very first human’s encounter with the very first winter. The days just keep getting shorter and they think it’s their fault. Even more so, they fear it's irreversible. Existentially asking, what if light never returns? The midrash continues, “Adam HaRishon therefore spent 8 days fasting and praying. As they finished their fast, Adam saw that the days were getting longer. They realized that maybe the days waxed and waned throughout the year. And they were relieved. So the following year, Adam celebrated the end of the shortening days with 8 days of celebration…” This is yet another tale intended to answer the question the Talmud asks in Masechet Shabbat, “Why Hanukkah!?” It is also an affirmation of my own kid’s spiritual instincts. Even when Hanukkah and the Solstice don’t quite align, there is a human instinct to celebrate the light lasting a little bit longer on December 22. To honor that we have made it through the rigor of waning days. I offer you this long slender poem as a belated Hanukkah gift, with gratitude to Rabbi Mó who shared it with me. How the light comes by Jan Richardson I cannot tell you how the light comes. What I know is that it is more ancient than imagining. That it travels across an astounding expanse to reach us. That it loves searching out what is hidden what is lost what is forgotten or in peril or in pain… I cannot tell you how the light comes, but that it does. That it will. That it works its way into the deepest dark that enfolds you, though it may seem long ages in coming or arrive in a shape you did not foresee. And so may we this day turn ourselves toward it. May we lift our faces to let it find us. May we bend our bodies to follow the arc it makes. May we open and open more and open still to the blessed light that comes. Maybe you spin the dreidel tonight, maybe you don’t. But either way, I invite you to savor the extra minutes of day, the diminishing darkness, and to remind yourself that light is returning. May we trust that the light is seeking out what the pain and peril that is so present. And may we have the courage to turn ourselves toward it. Please indulge me, in the final moments of Hanukkah, to squeeze in just a bit more Hanukkah torah.
There is a very practical disagreement about Hanukkah to which I am very endeared. What makes more sense: Lighting one candle on the first night of Hanukkah and then adding a candle each night until there are 8? Or lighting 8 candles on the first night and then taking away one candle each night until there is only 1 left? Well on the one hand, it is spiritually satisfying for the candles to increase corresponding to the magnitude of the miracle that the oil lasted. But on the other hand, the amount of oil functionally decreased with each passing night until there was none left. This very debate is recorded in Masechet Shabbat of the Babylonian Talmud. There it is understood that Beit HIllel corresponds the number of candles to the outgoing days (the ones we have already observed) while Beit Shammai corresponds the number of candles to the incoming days (the ones we have left). The disagreement of Hillel and Shammai is understood as “for the sake of heaven,” which is to say it is generative conflict, which has lasting positive value. For those who are less familiar with the significance of these two houses of thought, check out this very helpful Wikipedia entry. Most often in their arguments, both are right and reasonable. And yet almost always, almost everyone, almost everywhere follows the practice of Beit Hillel. Which has led my rebellious spirit to naturally align myself with Beit Shammai. It feels a bit like rooting for the underdog. But recently my teacher called me on it. We were having an argument and she said, stop being shammai for a moment and try being Hillel. Her words pierced and challenged me in an important way. For years I have not appreciated the difference between them had less to do with the legal reasoning and more to do with how they communicate their beliefs. In Masechet Eruvin, the Talmud makes clear that both houses were teaching divinely ordained truths. But there were some important differences. Namely that Beit Hillel was kind and gracious, and taught Beit Shammai alongside their own ideas, often teaching them first. So in that spirit, my teacher challenged me to articulate and advocate for her idea before my own as a way to show that I really heard and respected her. To be totally honest, I couldn’t do it. And that hurt us both. It is hard for me to be kind and gracious when I feel activated and defensive, and especially so when I feel I am right. So this Hanukkah I have returned to the words of Yehudah Amichai, “From the place where we are right Flowers will never grow In the spring. The place where we are right Is hard and trampled Like a yard…” As a person who loves flowers, this is motivating. But wait, there is more… Menachem Fisch explains, “The Hillelite position is endorsed, the Talmud explains, because, unlike the Shammaites, they were נוחין which means flexible, as opposed to dogmatic – i. e. wary of being wrong and willing to change their mind. But that is not enough. The Hillelites knowingly coupled their flexibility, with עלובין, a willingness to be proven wrong by others; not only flexible, but open to criticism.” As this terrible war persists, we are being challenged to have divisive conversations. I am not saying that there are two right sides to this war or any war. But I do think we are called to be in deep relationships with people we may not agree with. I am personally struggling to do so with the grace and compassion our tradition calls us to. I am finding it helpful to enter these conversations with these two guiding values: being willing to change my mind and being open to criticism. This Hanukkah, I lit all our menorahs in the spirit of Beit Hillel, wIth the hopes that I may learn how to have more generative conflict with the people I love, if not for my own sake, then for the sake of heaven. I encourage you to listen to this Jewish Currents episode “Talking to your family” as it ”explores questions of when it is our obligation to keep arguing, and when it’s better to take a break—or give up completely. And what this moment says about the future of Jewish American institutional life.” On Monday morning I received an email from Makom Community, where my kids go for Jewish enrichment two afternoons a week. It began, “I have sad news to share. Over the weekend, our store front windows on Sansom Street were graffitied with the words “Free Palestine” and another graffiti tag.”
The email itself was full of care. I am so grateful to Beverly Socher-Lerner and the entire staff at Makom for their graceful leadership during this time. Makom’s response was beautiful. Their team of educators met and they created signage to hang over the graffiti which says, “We all deserve peace and safety. Happy Chanukah. Let your light shine.” I felt both proud and comforted to know my kids would walk into that learning space and be greeted by those words. I was startled by the incident. I thought of Kol Tzedek’s windows and the vulnerability of moving into our own building in this climate of increased antisemitism. I was deeply comforted when CAIR-Philadelphia, one of our organizing partners, posted this in response to the vandalism at Makom: “CAIR-Philadelphia decries and stands firmly against recent defacing of Makom Community in Center City, Philadelphia. We extend solidarity and support to the Jewish community of Makom Community and the families of the childcare center they house. “Targeting Jewish institutions or defacing their property for the actions of the IDF and the right-wing Israeli government is antisemitic and contrary to the values of those who seek freedom and dignity for Palestinians. It also does not do justice to the many Jewish community members who are actively working on the frontlines of the #CeasfireNow movement.” This statement made me feel safer and seen. It does not however transform the truth that there is antisemitism on the left and on the right, in our city and in the U.S. Congress. This continues to scare me and makes it hard to trust. I care so deeply about Jewish safety. I care so deeply about Jews and Judaism. It is what I breathe and maybe even why I breathe. In many ways I understand that the profound divisions amongst Jews, and the differences in our political responses to this moment, all source from the same core human need to feel safe in this world. The vandalism at Makom immediately returned me to a very ancient argument about Hanukkah. There is a debate in the Talmud about the core mitzvah of Hanukkah. Some argue it is the lighting of the menorah, after all the blessing concludes “L’hadlik ner shel Hanukkah” which would suggest the essential spiritual practice is to light the hanukkah candles. Others argue it is not just the lighting of the menorah, but also and most importantly, doing so publicly in a way that pirsumei nisa - publicizes the miracle. For this reason the Talmud teaches that the commandment of lighting Hanukkah candles should be performed “between sunset and the time when feet disappear from the marketplace” (b. Shabbat 21b). Which is to say in public at a time when people are around to see it. This is a bold spiritual instruction that reorients our potential responses to antisemitism and unsafety. Even in a moment where antisemitism and Islamophobia are present threats in our communities, where our Jewish institutions are being vandalized and our Muslim neighbors fear for their lives, we are instructed to publicly light our menorahs and spread hope. The rabbis do take some precaution and advise that in times of extreme danger we can move the menorah from the public square to our window, and if needed to an even more discreet location. It is hard to be Jewish in public at this time for so many different reasons. If this feels appropriate to you this year, I hope you will trust yourself and feel supported by the wisdom of Jewish tradition. There is something very visible about being Jewish at Hanukkah. It is an offering of hope we make not just to ourselves, but to each other and to our neighbors too. Even more so, it provides an ancient Jewish vision of safety that points us towards interdependence, towards courage and towards one another. This week has been defined by new life, having just officiated at the Bris of our newest member Isaiah Raphael Joffee (Mazal Tov Aviva!). This week has been defined by the death of several member’s grandparents and more than one difficult cancer diagnosis, constant reminders that we are mortal, that life is fragile.
This week has also been defined by the slow drip of hope, with the release of 110 Israeli hostages and 240 Palestinian political prisoners. If you are like me, you have tracked the release of every single person. I have studied the faces of 4 year old Abigail Edan and 22 year old Ahed Tamimi. I keep returning to the images of them embracing their families. I am focused on their eyes. The hurt they harbor. The long road to healing ahead of them. The sounds of war all around them. I am struggling to digest so much violence and injustice. I keep returning to prayer. What does it mean to pray for peace in a time of war? What might make our prayers effective? A teacher shared with me a teaching of the great 18th century Hasidic rebbe, Noam Elimelech. It begins, “It is known that a tzaddik’s prayer is answered when praying for a sick person or for others in need. But why? … Why is a tzaddik’s prayer more effective than the prayer of any other person?” To which he explains, “This is because a tzaddik loves both God and every person in the world….Most people are not like this…Only a tsaddik who loves everyone has that power.” I am struck by this ancient aspiration to love God so fully that we actually love absolutely everyone. When we open our hearts fully to the Holy One or Holiness, we are reminded of our fundamental interconnectedness to all life. And when we pray from that place, transformation is possible. In the words of the poet Cathy Cohen, When Sorrows Come, …I once dreamed of starlings flying in patterns, pulled to each other, yet with space to maneuver when threatened by hawks, by danger. But lately I’m dreaming of others who suffer – those close and strangers, whose souls we must touch so prayers might flow more quickly from our lips when sorrows come, when joys – when sorrows come. May we have the courage to try to love every person so fully that our prayers for peace and healing flow more quickly and are answered immediately. Here are two spiritual resources that brought me comfort this week. A new Let My People Sing! Playlist and this beautiful dvar Torah by Ms. Ezra Furman. |
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