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Yesterday, Abby and Madison sent out an email sharing some highlights of this past year and the subject line ("A remarkable year at KT") really spoke to my experience. It really has been a remarkable year. We have celebrated a gorgeous stream of simchas. B’nei Mitzvah, baby namings, conversions, auf ruf, graduations - with no end in sight. The family of one baby naming asked me a few weeks ago, “Do you always have this many simchas?” To which I responded, “I hope so!”
I can hear my grandmothers saying “kanehora” and “Si kere el Dio! Echar ojo!” , respectively. The rhythm of our year has been defined by weeks spent protesting war, punctuated by shabbat spent celebrating life, praying for peace and mourning our dead. It has been rigorous and beautiful. Nestled in our siddur is an excerpt of Aurora Levins Morales’ V’ahavta. I have a practice of reading it aloud at B’nei Mitzvah to make the Shema more accessible, which means I have read it aloud more than usual this year. I love these words. They restore my hope. As the year progressed I began to silently fill in the paragraphs we excerpted (because by now I have it nearly memorized). In particular the second paragraph, which I never read aloud, has felt most resonant. It reads: “Thus spoke the prophet Roque Dalton: All together they have more death than we, but all together, we have more life than they. There is more bloody death in their hands than we could ever wield, unless we lay down our souls to become them, and then we will lose everything. So instead, imagine winning. This is your sacred task This is your power. Imagine…” On some level I don’t know who is meant by “they” and “we”. I don’t want to suggest there are good guys and bad guys, or reify binaries of good and evil. But on the other hand, there are people orchestrating catastrophic loss and there are the rest of us. A few weeks ago, mid double-hora, it clicked for me, that all together they DO have more death than we, but all together, we DO have more life than they. We are so full of life. We can experience profound joy. But honestly, not without effort and discipline. I know throughout the year some of you have expressed to me, “I am not sure if I am up for another simcha this week.” And I understood the instinct, and might have stayed in bed myself. Which is why the Torah instructs us, “Choose life.” Even more specifically, וּשְׁמַרְתֶּ֤ם אֶת־חֻקֹּתַי֙ וְאֶת־מִשְׁפָּטַ֔י אֲשֶׁ֨ר יַעֲשֶׂ֥ה אֹתָ֛ם הָאָדָ֖ם וָחַ֣י בָּהֶ֑ם “Observe mitzvot and let them fill you with lifeforce” (Lev. 18:5). This has been my experience. Mitzvot, including Shabbat and lifecycles, can provide the needed structure and routine to unstick our souls and draw forth the joy we need. I can say as the person who has been at just about every simcha that it was glorious. It has been a true blessing to access, share and spread joy in the midst of so much suffering. It truly has been lifegiving. Celebrating together has kept me from despair. Your smachot (simchas) have refreshed and sustained me all year long. Thank you for the blessing of being one of your rabbis. I now understand on a cellular level why the core mitzvot of shabbat are menucha (rest) and oneg (delight). Together they are the tonic we need to metabolize our fears and reset our nervous systems, weekly. Our unrelenting singing reminds me of a moment in this week’s Torah portion Chukat, when the Israelites find themselves parched in the desert and they begin to sing, “Spring up from the well, waters of life. We sing to waters, to the Source of all” (Numbers 21:17). Like our ancestors, we too sing and dance and teach our children to keep imagining a world that is whole, a world inseparable from everything holy. In the words of Rabbi Yael Levy: “May practice and devotion hold us steady. And may the dance of the waters Inspire our songs.” Words this week from Rabbi Lizzie:
Each morning for the past two weeks, my three-year-old, Shai, has proclaimed: “Mommy lives at the mikveh!” While I haven’t yet taken up residence, despite strong household evidence to the contrary, it’s true that I’ve spent a significant number of my days at the nearby mikveh accompanying the twelve participants in Kol Tzedek's inaugural Hineini cohort through their batei din and immersions as they completed the final steps of the conversion process. Being present for these rituals has, undoubtedly, been one of the greatest privileges of my rabbinate. I've had the honor of listening as they each shared their spiritual stories. I’ve witnessed the vulnerability and courage they offered before their batei din. And I’ve watched them emerge from the mikveh transformed and deeply themselves. Again and again, I've found myself in awe – of the commitment each of them has chosen to make, and of the ways these twelve individuals are shaping our community. Since the first week of January, these students have studied, questioned, reflected, chevruta-ed, prayed, and wrestled. Much of this work has happened out of view of the wider community; but this week, I’m inviting us to recognize what has been growing among us. There’s a verse (Numbers 17:23) from Parshat Korach that I haven’t been able to get out of my head. In the aftermath of Korach's rebellion, the Torah offers a striking image of renewal when Aaron’s staff blossoms overnight: וַיְהִ֣י מִֽמׇּחֳרָ֗ת וַיָּבֹ֤א מֹשֶׁה֙ אֶל־אֹ֣הֶל הָעֵד֔וּת וְהִנֵּ֛ה פָּרַ֥ח מַטֵּֽה־אַהֲרֹ֖ן לְבֵ֣ית לֵוִ֑י וַיֹּ֤צֵֽא פֶ֙רַח֙ וַיָּ֣צֵֽץ צִ֔יץ וַיִּגְמֹ֖ל שְׁקֵדִֽים׃ The next day, Moses entered the Tent of the Pact, and there the staff of Aaron of the house of Levi had sprouted: it had brought forth sprouts, produced blossoms, and it had ripened almonds. The Rabbis, in Pesachim 54a, imagine that this staff wasn’t merely a sign that appeared in that moment, but something with a deeper origin: תָּנוּ רַבָּנַן: עֲשָׂרָה דְּבָרִים נִבְרְאוּ בְּעֶרֶב שַׁבָּת בֵּין הַשְּׁמָשׁוֹת, וְאֵלּוּ הֵן: בְּאֵר, וּמָן, וְקֶשֶׁת, הַכְּתָב, וְהַמַּכְתֵּב, וְהַלּוּחוֹת, קִבְרוֹ שֶׁל מֹשֶׁה, וּמְעָרָה שֶׁעָמַד בָּהּ מֹשֶׁה וְאֵלִיָּהוּ, פְּתִיחַת פִּי הָאָתוֹן, וּפְתִיחַת פִּי הָאָרֶץ לִבְלוֹעַ אֶת הָרְשָׁעִים. וְיֵשׁ אוֹמְרִים: אַף מַקְלוֹ שֶׁל אַהֲרֹן שְׁקֵדֶיהָ וּפְרָחֶיהָ The Sages taught: Ten phenomena were created on Shabbat eve during twilight, and they were: Miriam’s well, and manna, and the rainbow, writing, and the writing instrument, and the tablets, the grave of Moses, and the cave in which Moses and Elijah stood, the opening of the mouth of Balaam’s donkey, and the opening of the mouth of the earth to swallow the wicked in the time of Korah. And some say that even Aaron’s staff was created then with its almonds and its blossoms. In this telling, the flowering is not just a miracle, it’s embedded in creation from the beginning. So much of what I have experienced with these twelve students has felt similar – their journeys more continuous than a single moment of change. And, each of them, already so deeply embedded in the fabric of Jewish tradition and community. As we sing in Lecha Dodi, “Sof ma’aseh b’machshava techilah” – the seed of this blossoming moment was planted long ago. They have cooked hesed meals, acted in our Purim shpil, sang in Yiddish Fiddler, traveled on retreat, offered divrei Torah, hosted Shabbat dinners, and showed up in classrooms, kitchens, and gatherings across our community. And they will continue to teach us, challenge us, lead us, and help us dream up the Jewish future we are all living into. I spent much of this week on the shores of Lake Michigan in Gary, Indiana, home to The Music Man, the minor league baseball Southshore Railcats (they lost, but we got to sit right behind home plate!) and the U.S. Steel mill that was actively desegregated by Jewish communists in the late 1940’s.
Josh and I went on retreat with a dozen clergy and staff from Synagogues Rising. As a network and a community of practice, it has been invaluable to share resources and learn from each other’s experiences. (In fact it was this same retreat in 2024 that inspired the creation of our conversion cohort Hineini.) In addition to talking shop, twice a day we gathered to share our spiritual practices, which included immersing in Lake Michigan and being sung to while we took afternoon naps. There is one practice in particular that I found really meaningful and want to share with all of you. It came to me by way of Rabbi Joey Glick (Shir Tikvah in Minneapolis), who learned it from our teacher Rabbi Shayna Rhodes at Hebrew College. The practice is called “Talmud Torah Tefilah” or “Sing * Study * Silence,” which is quite descriptive, because the practice has three parts: sing, study and sit in silence. Rather than share an insight about this week’s Torah portion, I am going to invite you into the practice to see what insight emerges for you. The way it works is that you sing or listen to a nigun for long enough that you can settle into it. Then you read two texts that were picked by different people and see what connections arise. And then you sit for a few moments or minutes to close. Let’s begin! *Sing* To begin, I invite you to minimize other distractions and listen to this melody (a few times if you can), attributed to the Ba’al Shem Tov and sung by Rabbi Ariel Root Wolpe. When you are ready… *Study* This afternoon I am bringing you a few verses from our Torah portion Sh’lach selected by Rabbi Lizzie and a poem I chose from Joy Harjo’s memoir, Poet Warrior. Text #1: Numbers 13:19-21 וּמָ֣ה הָאָ֗רֶץ אֲשֶׁר־הוּא֙ יֹשֵׁ֣ב בָּ֔הּ הֲטוֹבָ֥ה הִ֖וא אִם־רָעָ֑ה וּמָ֣ה הֶֽעָרִ֗ים אֲשֶׁר־הוּא֙ יוֹשֵׁ֣ב בָּהֵ֔נָּה הַבְּמַֽחֲנִ֖ים אִ֥ם בְּמִבְצָרִֽים׃ Is the country in which they dwell good or bad? Are the towns they live in open or fortified? וּמָ֣ה הָ֠אָ֠רֶץ הַשְּׁמֵנָ֨ה הִ֜וא אִם־רָזָ֗ה הֲיֵֽשׁ־בָּ֥הּ עֵץ֙ אִם־אַ֔יִן וְהִ֨תְחַזַּקְתֶּ֔ם וּלְקַחְתֶּ֖ם מִפְּרִ֣י הָאָ֑רֶץ וְהַ֨יָּמִ֔ים יְמֵ֖י בִּכּוּרֵ֥י עֲנָבִֽים׃ Is the soil rich or poor? Is it wooded or not? And take pains to bring back some of the fruit of the land.”—Now it happened to be the season of the first ripe grapes. וַֽיַּעֲל֖וּ וַיָּתֻ֣רוּ אֶת־הָאָ֑רֶץ מִמִּדְבַּר־צִ֥ן עַד־רְחֹ֖ב לְבֹ֥א חֲמָֽת׃ They went up and scouted the land, from the wilderness of Zin to Rehob, at Lebo-hamath. Text #2: Joy Harjo, Poet Warrior, page 15 “The Old Ones opened the ears of Girl-Warrior Tempering the frequency before she left On her mission. We are sending you, they said, To learn how to listen. There is good in this world. There is evil. There is no story without one and the other. You will be gravity. You will be feather. Send each story to the heart, Each word before you act or speak.” *** What arises for you? What do you notice? Connections, questions, observations? You are welcome to write in a journal, to write back to me or to share aloud with the people you are with. When you are ready … *Silence* Take a final moment to sit quietly. I look forward to future opportunities to practice Talmud Torah Tefilah together, and invite you to make it your own. I am very grateful for the time to refresh and return, to listen, to notice where I am gravity and where I am feather and to remember that “there is no story without one and the other.” For the past 6 months, Rabbi Lizzie has been lovingly preparing 12 Kol Tzedek members for conversation in our first ever Hineni cohort. They have met monthly to study, attended shabbat services together and even made their own tallitot. This past week the first two of them immersed themselves in the living waters of the mikveh and officially converted. The rest of them will immerse in the next two weeks, and then we will be celebrating all 12 of them on Saturday June 20 for what we are affectionately called, “Shabbat Sh’dunk!” (You will get to hear more about this on June 19 when Rabbi Lizzie writes the Friday email.)
Having been present at one of the conversions this week, I was reflecting on the spiritual origins of the class's namesake, Hineni. In the Torah when God calls your name, there is really only one right answer. “Hineni // Here I am!” Early in Exodus, God chooses Moses and calls his name. “Moses, Moses.” And Moses answered, as did Abraham and Jacob before him and Samuel after him: “Hineni, here I am.” Rabbi Nina Beth Cardin writes, “A stunning response. “Hineni” is a pure, astonished, unguarded affirmation given before all the facts are known. It is a spontaneous, unequivocal commitment promising: “I am here”, where and as you found me, fully attentive, focused, all in. And even more, “I am here”- all of me, with all that I am and all that I can be. “Hineni” is a response of sacred and undiluted presence, a response in which the self sheds all reservations, which expands the boundaries of self, indicating a readiness to receive and respond to whatever experience is about to unfold. It is brave and humble. It is the kind of response we offer only a few times in our lives.” I am certainly nothing like a biblical prophet, but in witnessing these 12 adults say Hineni to Judaism, I am noticing that this is also one of those times in my life. Like Moses before me, I have found within my own heart, “a pure, astonished, unguarded affirmation” of my desire to serve this community for another 10 years. Hineni. I am so grateful for the opportunity. The other famous “Hineni” moment comes on Yom Kippur, when the prayer leader recites these words as an introduction to the musaf service. Some describe the Hineni as a prayer for the ability to pray. Somehow within this one phrase is a whole-hearted yes and a vulnerable plea for support. Perhaps because there is something existentially vulnerable about saying yes, about giving ourselves fully to any purpose or person. May these new Jews feel both the call and the loving support of our community as they literally take the plunge. And may we each continue to listen for the people and places in our lives yearning for us to show up fully and say Hineni, here I am! |
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Office & Mailing Address: 5310 Whitby Ave, Commercial #1, Philadelphia, PA 19143
General Questions: (267) 702-6187 or [email protected]
Shabbat Services: 5300 Whitby Ave, Commercial #1, Philadelphia, PA 19143
General Questions: (267) 702-6187 or [email protected]
Shabbat Services: 5300 Whitby Ave, Commercial #1, Philadelphia, PA 19143