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The last time I was in Israel and Palestine was in the summer of 2006. It was a very formative time in my life. I have been thinking about it a lot lately. The experience that has been coming back to me this week was the morning I sat with a Palestinian civil rights lawyer. We were asking him questions and one friend asked, “How do you maintain your hope in the face of so many decades of occupation?” To which he seemed to easily respond, “We have no choice. We must be hopeful so that we are ready for freedom when it comes.”
The truth is that this has the potential to feel like a hopeless moment. We are on day 41 of a very violent war that is tearing at the fabrics of family and community. So many people have expressed to me despair about what comes next and how this war ends. In these moments I go back to that conversation in Palestine and remind myself we are each obligated to figure out where our hope comes from. I spent this past Monday praying for a deescalation of violence and ceasefire at the Capitol building in Washington, D.C. We were a weekday pop up shul, complete with a real ark and three Torahs. It was a bright sunny morning and it felt good to pour my whole heart into prayer. I sang so loud for so long that I actually lost my voice. Some of you were there with me and Rabbi Mó. Some of you watched the livestream. As we were led through the morning psalms by Rabbi Yosef Berman of the New Synagogue Project, I found myself lingering on Psalm 121. I lift my eyes…to the Capitol. From where does my help come? … But rather than help, my mind keeps substituting hope. As this devastating war enters its second month, I am asking myself, From where does my hope come? Just last week I was teaching the monthly Teen class at KT Torah School. We were studying the famous Mishnah in Pirkei Avot that asks, “ I am not for myself, who is for me? But if I am for my own self [only], what am I? And if not now, when?” We were talking about this teaching in the context of the war in Israel and Gaza. And one student remarked, “I think people don’t have enough empathy for people who are different from them.” That gave me hope. This past Wednesday I joined KTTS+ for tefillah. The students have a rotation and they take turns leading the prayers. As we sang Ufros Aleinu we paused and the kids called out places and people they wanted to send protection. Gaza, Israel, Palestine, the West Bank, the whole world. Their hearts are so wide. I am so grateful to be part of a synagogue where our children are praying for both Israeli and Palestinian safety. They give me hope. And just yesterday I led a text study with Molly Sand and her fellow organizers of the Penn Freedom school on the Torah of Lo Yisa Goy. Molly dedicated her learning to her grandfather’s memory. It was a brave and gentle multi faith space. After I taught, the Muslim chaplain recounted the story of Moses and Pharoah. I was honored to be there. They give me hope. My favorite image from this week’s Torah portion, Toldot, is about the wells that Isaac digs. Genesis 26:19 reads, “Isaac dug anew the wells which had been dug in the days of his father Abraham and which the Philistines had stopped up after Abraham’s death; and he gave them the same names that his father had given them.” Hope is an act of resistance. It is a spiritual practice. Jewish author and poet Grace Paley is famous for having said, “The only recognizable feature of hope is action.” If the only recognizable feature of hope is action, I see a reason to believe Isaac was hopeful. Despite a life of trauma and familial trouble, despite the despair one might feel when traveling in the desert with no reliable source of water, he redug the wells. And the Torah goes on to say that he found in each one a well spring of water. Tomorrow is our final Bar Mitzvah of the fall season and our last regularly scheduled B’nei Mitzvah at Calvary. The young people in our community are kind, empathetic, curious, critical thinkers. They are equally passionate about playing games and pursuing justice. I have the privilege of working with each and every B’nei Mitzvah student one on one. I imagine that when we first sit down to write their divrei Torah, they look at the Torah and think, I have to find water here?! But without fail or complaint they find a way to redig the well and draw forth their own unique wisdom. They give me hope. Since Wednesday I have been signing my emails “Shabbat Shalom”, anticipating the rest on the horizon. But these weeks it feels like it takes on new urgency and meaning. As if to say, May there be peace by Shabbat. May there be peace on Shabbat.
Each week, no matter the violence and suffering that has ensued, we find a way to greet Shabbat. In the words of Lecha Dodi, לִקְרַאת שבָּת לְכוּ וְנֵלְכָה. כִּי הִיא מְקור הַבְּרָכָה. “Let us go to welcome Shabbat, for she is the source of blessing.” And then in the next verse we sing, רַב לָךְ שבֶת בְּעֵמֶק הַבָּכָא. וְהוּא יַחֲמול עָלַיִךְ חֶמְלָה. “For too long you have been dwelling in the valley of tears. May the One who is compassionate, bestow compassion.” The past four weeks have been a valley of tears. As I prepare for this shabbat, I find myself longing for respite. The rabbis describe shabbat as a taste (literally: the unripe fruit) of the world to come (Genesis Rabbah 17:5). This teaching has drawn me back to the Days of Awe and our dreams of the world to come. One of the many beautiful teachings about the world to come describes 10 things that will be renewed or made true in Olam Haba (Exodus Rabbah 15:2). The list reads:
In this moment of profound destruction, these visions of healing and rebuilding are soothing to my system. It is not lost on me that this list was likely written by someone who knows what it feels like to see a world full of weeping and wailing and to long for that to end. I feel called by this teaching to devote my shabbat to imagining a world without weeping and anguish; to create a day together that is full of joy and connection; to eat from the tree of life that will one day bear this fully ripe fruit; to feel in my bones a shabbat shalom so that I can be truly refreshed for the week to come. I invite you to lay down the news, turn off your phones, and find a way to join me for at least some part of the next 25 hours. May we have the wisdom and courage to be joyful. For 6 days a week we work to build toward an everlasting day when these 10 things are true. But tonight “Let us go to welcome Shabbat, for she is the source of blessing.” Among the pieces of art in my office, there is a small colorful print in a metallic turquoise frame
that intentionally hangs in my direct line of sight. It is a drawing done by my beloved friend Micah Bazant that says, “Honor our dead & fight like hell for the living.” They made this image to support CeCe McDonald and all trans women of color who are fighting for their lives. Micah made it on Transgender Day of Remembrance 2013, to reframe the event towards supporting the survival and leadership of trans feminine people of color. As Janet Mock, a transfemme activist puts it: “It’s a state of emergency for trans women and trans feminine folk of color”… "The disproportionate levels of violence trans women of color face pains me, and so does the pervasive framing of trans womanhood being directly linked to images of victimhood and tragedy. It hurts that our names are often amplified only when we are dead, gone, inactive.”… " We can’t only celebrate trans women of color in memoriam. We must begin uplifting trans women of color, speaking their names and praises, in their lives.” As we enter the month of November and approach another Trans Day of Remembrance, I have been holding these words close like an amulet and an oracle. They have also been an anthem at the many protests I have attended calling for a ceasefire. Janet Mock’s words invoke my own feelings about Palestinian lives as well. As progressive Jewish communities, we are growing accustomed to reading their names at Kaddish and less practiced at building trusting relationships with Palestinians. There is grounding for this imperative in this week’s Torah portion, Vayera. Not once, but twice, Abraham argues with God and insists that the Holy One reach deeper and find more compassion to save innocent lives. The first occurrence is on behalf of the people of Sodom and Gomorrah. God wanted to wipe out the two cities in their entirety and Abraham implores God! וַיִּגַּשׁ אַבְרָהָם וַיֹּאמַר הַאַף תִּסְפֶּה צַדִּיק עִם־רָשָׁע׃ Abraham approached God and said, “Will You sweep away the innocent along with the guilty? Abraham then begins to bargain with the Holy Blessed One: “What if I can find 50 righteous people? Will you save the city? How about 40 righteous people? 20? 10? 5?” At which point Abraham calls God in: חָלִלָה לְּךָ מֵעֲשֹׂת כַּדָּבָר הַזֶּה לְהָמִית צַדִּיק עִם־רָשָׁע וְהָיָה כַצַּדִּיק כָּרָשָׁע חָלִלָה לָּךְ הֲשֹׁפֵט כׇּל־הָאָרֶץ לֹא יַעֲשֶׂה מִשְׁפָּט׃ “Far be it from You to do such a thing, to bring death upon the innocent as well as the guilty, so that innocent and guilty fare alike. Far be it from You! Shall not the Judge of all the earth deal justly?” (Genesis 18:25) The echoes of this political moment are eerie and clear. I too feel the desperate call to try to save every innocent life. Later in the parsha, The Holy One comes to Avimelech in a dream and describes Abraham as someone willing to intercede. The use of the word intercede here is significant (Genesis 20:7). The hebrew word is וְיִתְפַּלֵּל / v’yitpallel, meaning to pray, is the same root as tefillah, as in Jewish prayer. For the rabbis, the core meaning of prayer itself is born of Abraham’s spiritual efforts in this week’s parsha to bring about a more just God, and therefore a more just world. So when we sing, “In hope, in prayer, we find ourselves here,” we should know that our ancestors are really with us. The call I am hearing and amplifying is the call coming directly from Israeli families whose loved ones are being held hostage, “Everyone for everyone, Ceasefire Now!” Which I understand as: The fates of Israelis and Palestinians are intertwined. Jewish and Palestinian safety are not at odds. We are beseeching our governments and our God for a world in which we all keep each other safe. We are in mourning for so many righteous lives lost in Israel and too many more righteous lives lost in Palestine. And we are called to fight like hell for the living. הֲשֹׁפֵט כׇּל־הָאָרֶץ לֹא יַעֲשֶׂה מִשְׁפָּט׃ May the Source of Justice for all lands, not withhold a just peace now. |
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General Questions: (267) 702-6187 or [email protected]
Shabbat Services: 5300 Whitby Ave, Commercial #1, Philadelphia, PA 19143