Today is Valentine’s Day. Saint Valentine’s Day. I have some friends who don’t celebrate it because it is a saint’s day. Others who don’t celebrate it because it is a pagan holiday. I don’t care. It is fun. More than fun it is important to remember that we are loved and that we can love. There was a popular song, “What the world needs now is love, sweet love. Its the only thing that there is just too little of.” The words are still true. Another one says “Love is what makes the world go round.” The Jewish Holidays by Michael Strassfeld makes the point that these early spring holidays–Mardi Gras, Valentine’s Day, even Purim are a release. It is about giving thanks that we survived the winter. Early spring gives way to early, romantic love. In Judaism we see it consummated with Shavuot, the love story between G-d and the Jewish people who received the 10 Commandments at Sinai, the ketubah, the wedding contract, between G-d and the Israelites if you will.
Valentine himself is shrouded in mystery and there are not clear records of who he was or what he did. Some say he dates from 289CE, when he married people in secret within the church because the emperor forbade marriage, thinking that unmarried soldiers fought better. Shortly before his execution he signed his last letter, “From your Valentine.” Others dispute this, saying Geoffrey Chaucer invented many of the traditions and myths around Valentine’s Day in his Parliment of Fools. In any case, the day became connected with romantic love.
Isaac is the first person in the Bible who experiences love. Genesis tells us that “Isaac brought her into the tent of his mother Sarah, and he married Rebekah. So she became his wife, and he loved her; and Isaac was comforted after his mother’s death.” I like the idea that he was comforted and that he found love.
Our prayers are filled with the idea of love as well. Ahavah Rabbah and Ahavat Olam the prayer immediately before the Sh’ma teach us that God loves us, the people of Israel and so gave us Torah. Torah is a set of rules, a way of life. Some rebel against the structure, the thou shall nots. If you think about it, however, like a parent loves a child and set limits, God shows love for us by setting limits and giving us rules. We, in turn, then love God with all our hearts, with all our souls, with all our mights–with our whole being.

We are taught that another sign of this is that the last letter of the Torah in Deuteronomy is lamed, ending the word Yisrael. The first letter is bet, beginning the word bereshit. Taken together, lamed-bet, they spell lev, heart. Torah is filled with love, with heart.
There is another word for love, chesed, which as Nelson Glueck taught in his seminal work on that word we will never fully be able to translate or understand, means something like lovingkindness. Exodus 34:6-7 which I wrote my rabbinical thesis on, teaches that there are 13 Attributes of the Divine. Chesed is mentioned twice in that list. The list says that “The Lord! The Lord! God, Compassionate and Gracious, Slow to anger and Abundant in Kindness and Truth, Preserver of kindness for thousands of generations” It continues that God forgives iniquity, transgression and sin.”
This idea that God loves us is important. And that God is full of lovingkindness. Patient. Forgiving. This is what enables romantic love to be possible. I was at a monastery recently and I was struck by the simple altar covering. “You are my beloved.” If we, imperfect humans are God’s beloved, than anything is possible. Which is exactly what Abraham and Sarah found out when God told them they would have a baby so very late in life.
Love is what makes the world go round. It makes all things possible. So however you celebrate Valentine’s Day today, whether by enjoying some chocolate, some flowers, the first hints of early spring, pause and know that you are loved. Even if you are alone and feeling lonely, know that you are loved, deeply loved.

So Moses lived to be 120 years old—and the blessing on someone’s birthday is “May you live to be 120. Ad meah esrim” Essentially, may you be like Moses. So today we are having a big birthday party, an anniversary. 120 years. Kol hakavod!

It has been fun for me to hear the stories. Blossom talking about having the first aliyah as a woman. The stories of sneaking out to Prince’s for nickel ice cream cones. Stories about the last Bar Mitzvah on Villa Street and the first one in this building. Any number of stories of the basketball court and the showers in the basement. Stories of Friday Night Live and piano music with Mrs. Greenfield. Stories of dinner dances and _________. Stores of the Jewish Community Chest. I love this kind of history and I love that we are surrounded by it with the display on loan from the Elgin Historical Society.

120 years is a long time for a congregation, especially a Midwestern congregation. While my ancestors helped found KAM in 1847 and Simon’s helped with Congregation Sinai, 120 years is still a rarity. Anywhere in the country. It is truly a milestone. B’nai Shalom in Quincy was founded over a 130 years ago and has the oldest synagogue building in Illinois in continual use. The Orthodox congregation on Golf Road in Skokie was founded in 1867 and lists itself as the oldest Orthodox congregation in the Midwest. And then there is us. That’s it.

We record lots of ages in the Torah—some of them seem radically improbable. Who really lives to be 969 years old like Methuselah? Or 900 like Adam or 500? Did Sarah really have a baby at 90? Even she laughed at that idea to which God said nothing was impossible for God.

And the Bible does mention the celebration of birthdays. Isaac was weaned on his third birthday and Ahrbaham made a feast. The Pharaoh that Joseph served under celebrated his birthday and that was an auspicious day. One of Ahashvarous’s parties in the book of Esther was rumored to be his birthday.

We are taught to number our days. What does it mean to count, to number our days?

I think it means that we should strive to do something worthwhile. There is a line in Gates of Repentance that has always resonated with me, “Merely to have survived is not an index of excellence.” It gets me every year and brings me up short. So what are we supposed to do? I think we need to thrive.

What does it mean to thrive?

We are in the section of the Torah where we are wandering in the desert. Inevitably the Israelites are not happy. They grumble. Almost constantly. They don’t want to walk through the mud when the Sea of Reeds miraculous parted. They worry that there is not enough water. They don’t like the taste of manna—it’s boring. They want to go back to Egypt where at least they have onions to flavor their food. They still have a slave mentality. This is not unlike prisoners who sometimes commit another crime just so they can go back to jail where even though it isn’t pleasant they have three square meals a day and heat. Last week we read how the Israelites begged Moses to go up the mountain for them. They were afraid. Soon we will read about the Golden Calf. Again, the Israelites were afraid , this time that Moses wasn’t coming back. It took a full generation for the Israelites to be ready to enter the promise land. But that generation was the one that got to experience God’s presence directly. As Mekhita taught, “Even a lowly bondswoman saw God” unlike Isaiah and Ezekiel who only had visions of God. This very generation set up our ability to be Jews today. By having the courage to leave Egypt (not everyone did), by being like Miriam and taking their timbrels with them so that they could worship and celebrate, by having the courage to walk through the water like Nachson, by sticking with it, even when they were scared and grumbling.

For me that it is what is about. We need not just to survive. We need to thrive. That is what our ancestors who founded this very shul wanted. They wanted us as Jews to thrive in the Fox River Valley. They wanted us to be proud of our heritage and their legacy. They gave us a lasting gift.

And it would be nice if along the way we did it with a little less grumbling. We can’t go back in time. We can only move forward. It is good to celebrate that we survived. That we are amongst the oldest Jewish congregations in Illinois. But what is so critical to our success, our ability to thrive is to plan for our future. It is about how we take our passion for Judaism, for this very synagogue, for this building and pass it down to the next generation so that they share our enthusiasm and passion. The next generation will be different than ours. That happens every generation. They will make Judaism their own and build on what we leave them. They may elect to do services online, do more with social media, learn Hebrew remotely. They are already doing some of that. They may prefer Matisyahu to Lewandowski or Debbie Friedman or Jeff Klepper. Synagogues may not look like this building at all and I am not sure we can imagine what it will be like. However, I think that Jews will want to continue to be engaged and involved on their terms, for spirituality, for study and for community. That is what a synagogue, a temple, a shul, our home is all about.
There is a story about Reb Zusya, a great Hasidic leader. He was worried about the question he would be asked by the angels at the end of his life. He would not be asked, “Why weren’t you a Moses, leading your people out of slavery. And the angels will not ask, “Why weren’t you a Joshua, leading your people into the promised land.” His followers were puzzled. What will they ask you? Zusya answered, “They will say to me, Zusya, why weren’t you Zusya.”
Today is Shabbat Shekalim, the day when Israel took a census, when G-d asked the Israelites to raise their heads, literally take a head count. It is essentially a tax holiday. Every adult, those 20 years old, of military age, Israelite had to pay a half shekel. The text is clear, the rich shall not pay more nor the poor shall not pay less. There are a couple of interesting things to point out here—the word, v’natnu is a palindrome, spelled the same way backwards and forwards. The Vilna Gaon teaches that charity is a two way street, those give many have to receive. That seems like the classic “What goes around comes around.” But there is something more here.

While Eitz Hayyim translates it as “each shall pay,” the verb is closer to “And they shall give.” This is an obligation, but it is also a gift.

Each of us have gifts that we bring to the shul. Those gifts are what make this place a holy place.

These are the gifts that we bring 
that we may build a holy place.

This is the spirit that we bring that we may build a holy place.

We will bring all the goodness 
that comes from our hearts

And the spirit of God will dwell within…..
These are the colours of our dreams 
we bring to make a holy place.

This is the weaving of our lives 
we bring to make a holy place.

We will bring all the goodness
 that comes from our hearts

And the spirit of love will dwell within…..
These are the prayers that we bring 
that we may make a holy place.

These are the visions that we seek
 that we may build this holy place.

Let our promise forever be strong,

let our souls rise together in song,

that the spirit of God 
and the spirit of love,
 Shechinah, 
will dwell within.

The Rabbinical Assembly’s Rabbi’s Manual has a special bracha for a special anniversary. While it was designed for a wedding anniversary, it is appropriate here. The Israelites formed a covenant with God and with each other. A marriage is a covenantal relationship, a relationship based in love, in mutual respect, in trust. Building a synagogue is much like the Israelites who stood together at Sinai. Building a synagogue is a lot like entering a marriage. So like those who have been married for 25 or 50 years we say,
“I will betroth you to Me forever. I will betroth you to Me with righteousness, with justice, with compassion. I will betroth you to Me with faithfulness, and you shall love Adonai.” Paraphrasing, 120 years ago, in the presence of your families and friends, you consecrated this community. Your lives together, your sharing of joys and sorrows, your raising families together, and your continuing devotion to each other, nurturing and expanding upon the promise our ancestors made to one another 120 years ago.” (page c-68). Every week we read as part of the Torah service the blessing for our community and for our leaders. “May the blessings of heaven—kindness and compassion, long life, ample sustenance, well-being, and healthy children devoted to Torah—be granted to all members of this congregation. May the Sovereign of the universe, bless you, adding to your days and your years. May you be spared all distress and disease. May our Protector in heaven be your help at all times…May God who blessed our ancestors, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah and the very ones who founded this synagogue, bless this entire congregation, together with all holy congregations…along with those who unite to establish synagogues for prayer and those who enter them to pray and those who five funds for heat and light and wine for Kiddush and havdalah…May God bless them by making all their worthy endeavors prosper…And let us say, Amen.” Siddur Sim Shalom, page 148) This is about how to thrive.

Our work is not yet done. Pirke Avot teaches, “Lo Alecha Hamlacha ligmor, Ours is not the finish the task, neither are we free to ignore it.” So it is time to celebrate. And time to raise your heads, stand up and be counted. But it is also time to pass down what we love to the next generation, lador vador, from one generation to the next. We are not alone in this. God makes a promise in the beginning of this week’s parsha. “I am sending an angel before you to guard you on the way and to bring you to the place that I have made ready…I will let you enjoy the full count of your days.” Then we will truly thrive into the next generation and beyond. Ad meah esrim.

Be Happy, It is Adar. There are things to be happy about this month. Purim comes in the middle to remind us that the Jewish people survived, not only Haman’s evil plots but until now. As I recently wrote, it is not enough to survive but we need to thrive. What does that mean, for each of us personally and for us as a people?

Yesterday the Violence Against Women Act passed the Senate. This too, on the eve of Purim is reason to celebrate. But our work as women, for women is not yet done. This bill urgently needs to pass the House of Representatives. One of my favorite parts of the Book of Esther is when Mordechai chides her. “For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance for the may arise from another place… And who knows but that you have come to royal position for such a time as this?” This prodding gives her the courage to find her voice and speak up. We need to make sure this bill passes and as President Obama urged last night in his State of the Union, we need to make sure that women are paid the same as men. Our voices, like Esther’s make a difference.

Rosh Hodesh Adar was celebrated in Jerusalem too, by the Women of the Wall, a group I have supported since they were founded in 1983. They believe that women have the right to pray at the wall, that women’s voices can be heard. There are some Orthodox (men) who believe differently. For the last several years things have gotten increasingly tense. Women have been arrested. Their crimes? Wearing a talit, Singing the Sh’ma. Disturbing the peace. Really? I have read all of the halacha on both those issues. While not required to wear a talit, it is not forbidden either. That could be subject for a whole entire separate blog.

I was encouraged this month. The paratroopers who liberated the Wall in 1967 would be attending. I stayed up to midnight to see what would happen. There was a larger crowd than usual, perhaps because of the coverage in Ha’aretz. Perhaps because it was Rosh Hodesh Adar…where our heroine speaks up against injustice.

When I got up, the first email I read was from Anat Hoffman, executive director of the Israeli Religious Action Center and the spokesperson of Women of the Wall. Ten women were arrested including Anat, Rabbi Susan Silverman, two Conservative rabbis slated to meet with MK Natan Sharansky, a Reform rabbinical student and others. I had friends who were there.

Again, our voices can and will make a difference. We need to be more like Esther. Then will we not only survive but thrive. There is much to be happy about this month. Last night I made a beaded gragger bracelet with the women of our sisterhood. It jingles. It jangles. It says Be Happy. Hadassah and Joy. I will wear it on Purim to remind me that I have a voice. And still so much more work to be done. Ours is not to finish the task, neither are we free to ignore it. How will your voice be heard? How will you make a difference this month?

This weekend the congregation I serve, Congregation Kneseth Israel, celebrates its 120th anniversary. It was founded in 1892. It is hard to even type a date that old, and when we recently applied for credit for a building project, the website wouldn’t even accept that date. We had to use when the building was incorporated (1948!).

Clearly this is a milestone. From my perspective, it is not just that we survived for 120 years, a rarity in congregational life, but that we are thriving. I love history. I was an American Studies major at Tufts. One of my favorite courses was New England Religious Experience team taught by an English professor and a history professor. I loved holding Governor William Bradford’s Geneva (Britches) Bible in my very own hands. He wrote his marginalia in Hebrew. Looking at what he wrote gives us clues into his philosophy and the founding of Plimouth Plantation and our great nation.

I have enjoyed listening to our seniors tell stories of what the congregation was like when they were younger. I have enjoyed watching our students’ faces light up in recognition and respect as they taped these pillars of the community.

My job is different. My job is to take those stories and make them come alive so that those who come after them, and after me can find meaning and beauty in Judaism. My job is to plant seeds of growth and renewal so that the next generation can thrive. So that we can proudly say that we survived another 120 years. Can you even imagine what the Jewish community will look like in another 120 years. I got a glimpse recently when I attended the Chicago Board of Rabbis meeting and listened to Rabbi Kerry Olitzky. But that is another blog post at another time.

This past week I also celebrated a birthday. It was not a milestone year. But it was significant. It had been a year since I had first heard about this congregation in Elgin and filled out my application. I had it completed on my birthday. In that year I picked up my family and moved across the country, to a land that I sort of knew from my youth but not really. There are days it feels like my world has been turned upside down. Then there are the days where it feels so comfortable like I was always meant to be here doing exactly what I am doing.

I will be honest. I struggle with my birthday. Historically, some of them have been hard. Like the year my mother was in the hospital, the year the shuttle exploded with the Israeli astronaut onboard and the year my mother called to tell me that Yuval had been killed. Those were bad years. They overshadow the other ones.

This year I paused to reflect. I realized that Rev. David Ferner was right. He loves Psalm 139 which talks about G-d knowing us in the womb. We are loved before we are born. Just because. Not because we have done anything. We are just loved and it is enough.

This week as part of our service we were graced with the Second Baptist Choir. They came to sing. They came to kick off Black History Month. They came to enrich our worship experience and yes…we rocked the house. But somewhere in the middle of the service, in the very middle of the Amidah, the standing prayer, the central portion of our service, I had a religious experience, a spiritual moment. I looked down from what I was chanting and I saw the English. “Your love sustains the living.” That was exactly what I needed to hear. That was my birthday gift.

So my message to those of you who are celebrating milestone anniversaries and big birthdays. Yes, we survived. Yes, we can thrive. But more than that. We are loved. And that is enough. That is what we must teach the next generation.

“Prayer is our humble answer to the inconceivable surprise of living.” Abraham Joshua Heschel
This weekend we mark two things, the birthday of Martin Luther King jr and the yahrzeit of Abraham Joshua Heschel. Forever linked in a famous photo, these two men linked arm and arm to make the world a better place. They shared a common vision born out of their different yet similar backgrounds. Heschel, a European Jew who escaped Poland prior to the Holocaust and became one of the most prominent rabbis of the 20th century, knew oppression first hand. These two men from different geographies, color, creed, theological background were joined in a spiritual kinship whose legacy addresses our own times.
This weekend we also read the story of Moses going to Pharaoh to plead to let the Israelites go. We read about the plague of darkness and the plague of the killing of the first born. This is a story, common to both traditions. What about the story of the Israelites in Egypt becoming free was so powerful for the African Americans? What is the common history that we share? What was the role that Jews played in the Civil Rights Movement? Does it still matter today?
Last week we talked about what hardened Pharaoh’s heart. Is it possible as the story suggests that God hardened Pharaoh’s heart? What about free will? What about repentance and t’shuvah? Doesn’t everyone have a chance to return to God, to righteous living? I am still not entirely comfortable with the answer that God gave Pharaoh five chances and Pharaoh hardened his own heart. If you keep choosing evil, then at some point you cannot choose good. What about the innocent Egyptians? They could not escape the plagues. Except for darkness. They could have chosen to light a candle and did not.
King and Heschel were friends. Heschel spoke in Selma, at the March on Washington. King was the keynote speaker at Rabbinical Assembly at the Concord Hotel. At Corretta Scott King’s request, Heschel then became the rabbi at King’s funeral. Their friendship ran deep. They shared a dream and deep commitment to making the world a better place for all.
When I lived in Evanston in the sixties and seventies I was a child. But my Shabbat mornings were filled with going to peace rallies, working on political campaigns and debating the issues of the day. My mother was fond of saying that “We lived in Evanston, the only place where busing worked.” I had black friends, friends from India, and my very best friend, Mika Baba, was from Japan. She spoke not a word of English. Somehow we all got along. My mother’s college, Western College for Women, now a part of Miami of Ohio, housed and helped train the Freedom Riders in the summer of 1963. There is an amplitheater at the college dedicated to that fateful summer.
When I was first working as a Jewish professional I worked at Temple Emanuel of the Merrimack Valley where Rabbi Everett Gendler was the rabbi. We knew he had been instrumental in the civil rights movement. The kids in the school thought he got his pronounced hole in his head from a rock thrown at him. He marched with King and Heschel. He was responsible for inviting King to speak to the rabbinical assembly. Recently Dr. Howard Rashba produced a documentary about Rabbi Gendler’s role. It is an important first hand account and for me a walk down memory lane. Howie intersperses Everett and Mary’s own words with photos and film clips of the time and the music that was so important in its day and continues to resonate today. Other friends of ours from TEMV were there at the March on Washington, notably Alyn and Nancy Rovin.
But what about King and Heschel? Susannah Heschel, Heschel’s daughter, a scholar in her own right and the person behind the story of the orange on the seder plate, talked about the relationship between King and Heschel in their own words. Heschel wrote to King shortly after the March in Selma, saying, “The day we marched together out of Selma was a day of sanctification. That day I hope will never be past to me – that day will continue to be this day…. May I add that I have rarely in my life been privileged to hear a sermon as glorious as the one you delivered at the service in Selma prior to the march.”
Susannah continued, “For Heschel, the march had spiritual significance. He wrote, “For many of us the march from Selma to Montgomery was about protest and prayer. Legs are not lips and walking is not kneeling. And yet our legs uttered songs. Even without words, our march was worship. I felt my legs were praying.”
This has become a famous quote, “I felt my legs were praying.” How do our legs pray? By doing the work of G-d, by being like G-d. We are commanded to feed the hungry, take care of the widow, the orphan and the stranger, not stand by idly while a neighbor bleeds. I believe that is what we were doing when I marched through Evanston, and Heschel, Gendler, Eisendrath and others joined with King. Heschel said, and we read it before the Amidah,
“Prayer cannot bring water to parched fields, nor mend a broken bridge, nor rebuild a ruined city; but prayer can water an arid soul, mend a broken heart, and rebuild a weakened will.” (Gates of Prayer, p. 152) For me, this becomes one of the central reasons to pray. On the other hand, we are mandated to water those fields, fix those broken bridges and rebuild our cities.
Heschel saw his participation as fitting squarely in the prophetic tradition of our people. Upon his return, Heschel described his experience in a diary entry: “I felt again what I have been thinking about for years – that Jewish religious institutions have again missed a great opportunity, namely, to interpret a civil-rights movement in terms of Judaism. The vast majority of Jews participating actively in it are totally unaware of what the movement means in terms of the prophetic traditions.” I would quibble with his about his last sentence. The Civil Rights Act was written and hammered out on the conference table of the Religious Action Center, Reform Judaism’s social justice advocacy group in Washington. Rabbi Maurice Eisendrath, president of the UAHC is the one photographed standing next to King holding a Torah. Nonetheless it is important to understand our obligation to work for social justice in these very terms—the clarion call to tikkun olam, repairing the world, is right out of our tradition.

For King and Heschel, there was no need to debate this. They saw the world through theological and political eyes. Susannah explained, “For each there was an emphatic stress on the dependence of the political on the spiritual, God on human society, the moral life on economic well-being. Indeed, there are numerous passages in their writings that might have been composed by either one. Consider, for example, Heschel’s words:

“The opposite of good is not evil, the opposite of good is indifference,” a conviction that he translated into a political commitment: “In a free society, some are guilty, but all are responsible.”

King writes, “To accept passively an unjust system is to cooperate with that system.” Not to act communicates “to the oppressor that his (sic) actions are morally right.” Social activism was required by religious faith, both Heschel and King argued, particularly when society had developed immoral institutional structures: “Your highest loyalty is to God and not to the mores, or folkways, the state or the nation, or any [hu]man-made institution.”
Both Heschel and King… spoke of God in similar terms, as deeply involved in the affairs of human history. Heschel developed a theology of what he termed “divine pathos” bearing the religious implication “that God can be intimately affected” and the political implication that “God is never neutral, never beyond good and evil.”
King remembered a time when both Heschel and King were here in Chicago, “I remember very well when we were in Chicago for the Conference on Religion and Race…to a great extent his speech inspired clergymen of all faiths to do something they had not done before.” At that conference Heschel had reminded the assembly that the first Conference on Religion and Race took place in Egypt where the main participants were Pharaoh and Moses. Moses’ words were: “Thus saith the Lord God of Israel, let My people go” and the Pharaoh retorted “Who is the Lord that I should heed this voice and let Israel go.” That summit meeting in Egypt has not come to an end. Pharaoh is still not ready to capitulate. The Exodus began, but we are still stranded in the desert. It was easier for the Israelites to cross the Red Sea than for men and women of different color to enter our institutions, our colleges, our universities, our neighborhoods.
Pirke Avot teaches us many things. Hillel said, In a place where there are no men, strive to be a man.” Both Heschel and King exemplified this.
It also teaches us that “Ours is not to finish the task, neither are we free to ignore it.” While the Civil Rights Movement was a pivotal moment in American History and Jews, including Heschel, Eisendrath and Everett Gendler played a leading role, the work is not yet finished. King understood that too. In the speech he made the night before he died he said, “Like anybody, I would like to live a long life,” King says, pausing amid sporadic shouts from the crowd. “Longevity has its place,” he continues. “But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And he’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you,” he pauses, amid more shouts. “But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people will get to the Promised Land. I’m not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.”
We have an obligation to continue to work for the day where Jew and Gentile can walk hand in hand. We have an obligation to continue King’s dream. “I have the audacity to believe that peoples everywhere can have three meals a day for their bodies, education and culture their minds, and dignity, equality and freedom for their spirits. I believe that what self-centered men have torn down, men other-centered can build up. I still believe that one day mankind will bow before the altars of God and be crowned triumphant over war and bloodshed, and nonviolent redemptive goodwill will proclaim the rule of the land … I still believe that we shall overcome.”
-Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Noble Prize Acceptance Speech, Dec. 10, 1965
That was King’s vision and it remains mine. So this weekend I will find ways to be involved. I may work on a Habitat for Humanity house or bring food and warm clothes to a shelter or serve a meal to the developmentally disabled. I will celebrate the second inauguration of President Barack Obama. I will hope for a day when the world is at peace and gun violence is no more. Where everyone can sit under their vine and fig tree and none shall make them afraid. What will you do? How will your legs pray? Where will you light a candle against the darkness?

My congregation’s book group read an interesting book this month. The Color of Water by James McBride is his tribute to his “light-skinned mother” and her raising of 12 black children. It is touching, sometimes funny, and thought provoking. Ruth McBride Jordan got pregnant, escaped her abusive birth family, married a black man, started a church in her living room. She raised all of her children with the belief that God is the Color of Water. She raised her children to believe in the power of an education and the power of Jesus’s love. She, however, was the daughter of an Orthodox rabbi. She escaped pogroms in Poland. She moved to New York, New Jersey and eventually Suffolk Virginia where anti-semitism and racism were alive and well. Her father, the rabbi was cruel and sexually exploitive. Her mother was fragile and handicapped. Her aunts in New York were no real help and her sister thought Ruth had abandoned her.
While I cannot condone the kind of life her father created for her, nor would I want her to go back to them, the book made me sad. I wish someone in the Jewish community could have seen the pain Ruth (nee Ruchel Dwara Zlyska) had been in. I wish someone could have made Judaism come alive for her; that she could have found the beauty that I see in it, that I can find. I wish she could have known that Judaism offers a God of love (See Exodus 34:6-7). I am glad that she was a strong woman with a strength of character and a will to survive. I am glad that she was such a good mother to her 12 children helping them to excel and to reach high expectations, no matter what the obstacles were. I am glad she found comfort in the black community. The Jewish community failed her. That failure makes me sad.

In last week’s parsha, Shmot, the first section of Exodus, there is a phrase that stuck out. Jethro, Moses’s father-in-law says to Moses, “Lech l’shalom. Go in peace.”
This is a remarkable phrase for several reasons. A trip to Egypt would not necessarily be easy. Jethro knew that Moses might not return. And yet, he gave Moses his blessing. “Go in peace.”
Last week I attending a mincha-havdalah service led by a friend of mine, Rabbi Marc Rudolph. He reminded me that I had once set off a discussion at the Academy about this very phrase. A long time ago, Rabbi Everett Gendler taught me that one should sign correspondence with L’shalom, not B’shalom as many people do. When the head of the Academy, Rabbi Jeff Hoffman signed something “B’Shalom” I questioned it. No one seemed to know. I went back to Rabbi Gendler and asked if he remembered our previous discussion and what the difference between the phrases is. He answered that “B’shalom” is what you say when someone has died, like “rest in peace.” The nuanced difference here is that “L’shalom” is “Towards peace” or “To peace”. It expresses the hope that we will eventually find peace. I liked that difference and prepared to discuss it with my congregation Friday night. Then our president sent out an email signed “B’shalom” and I wondered how I was going to talk about this topic. I knew that in Shalom Aleichem we sing, “Bo’achem l’shalom” then, “Barchuni l’shalom”, and finally “Tzeitchem l’shalom.” Come in peace, bless us with peace, exit in peace. In Ufros Aleinu we say “Hashkivenu l’shalom.” Over and over again this is how the liturgy uses the phrase.
I wasn’t sure how I was going to weave this together. Then I led the davenning. The answer was right there. In Psalm 29 the last line is “Adonai will bless His people with peace.” “Adonai y’varech et amo vashalom.” That last word is really “b’shalom”. This entire phrase is repeated in the Torah service on Shabbat morning. And then in Lecha Dodi, we welcome the Shabbat bride and we sing, Boi v’shalom” Come in peace. It is not either/or. It is both/and. God will bless us WITH peace. Same phrase. Both phrases are liturgical and both phrases are correct. Sign your letters and emails either way. It is not wrong. I will probably still sign mine “L’shalom” because I still like the idea of working towards peace. I know I am not there yet personally. In the meantime, may we be blessed with peace. Speedily and in our day. B’shalom, L’shalom, Shalom. Amen.

This morning I got up early, as is my New Year’s morning custom, in time to watch the sky change from dark blue/black with a hint of orange on the horizon and the morning star shining brightly to the rose colored fingers of dawn to bright early morning sunlight. I remember driving to rabbinical school in New York at dawn and watching to be able to distinguish between blue and white and then the finer distinction between blue and green. At what point may one recite the morning Sh’ma? This is the question the Talmud begins with.

New Year’s Sunrise 2013, Elgin, IL

I watched that same progression this morning and standing outside with my new puppy Caleb I sang Modah Ani Lefanecha. I thank You for allowing me to wake up again this morning. Then I sang Ilu Filu. I especially like the translation written by Anita Diamant and recorded on the Mayyim Hayyim CD, Immersed:

If my mouth was filled with song
Like the ocean tide is strong
If my tongue could but give praise
Like the roaring of the waves

Chorus:
It would never, ever be enough
There could never, ever be enough
We will never ever say enough
To thank you, amen.
(last time – We thank you – amen)

Verse 2:
If my ears were tuned to hear 
The Heavenly music of the spheres
If my heart could rise and reach
Like the crashing on the beach   (Chorus)

Bridge:
So let us praise and let us shout
Breathing in and singing out
Hear the joyful noise of voices
Joined in song

For the gifts that came before us
And for all those yet to come
We thank you,
Amen.  (return to Verse 1)

And that is exactly the point. I stand here at the beginning of the new secular year, a year filled with possibilities and gifts. But it is true every morning. I am reminded of the Girl Scout grace, “G-d has created a new day. Silver and Green and Gold. Live that the sunset may find us, worthy G-d’s gifts to hold.”

A few years back, Sarah, Simon and I were hiking with our friend Charley. It hadn’t been a year since I had been in a serious car accident and it wasn’t clear that I could hike even that small New Hampshire mountain. Charley had been critical to my getting to the top of a mountain once before, not allowing me to give up. The view was too beautiful to miss. Charley, and Simon and Sarah wouldn’t let me give up this time either. As we neared the end of the hike, after seeing the breathtaking view, I said something like we should have brought champagne. Sarah said that since I was still alive and reasonably unscathed from the accident, I could open a bottle of champagne every day for the rest of my life if I so wanted.

I had learned an important lesson about champagne. When Simon and I first got engaged we told dear friends of ours. Nancy had been digging in the garden. She simply stood up and said, “Alyn, open the champagne.” And he did. From this I learned you should always have a bottle of champagne in the fridge. As I tell all my wedding couples, to celebrate the big moments, like a wedding or New Years, or the little moments day by day by day.

Sunrise on New Year’s Morning reminds me that the new year is filled with possibilities and hope. Every day offers the gift of a new beginning. Each day, a day filled with possibilities. Modah Ani Lefanecha, I thank You, that I am here still to experience that understanding. So now that the moon is shining through the window completing the first day of the new year, I pause in deep gratitude. Hinini. Here am I. Able to love and be loved. Able to offer thanks and praise. Worthy G-d’s gifts to hold.

Shabbat Vaychi

Friday night I spoke about blessings. We looked at the traditional Shabbat evening blessings for women, Eishet Chayil, a Woman of Valor, which we use as a personal check list in our house. One for men, a more recent addition which shows how liturgy changes over time. And the one for our children. The origin of that blessing comes from this week’s parsha, “May you be like Maneseh and Ephraim.” What does it mean that G-d blesses us? What does it mean for us to bless our children? What blessings do we wish for each other, for our community? For our children? How do we bless our children when they are adults or no longer live at home? What do we do if we, G-d forbid, lost a child? And who were Maneseh and Ephraim anyway? That was a good discussion.

They were the grandsons of Jacob, the sons of Joseph. Raised in Egypt, they looked and dressed like Egyptians. Cue Walk like an Egyptian here. So much so that Jacob didn’t even recognize them. However, having been separated from Joseph he was delighted to live to see both Joseph and his grandsons. And he blessed both his children and grandsons. That is precisely why we bless our sons in their names. May you be like Maneseh and Ephraim, able to carry on the line of Jacob. One of our congregants shared a midrash I ddin’t know, that this parsha is also the roots of the Sh’ma. Listen, old man Jacob, Israel, our father taught us that the Lord our G-d is One. This midrash enriched the kavanah of our recitation of the Sh’ma. We, fairly assimilated Jews in the Diaspora, witnessed, just like Manaseh and Ephraim that G-d is One.

Back to blessings. I love the moment in our house when we share these ancient words. They still resonate, even though Sarah is grown. It is a moment of much needed peace. In this modern world, sometimes this happens just before I light the candles and we sing the blessings together on the phone. Sometimes I add my own words to the ancient formula, as my mother used to do, calling it her Shabbat shpiel. I don’t have any sons. But I wonder why we bless our daughters with “May you be like Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah”, our matriarchs, and our sons to be like the next generation. Why not a more parallel construction?
And while the ancient words come from this parsha, sometimes I wish Jacob had controlled his mouth better. Still playing favorites, Jacob blesses Benjamin telling him he as like a ravenous wolf. Huh? How is that a blessing? But it is exactly where our triennial reading began on Shabbat. . One congregant suggested that it is really Jacob being prophetic. Benjamin will be like a ravenous wolf. There was much discussion and I confess I am still not sure.
Rabbi Judith Edelstein wonders a similar thing in this week’s Academy for Jewish Religion D’var Torah. She says that Jacob’s words to his sons have always bothered her. She thinks they are mean-spirited. And she wonders whether we are to view his blessings as a paradigm to emulate or as a blueprint of how NOT to behave. And then the important question—how do we talk to our own adult children? Is honesty always the best policy or should we restrain ourselves, despite our insights and desire to advise or maybe control? Or our words for their benefit or ours? She remembers her own mother cursing her with the name mekhasheifeh, witch in Yiddish because of her long, unruly hair and then on her death bed saying “Your hair looks beautiful, my darling.” The last words her mother ever spoke. She said, “To this day, nearly 20 years later, I remember both: being called a mekhasheifeh, but finally told that my hair looked beautiful.”
Our words have the power to hurt or to heal. We need to be careful with our words, especially those to our children, all of our children.
But this portion is more. This portion is very end of Genesis. After we finish we will say together Chazak, Chazak v’nitchazak. Be strong, be strong and be strengthened. We have been strengthened by our study of these stories of Genesis and our people’s ancient past. We learned about the beauty of creation, how we are all created b’tzelim elohim, how G-d was frustrated with creation and its imperfections and told Noah to build an ark. A what? An ark. Say what? As Bill Cosby asked. We learned that G-d promised to never destroy the world again by flood and how we are partners with G-d in creation. We learned about Abraham and how he had a vision of the one G-d. How G-d called Abram to leave his country, the house of his father, birthplace, to go to the land that G-d would show him, how G-d would make him a great nation and bless him and those that bless him and make Abraham’s name great. We learned about the challenges that he faced and then each of his children. We learned that these are covenantal relationships, with God and with each others. In every generation God promises something and the children promise to be faithful in return.

Today’s story deals with the death of Jacob and Joseph. This narrative closes one chapter but points to the future. I received a “holiday card” in the mail with a smiling family and a daughter dressed in her academic gown. Forward it says. This portion points the way. Forward! It looks towards the next chapter which we will begin next week.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, Chief Rabbi of Great Britain, in commenting on this portion, notes that Genesis, like the Tanach as a whole, “is a story without an ending which looks forward to an open future rather than reaching closure” (Covenant & Conversation: A Weekly Reading of the Jewish Bible, Genesis: The Book of Beginnings, New Milford, CT: Maggid Books and The Orthodox Union, 2009, p. 350). While this parsha ties up lots of loose ends, we are not at the end of the story, but the beginning of the next story, the birth of Israel as a people. There is a tension in Genesis, in fact in Judaism between the past and the future, between what was and what is yet to be. The covenant that God makes points us toward the future but that future also will include us being strangers in a strange land which we will later be implored to remember. 36 times it will tell us to treat the stranger well because we were slaves in Egypt. In what will foreshadow the upcoming Egypt experience, Abraham went down to Egypt. There he almost sells his wife Sarah into what could be called slavery.
This week we pause for another reason caught in the tension between what was and what will be. We celebrate secular New Year’s, called Sylvester in Hebrew, named for the pope who died on this day in the 4th century and what it was called in Germany and Poland in the Middle Ages. In Israel they barely celebrate at all. I am not going to argue whether we as American Jews should celebrate or not. I am not going to compare Rosh Hashanah and Sylvester. But I am going to suggest the idea of pausing, seeking forgiveness from family as Jacob did for burying Rachel on the road, exchanging blessings comes right from this week’s parsha.
Genesis twice takes us back to Haran, the land that Abraham came from. First to find a wife for Isaac and later when Jacob fled from Esau. But each time they return to the land of Israel. To the future. As Rabbi Sacks says, “Haran is the past to which we might return from time to time but where we can never remain.” Someone posted yesterday on my facebook, you can’t start the next chapter of your life if you are still rereading the last one. Except as Jews that is exactly what we do.
Each year we read this cycle again. But it is not really a circle. Each time we read these words we learn a little more, about our ancestors or about ourselves. Even the last word of this morning’s text, Mitzrayim, Egypt, points the way forward to Egypt, towards next week.
Rabbi Sacks points out that Judaism views time markedly differently from other cultures. We don’t see time as cyclical, characterized by endless repetition. We also do not see time—as it was viewed by many during the Enlightenment—as marked by inevitable progress.
Instead, Rabbi Sacks writes, Judaism believes in “covenantal time, the story of the human journey in response to the divine call, with all its backslidings and false turns, its regressions and failures, yet never doomed to tragic fate, always with the possibility of repentance and return, always sustained by the vision with which the story began, of the Promised Land…” (p. 353).
So what do we make of this confluence. The end of Genesis and the beginning of Exodus. The end of 2012 and the beginning of 2013. To quote John Lennon’s Christmas song, “So this is Christmas and what have you done. Another year over and a new one just begun.” Where do you want to be in a year? Where do you want this community to be? What new year’s resolutions do you want to make? How does a new year’s resolution, so often broken by mid-January compare with the introspection that Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur demand?
Resolutions don’t work so well for me. I know what it is I need to work on. More Hebrew, losing more weight, getting more exercise. Like most of you my good intentions may fall by the wayside. Rather, on New Year’s Eve Day I will pause and look forward. What do I want to accomplish? What goals will I set? What can I look forward to each month? My list will include seeing sunrise on New Year’s Day morning, a trip to Orlando, helping my daughter find her way, either in Chicago or New York, celebrating our 25th anniversary, my installation as rabbi at Congregation Kneseth Israel, the continuation of firsts…each holiday, getting Illinois license plates in our new home, making new friends and keeping up with so many old ones, a trip back to northern Michigan this summer since we are so much closer! 2013 promises to be a good year.
For me, for all the Kleins you are a blessing, each one of you, a real blessing and we wish for each of you, health, happiness, prosperity, peace, joy, love. We look forward to celebrating with you, to studying with you, to sharing community with you. We will mourn with you—as the children of Israel did in this parsha for Jacob and Joseph. But please G-d not too many of those! As Debbie Friedman put it so well in her Tefilat Haderech, “May you be blessed as you go on your way. May you be guided in peace. May you be blessed with health and joy. May this be your blessing, Amen. May you be sheltered by the wings of peace. May you be kept in safety and in love. May grace and compassion find their way to every soul, May this be your blessing. Amen. May this be our blessing!
Then we read the Torah and the haftarah. And like the parsha was the roots of the Sh’ma, the roots of the V’ahavta can be seen in the haftarah. Our children our are blessings if we teach them diligently. We are supposed to have a party, a siyyum hasefer when we finish studying something. At Kiddush wee enjoyed a kosher champagne to mark Sylvester and Genesis beer to mark the end of Genesis. Forward! Kadima! Chazak, chazak v’nitchazak.

Caleb’s First Night at Home. Playing is Hard Work.

I am the new proud owner of a shelter dog. Caleb Klein is a 10 week old white lab-golden mix. He is named Caleb because it comes from the Hebrew word for dog, kelev (note the same root, k-l-b). It also means faithful and bold. Caleb in the Bible was one of the spies, who together with Joshua came back and reported that the land of Israel was a good land, a land flowing with milk and honey. My husband figured out the name. It is perfect.

I never thought I wanted a dog. However, my daughter has nagged for at least four years. Recently my cousins adopted two white labs, Tank and Fletch, in northern Michigan and I fell hopelessly in love, first with their facebook pictures and then the dogs themselves. Maybe this could be possible. We went to look at Tank and Fletch’s brother. We didn’t adopt him. This dog, Caleb, is sweet, quiet (even though a puppy), playful and adorable. I have fallen hopelessly in love.

This morning I was the first one up. Anxious to see how my puppy (OK, Sarah’s puppy) had done his first night in his new home. No messes in his crate. I took him outside. He did what he needed to. It was silent out. No wind. A crisp air. We watched the the morning star and the dawn together. It was magical.

He is endlessly fascinating (and distracting). I am already learning. I know. I know. These kinds of things have been written before. Watching life through his eyes, every minute is a shehechianu moment. First car ride. First walk in the snow. First experience with the crate. First blueberries and strawberries. (Really? Who feeds a dog blueberries? He loved them!)

1. If he makes a mistake it is OK–he is a puppy. Now can I translate to my humans who also sometimes make mistakes? So far his mistakes are easy to clean up.
2. He trusts me. He looks up at me with those big brown eyes and I melt. Can I learn to trust others the same way?
3. He is starting to understand basic commands. Good boy he gets. Not good does not work. It confuses him. No bite or no nip is better. Being direct is good.
4. He loves to play and have fun. Maybe I can learn to play too. Then he sleeps, safe and secure on my lap. Maybe I can learn to love like Caleb.

Who knew I could be a dog-lover? Who knew every time I would try to type dog I would type god and have to correct?
May each of you find someone to love, a dog, a person, G-d, who loves you back just for being you. May you faithful and bold. May you find a land flowing with milk and honey.