Vayikra. And God called. (He actually because Hebrew is a gendered language and this is a masculine, singular past tense verb. Yes, today you may learn some Hebrew grammar) Usually, as Myrna will tell you the Torah uses a different verb here. “Vayomer Adonai el Moshe la’mor. And the Lord said to Moses saying.” or “ Vaydaber Adoani el Moses. And the Lord spoke to Moses.”  

Why then is this Vayikra? We use this verb to also mean Proclaim or Read. This morning we are going to read Torah, we are going to publicly proclaim Torah, to call it out. We use the same word for saying the Sh’ma outloud, when we recite the Sh’ma it is called It is called Kriat Sh’ma, in Hebrew. 

This verb ends in an aleph—the first letter of the Hebrew alef bet, and as we know a silent letter. In every Torah as part of the scribal art the letter is written as a little letter. I call it the little alef that could. 

This silent letter is so important. There are a number of midrashic interpretations about why it is small. Perhaps because it points to Moses’ humility. Perhaps it shows a compromise between Moses and God. Moses apparently wanted to write Vayikar, and he happened which is what occurred in the description of Balaam. But this was no chance occurrence. It denotes a meaure of affection and intimacy. Therefore God wanted an aleph, so they compromised; and it was written small. (Bereishit Rabbah 52 and Leviticus Rabbah 1) 

Rabbi Avi Weiss echos that thought when he says, The small aleph of vayikra: Infinite love between God and the Jewish people” 

But what is God calling Moses to do? God calls out of the tent of meeting, the tabernacle, the mishkan to tell Moses to tell the people to draw close to God by offering sacrifices. Leviticus is often complicated for us today. We are not so into animal sacrifices in the mishkan or in the Temples that were destroyed thousands of years ago. And yet, we may long to draw close to God. We may feel called to do so.  

We began this discussion last night. Moses is called. He has a unique job, to lead the people of Israel out of Egypt and to lead them wandering in the wilderness. It appears that he did not get to complete his task, we will learn much, much later in Deuteronomy. Pirke Avot teaches, “Ours is not to finish the task; neither are we fee to ignore it.” 

Moses is not the only person in the Torah who is called.  

וַיִּקְרָ֛א יְהֹוָ֥ה אֱלֹהִ֖ים אֶל־הָֽאָדָ֑ם וַיֹּ֥אמֶר ל֖וֹ אַיֶּֽכָּה׃  

God יהוה called out to the Human, Adam, and said to him, “Where are you?” 

And their answer, they did not draw close to God, instead, Adam and Eve run away from G-d and hide.  

Hearing the silent sound of aleph can be hard. There is another important alef. Rabbi Larry Kushner tells this story in his book, The Book of Miracles, “No one really knows for certain what happened at Mount Sinai. Some people believe that G-d dictated the entire Torah word for word. Others believe that it included the Oral Law as well. Some believe that G-d inspired Moses. In Makot 23a and b, the rabbis of the Talmud were having just such an argument—what happened at Sinai. It teaches us that G-d didn’t give the ten commandments, but only the first two sayings. One who remembers that there is a G-d who frees people and who has no other gods will be religious. Another rabbi argued that it was just the first saying. Still another said that it was just the first word of the first saying, Anochi. But Rabbi Mendl Torum of Rymanov said, “Not even the first word. All G-d said was the first letter of the first word of the first saying, the first letter of the Alef-bet, alef” Now this is somewhat problematic, since Alef is silent. Almost but not perfectly. You see alef makes a tiny, little sound that is the beginning of every sound. Open your mouth (go ahead, do it). Stop! That is alef. G-d made the voice of Alef so quiet that if you made any other noise you wouldn’t be able to hear it. At Sinai, all the people of Israel needed to hear was the sound of Alef. It meant that G-d and the Jewish people could have a conversation.” 

When I first thought I wanted to become a rabbi, I tried to talk about it in the language of call. After all, I grew up in Grand Rapids and I had friends who felt “called”. At that stage, people closest to me thought perhaps it was a mental health issue. That I was hearing voices (I was not) and the Jewish community at that stage was not comfortable with this language, having ceded it to Christianity. Often times in theology that there is a pendulum that swings and now it is more acceptable to talk about the rabbinate this way. But calling is not limited to professional clergy.

Each of us is called to do something. Each of us can hear the silent sound of aleph. Something unique just for us, some role we play. Last night I talked about how for Ken that might be his shofar playing. (He’s still thinking about that) For Gale it might be telling the stories of her parents and Ken’s who were Holocaust survivors. She agreed. 

Teachers often describe their work as a calling. Doctors, nurses, first responders. But not just those. Rabbi Jeffry Salkin in his book Being God’s Partner that I describe as What Color is Your Parachute for Jews tells this story: 

“The boss of the moving crew was a delightful, crusty gentleman, a dead ringer for Willie Nelson. I had never met anyone so enthusiastic about his or her work, and I asked him the source of that enthusiasm. 

“‘Well, you see, I’m a religious man,’ he answered, ‘and my work is part of my religious mission.’ 

“‘What do you mean?’ I asked. 

“‘Well, it’s like this. Moving is hard for most people. It’s a very vulnerable time for them. People are nervous about going to a new community, and about having strangers pack their most precious possessions. So, I think God wants me to treat my customers with love and to make them feel that I care about their things and their life. God wants me to help make their changes go smoothly. If I can be happy about it, maybe they can be, too’” (Jeffrey Salkin, Being God’s Partner). 

A Hasidic disciple once asked his master: “Rebbe, where is God to be found?” And the rebbe answered, “God is found wherever he is allowed in.” The possibility to live a meaningful and spiritual life is right there for the asking. We only have to decide to take the step and open that door in our lives. 

Frederick Buechner, of blessed memory has said that “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” 

Our calling may be our work. It may be something as Buechner suggests we are passionate about whether that is paid work, our vocation or our avocation, those things that we do as our volunteer work. Many of us in this group are retired. We might not want to be defined by our “work.” 

Work in Hebrew is a word that fascinates me. Avodah. It also means service and sacrifice. The Israelites were avadim—slaves and Moses was an eved Adonai, a servant of the Lord. Service and sacrifice helps us to draw close to God.  

Our calling could be being a Girl Scout leader, coaching a soccer team, serving on the board of a non-profit—or even a synagogue, maybe even this synagogue. It maybe donating blood. Or working to eradicate hunger or homelessness or to address environmental issues. It could be bringing the gift of music to life. Or working as an election judge. (Did you know that suburban Cook County still needs 1000 election judges for next month’s election, according to the Chicago Tribune?) For much of Simon’s family it revolves around refugee work coming out of their understanding of how the US treated Holocaust refugees here and the mission from Torah of welcoming the widow, the orphan and the stranger because we were strangers in Egypt. A perfect pre-Passover message. 

Our vision statement includes a plank about meaningful observance. That is a complicated phrase. What is meaningful to you may not be meaningful to me or to the person sitting next to you, in the room or on Zoom. Striking a balance so that most people at CKI can find meaning is part of my calling.  

Finding your unique calling helps you find meaning. 

Victor Frankl, himself a Holocaust survivor having been in four concentration camps himself, wrote Man’s Search for Meaning and discovered that those who had a sense of purpose did better in concentration camps. He concluded that “We can discover this meaning of life in three different ways: (1) by creating a work or doing a deed; (2) by experiencing something or encountering someone; and (3) by the attitude we take toward unavoidable suffering.” And while he is most known for his work on logotherapy and his work on meaning. The Viktor Frankl website points out that he had a thriving career before the war. “In 1930, at the age of 25, he organized free youth counseling centers in Vienna that successfully combated the epidemic of teen suicides occurring around the time of report cards. Within a year, suicides dropped to zero.” https://viktorfranklamerica.com/viktor-frankl-bio/ That is quite some calling. A purpose. A mission.  

Our recent book group book, Defending Btitta Stein, hints at this search for meaning. Emma, Britta’s granddaughter in debating with co-counsel whether to ask for a continuance of a trial to prove that Britta’s allegations and graffiti are true and thus not defamatory about a “Nazi collaborator” says, “I know, but she doesn’t want us to continue the trial date [She’s 92 and in the hospital]. In some ways I think the trial is giving her energy. It has focus. It’s become her mission.” (page 293) 

Each of us has a niche, like the moving man. A mission like Britta. A calling, a vision, a purpose. It is what gives us meaning and helps draw us closer to God.  

Figuring out what our calling is can be hard.  It can be hard to hear that silent letter Alef. However, if we can be quiet enough, we can hear it.  

Today’s portion continues the description about building the miskhkan. The sanctuary. The tabernacle that went wandering with the Israelites. It nd was a home for G-d. 

Recently our congregation learned an old  Shaker hymn,  

Lord prepare me to be a sanctuary,
Pur an holy, tried and true.
In thanksgiving, I’ll be a living sanctuary for you.  

It can be a msh up with
Ve’asu li mikdash veshachanti betocham
Ve anachnu nevarech yah Me Atah ve Ad olam 

Note the change in person here. Prepare ME, first person singular with V’anachnu, First person plural. We will bless You. It takes each Indvidual pulling together for the good of the whole to make a community, to build a sanctuary. Then, and only then we can praise G-d.  

Our story unfolds in exacting repetitive detail—but don’t try to build it yourself at home. Any number of years of building fourth grade models tells me that it isn’t possible. And my brother the architect would agree.  

Nor does it answer the question of why we are building this in the first place —or why G-d needs a home.  

In this mishkan, in the Holy of Holies we are to place the 10 commandments. The whole set, and the broken pieces of the first set. Estelle Franke in her book Sacred Therapy quotes a midrash: 

She notes that the original tablets may reflect many of the dreams and hopes, and even spiritual structure of our youth. Then we live our life. Reality sets in and we learn. This story “teaches us that it is important to hold on to the beauty and essence of dreams that we once held dear, for our initial visions contain the seed of our purest essence. Gathering up the broken pieces suggests that we must salvage the essential elements of our youthful dreams and ideals and carry them forward on our journeys so that we can find a way to realize them in a more grounded fashion.  For ultimately the whole and the broken live side by side in us all, as our broken dreams and shattered visions exist alongside our actual lives” ( “Sacred Therapy” p. 43) 

We are building sacred space as a home for G-d, as a home for the Israelite community, for a home for the 10 commandments and for our hopes and dreams—those that we realize and those that we could not realize—yet. 

Today, we call this very space our sanctuary. It is a refuge. A holy space. And we similarly say that our homes should be a mikdash me’at, a little sanctuary. After the destruction of the Holy Temple in Jerusalem, our homes became the holy of holies, a source of Shalom Bayit, peace of the house. That our Friday night table service to start Shabbat with its hlessing of candles, wine and bread, makes Shabbat time holy time. Holy time and holy space. 

Today we read again about keeping Shabbat. It adds that we are not to kindle fire on Shabbat. Abraham Joshua Heschel called Shabbat a palace in time and space, a foretaste of the world to come. It is both holy time and space. 

Holy in Hebrew is k-d-sh. To be set apart. We call Shabbat Kadosh. We call G-d Kadosh. We call the prayer over the wine, kiddush. We call a prayer Kedusha…Kadosh, Kadosh, Kadosh, Holy, Holy, Holy. .We call another prayer Kaddish. We call marriage kiddushin.  

In the opening line of our very long parsha today, the opening word is Vayakhel. And we were convoked, we were called together. We are more used to that word in its noun form, convocation. call together or summon (as in an assembly or meeting). 

We may know the Hebrew word vaykahal from the word kahal. Or kehila kadosha. We are a kahal, a group of people that are called together, or a kehila kedosha, the holy community. 

Ultimately, that is what we are building. A kehila kadoshal Yes, the old joke is true—Goldstein comes to the Beit Tefilah, one Hebrew word for synagogue to talk to G-d—and for some of us, it is easier to do so in this beit. But Goldberg comes to Beit Kneset to talk to Goldstein. 

This building, our sacred space, is a beit tefilah, a house of prayer, a beit kneset, a house of assembly and a beit midrash, a house of study. Our vision statement of being a Jewish community for lifelong learning, building community, meaningful observance and embracing diversity lives out those terms. For each of you there maybe different reasons you come to shul, to this very house, your home. It maybe for services, just like this morning. It maybe for social programs, for community, to talk to Goldberg or Goldstein or even Goldman whose here this morning. It maybe you come to learn more about Judaism and you enjoy things like book group, Torah study, Hebrew or even these weekly discussions. 

Building sacred space,, in sacred time, building a kahila kedosha a sacred community, includes.a little bit more. It includes  

• creating a safe, non-judgmental space, where no one feels threatened, or bullied, or picked on. Where the words of our mouths and the mediations of our heart are kind. Where we open our mouths with wisdom and the law of kindness is on our tongues. I’m still working on that one.  

• Building a sacred space that is accessible to all.  
• Treating peoples, all people with the knowledge that they are created b’tzelem elohim, in the image of G-d 
• Celebraing and mourning with people, all people, in times of simcha, joy, and when times are tougher, by showing up for celebrations or for funerals and shiva minyanim. 
• Helping with other life cycle events, births, Bnei Mitzvah, weddings.  
• Contributing at least a half-shekel as we learned last week or the offering of your heart to keep the place going.  

We know that the nature of community continues to change. But community is still about connection between people, and between people and G-d. That’s what a kehila kadosha is sacred connection between people. That’s what they were really building in the desert. That’s what we are building here. 

Each of you has a skill, a craft as we learn in this portion. Each of you counts. Each of you can help to build this mishkan and make it a sacred place, a holy place in time and space.  

Then as Isaish explained “This will be My house, a house of prayer for all peoples.” Isaiah’s prophecy continues, “I will gather still more to those already gathered.” Come help us gather the people, all people, together, as we build this house.  

Today is the last reading from the Book of Exodus. Next week we move onto Leviticus. As we do when we conclude any book of Torah, we say, “Chazak chazak v’netchazek. Be strong, be strong and be strengthened.”

“And in the circle of our little village, we have always had our special types. 

Nahum, the beggar

[NAHUM, spoken]
Alms for the poor, alms for the poor

[LAZAR, spoken]
Here, Reb Nahum, is one kopek

[NAHUM, spoken]
One kopek? Last week you gave me two kopeks

[LAZAR, spoken]
I had a bad week

[NAHUM, spoken]
So, if you had a bad week, why should I suffer?” Fiddler on the Roof Lyrics, from the song, “Tradition.” 

This week we lost one of the favorites of Broadway, Chaim Topol, most famous for his portrayal of Tevye in the film version of Fiddler on the Roof. In the Forward, the obituary began with these words: “Fiddler on the Roof is a landmark piece of Jewish culture. It has shaped the way Jews are perceived by others, and how we understand ourselves.”  

However, the last time I saw it on Broadway, my cousin, who definitely is in family who can be described as one that has made it in America, was uncomfortable with how the movie portrays Judaism and Jews. “We’re not really like that any more. It’s not relevant. It will only increase anti-semitism.” And while I was uncomfortable with the conversation, she had or maybe better has some valid points. Maybe she was even prophetic.  

In this age of rising anti-semitism, we don’t necessarily want to see the bumbling, joking dairyman . But maybe, just maybe he is like struggling with how the world around him is changing. Maybe we are all a little bit a fiddler on a roof, just trying to eek out our existence, even here in America. 

Tevye, through Shalom Aleichem’s prose and the stage and screen adaptation, has much to teach us. He is still relevant, and he will live on in our ability to quote Topol and hear that resonant voice. I know I hear that voice, that cadence, even as I deliver this d’var Torah. 

The beggar, in our opening scene today, has much to teach Tevye, Topol and us about today’s Torah portion, which opens with a census. All men of 20 years and up must pay a half-shekel as a way of counting. Not more for the rich or less for the poor. A half-shekel. It is what keeps the mishkan, the sanctuary going.  

This is not tzedakah, not charity. This is everyone’s obligation. A half-shekel. Yet, Nahum the beggar, is teaching us about tzedakah. It is everyone’s obligation, whether you have had a bad week or not. No one should suffer. 

Maimonides, the Rambam in his work identified 8 levels of tzedakah. 8 levels of righteous giving. It is a kind of ladder. 

[1] The highest rung, is to support another, with a gift or a loan or giving him (or HER) a job. It is that old maxim. Give a man a fish and he’ll fish for a day. Teach a man to fish and he’ll fish for a lifetime.  

[2] A lower rung of tzedakah is to give to the poor without knowing to whom one gives, and without the recipient knowing from who he received. This is a mitzvah solely for the sake of Heaven. This is like the “anonymous fund” that was in the Holy Temple [in Jerusalem]. There the righteous gave in secret, and the good poor profited in secret. It is also like the rabbi’s discretionary fund. Where people give to the fund, then I distribute it based on needs.  

[3] Still lower is when one knows to whom one gives, but the recipient does not know his benefactor. The greatest sages used to walk about in secret and put coins in the doors of the poor. It is worthy and truly good to do this, if those who are responsible for distributing charity are not trustworthy.  

[4] Still lower is when one does not know to whom one gives, but the poor person does know his benefactor. The greatest sages used to tie coins into their robes and throw them behind their backs, and the poor would come up and pick the coins out of their robes, so that they would not be ashamed. 

[5] Still lower is when one gives to the poor person directly into his hand, but gives before being asked. 

[6] A lesser level is when one gives to the poor person after being asked. 

[7] A lesser level is when one gives less than one should, but gives gladly and with a smile. 

[8] The lowest rung on Rambam’s ladder is when one gives unwillingly. 

The story of Nahum the beggar reminds me of a story that Rabbi Larry Kushner tells. It could be set in Anatevka, or any small village where miracles might happen. Could it happen right here in Elgin? The richest man in town fell asleep during the rabbi’s rather boring sermon. Any of you ever fallen asleep during services? I have. All our rich man wanted to do was figure out how to make even more money. The rich man woke up, and thought that he heard G-d commanding him to bring 12 loaves of challah and put them in the ark. He was amazed. Is that all G-d wants? He would be sure to do it. And he did. 

Later the shul shamash arrived to clean the building. He was poor and hungry. He stood before the ark pleading with G-d for food to feed his family. “O G-d,” he prayed, “we are out of food and we will soon starve if You don’t help us.” And then he thought he smelled challah. He opened the ark to dust, and wow, right there were the 12 loaves of challah. He thanked G-d, and went right home incredious. The family ate six, sold four and gave two to tzedakah.  

The rich man was feeling a little foolish, went back to the shul to retrieve the bread. But when he opened the ark, miracle of miracles, it was gone. G-d had eaten the challah! He promised he would make twelve more and with raisins, too.  

This exchange went on for years. One day, the rabbi was so tired he fell asleep in the back pew. But he woke up just in time to see this routine. He (it’s always a he in these stories, right?) brought the two men together. The rich man said sadly, “I should have known that G-d doesn’t eat challah.” And the shamash said, “I should have known that G-d doesn’t bake challah,” even sadder. For them there was suddenly no miracle.  

The rabbi explained that they were correct. “G-d doesn’t eat challah or bake challah. Yet there is still a miracle. Look at your hands. Yours are the hands of G-d. Continue baking and continue taking. Yours are the hands of G-d.” 

There is another miracle. We may not have the half-shekel census any more. And Topol may never sing here on earth again, explaining “what the good book says,” but the Jewish people are still here. CKI has survived. For 130 years. Recently, CKI announced a match grant. It would be a miracle if we managed to turn $15,000 into $30,000. The message of today’s portion is that everyone counts. Everyone, even the beggar, even the shul shamash, can give tzedakah, is obligated to give tzedakah. You count. You make a difference.  Look at your hands. Yours are the hands of G-d.  

Many of you have asked how you can support the work that we do at CKI. Here’s your chance: https://www.ckielgin.org/  

 Remember…not to forget…remember…this is the message of Shabbat Zachor, just before Purim. We are to remember not to forget what Amalek did to us. He, or rather I imagine, his men on his command attacked our stragglers after the parting of the Red Sea. The women with kids, the old people, struggling to walk yet another step, the most vulnerable amongst us.  

Later when Saul was told to wipe out all of the Amalekites, when he was commanded to essentially commit genocide, he left the King of the Amalekites alive. For that, Saul lost his own kingship and David became King. 

There are those who see a direct line from Amalek to Haman. And those who see a direct line from Amalek and Haman to Hitler, even some of our modern despots. In the recent book group book, Thread of Grace, the scribe who has been sequestered away, hidden from the Nazis in a small town in Italy, remembers and enacts what his mentor had taught: 

““Before beginning our task, we blot out the name of Amalek, the biblical enemy of Israel. Thus, we remember the prophesy: our enemies shall pass, and we live.” Humming absently, Giacomo selects a tiny piece of parchment from among the remnants. Inscribes on it, in the vowelless Hebrew, the consonants of Amalek’s name. Crosses them out with two lines, crushes the parchment in his palm. This much is tradition, but he takes up a second snippet of parchment. Smiling grimly at his innovation, Giacomo Tura writes four more letters: HTLR. These he crosses out three times, and then he burns the scrap.” 

A rabbi I know in Boston with dual Israeli citizenship had this to say about Shabbat Zachor: 

“Shabbat zachor (this Shabbat) is always challenging for me because it highlights and glorifies the desire for revenge. I am finding that challenging on the best of days. These are not the best of days. There are people out there who consider Amalek, not as a non existing Biblical enemy of times long gone, but as everyone who disagrees with them, everyone who is not part of their religion. Everyone they hate. And they use this Biblical call to blot out the memory of Amalek to justify their acts of hate and violence today. These people use a prayer book similar to the one I use, and we generally are thought of as part of one religion. But I have come to understand that we are not. So I don’t wish to remember Amalek this Shabbat. Let it be a Shabbat of forgetting Amalek instead. Of leaving old grudges and past injustices behind and returning to a tzelem, image, of the divine, that is loving, not hateful, embracing, not avenging.” 

Memory is tricky. Complected. Important. Last night we talked about happiness and joy. I explained very briefly, that part of the reason we break a glass at a wedding is because even at our most joyous moments, there is some sadness. We miss those who we would have liked to be there. We are still mourning the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem. Four times a year we recite Yizkor prayers, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, Passover and Shavuot. The Bible tells us to remember.  

It tells us to hear the shofar which Is called zihron t’rua.. In fact we add a section of liturgy for Rosh Hashanah called Zichronot precisely to remember. And the haftarah that day tells us that G-d remembered Hannah. (I Samuel 1:19) 

Perhaps Passover is the holiday where we are told over and over again that we should remember and tell our children on that day what G-d did for us as we went forth from Egypt. We quote Rabban Gamliel in the Haggadah: “In each and every generation, a person is obligated to see himself (or herself, I add) as if he left Egypt, as it is stated (Ex. 13:8): ‘And you shall explain to your child on that day: For the sake of this, did the Lord do [this] for me in my going out of Egypt.’ Not only our ancestors did the Holy One, blessed be God, redeem, but also us [together] with them did God redeem, as it is stated (Deut. 6:23): ‘And God took us out from there in order to bring us in, to give us the land which God swore unto our ancestors.’” 

We don’t stop by remembering that G-d took us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm. (We need both:  the power of the mighty hand and the compassion of that outstretched arm.) We remember that we were slaves in Egypt so we are commanded to remember that we were slaves and to take care of the widow, the orphan and the stranger. It is not just the happy memories of past triumphs and previous journeys. It is not just the old joke, “they tried to kill us, we survived, let’s eat”. As My Jewish Learning reminds us, “Our memories shape us and guide our mission to build a better world. Our memories of bondage should remind us to wipe out slavery and to treat all people with dignity. Our memories of leaving the corners of our fields untouched should remind us to take care of “the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow” both within and outside our community. Our memories of Amalek should remind us of our role to blot out evil in the world. Ours is an active existence: We do not live in a state of forgetfulness or “forgottenness” but in a state of memory and consciousness that induces us to seek to make the world a better place. By doing so, we help realize the Baal Shem Tov‘s words that “in remembrance lies the secret of redemption.”  https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/remember-dont-forget/ 

In remembrance lies the secret of redemption. Let’s underscore that.  

And yet, memory is tricky, I said. In his book, The Body Keeps the Score, Bessel Van der Koek, one of the leading thinkers on PTSD makes the point that the body holds on to past trauma. For healing to take place, for real change to take place, the body needs to learn that the danger has passed and to live in the reality of the present. As I have said, trauma can become generational, unless people learn that they are safe. 

When I was in Heidelberg, working on my thesis about this very topic, what we now call generational trauma, and watching CNN (It was the only channel I could understand!) Israel had just accidentally hit an apartment building in Lebanon. While there were no injuries, miraculously, it was striking to hear a resident clutching his two month old daughter saying he didn’t blame the Israelis but that it would take 20 years for people to heal emotionally. A full generation. He wondered what message his two month old was receiving. People need to feel safe.  

In 1994, an American Israeli physician Baruch Goldstein, used our text today to justify a massacre he perpetrated on the Muslim worshippers at the Tomb of the Patriarchs. He was beaten to death by some of the survivors on the scene.  

This week we saw at least two terrorist attacks in Israel, causing the deaths or Hallel and Yagel Yaniv and then Elan Ganeles, a 27 year old from West Hartford, back in Israel to attend the wedding of a friend. These attacks led to riots and protests in the town of Huwara where one Palestinian was killed, and much property was destroyed. The IDF then prevented a solidarity visit to Huwara on Friday afternoon that had been organized by an organization Standing Together and other peacenik organizations Friday afternoon. What messages did this next generation of Palestinians and Israelia receive? Do they feel safe? From a quick glance at Israeli media the answer is emphatically no. On any side.  

Recently we read the section of the Torah that includes the suggestion that punishment should be eye for eye, tooth for tooth. We talked about whether that commandment had actually ever been carried out. While the Talmud teaches that if capital punishment once in 70 years it was a bloodthirsty court, it is not clear that it never happened. And we are reminded again that we should not hold a grudge or carry out vindictive punishment. “Vengeance is Mine,” says God. 

This model isn’t working. It’s like the fights in the sandbox. If you hit me, I’ll hit you back. Then you’ll go get your mother and I get my father. Soon the whole neighborhood is involved.  

What if there is another way? When I was a college student, I was madly in love with an Israeli. We were engaged. We were going to get married and spend half the year in Israel and half in the United States, working with the Reform Movement youth movement helping other students learn a love of Judaism and Israel. Sadly, those dreams ended when he was killed by a terrorist bomb serving as an IDF officer. The year, 1983. 40 years ago. Two generations. Rabbi Harold Kushner’s book, When Bad Things Happen to Good People, and his subsequent works, helped me heal from that trauma. But the memory was reawakened this week. When will the victims’ families heal? Will they ever? There has to be another way.   

An organization that also helped me in my own journey is Parents Circle Family Forum. https://www.theparentscircle.org/en/pcff-home-page-en/ They bring Israelis and Palestinians together who have lost loved ones to the ongoing conflict. No one should have to endure the pain I endured as a 22 year old. Their work, however, is under attack. Yet again. Dialogue is not in vogue at the moment. I gave to them again this week. In memory of Yuval, the three Israelis killed and the Palestinian.  

Yossi Klein Halevi wrote an important article several years ago detailing the fact that there are two kinds of Jews. Purim Jews and Passover Jews. I have talked about this before. I thought he had found the description of my own home. You see, Simon hates Purim. I always thought it was the chaos that ensues, but he posted an important article about the underside of the Purim story published by the Reform Movement. https://reformjudaism.org/jewish-holidays/purim/adult-look-less-savory-truths-purim?fbclid=IwAR1dqGhgOTRqbGSCBhLbw1YH69CcpX22lUlU0B77rRJkAhUW5_oi6I-Nc0k 

Simon loves Passover. The food, the language, the expanded time to sit at dinner and discuss the issues of the day. 

Yossi , however, is teaching something different. Some Jews get the message of Purim—the world is a scary place. They are always out to get us. There are always Amalekites. Be afraid. Be very afraid. And then there are Passover Jews, those who believe that we have to welcome the widow the orphan the strangers because we were strangers in the land of Egypt. We know what it is to be a slave. 

I think there is a third way. I have said we need to have both philosophies at the same time. It is a both/and. A balancing act. 

Perhaps we also need to remember Esther this weekend. Mordechai told her emphatically that perhaps she was in that time and place precisely to find her voice in order to help the Jewish people survive. Maybe we all need to find our voices today. The protests that have happened in Israel almost every Saturday night since the election are heartwarming. They are finding their voices. The air force generals who are speaking out have found their voices. 

“The Jewish past is always present – we invoke it and remember it as a guide for our actions today; this is our transgenerational obligation. Thus, at the beginning of the Amida prayer, we invoke our biblical ancestors. 

Golda Meir reminds us of this challenge when it comes to remembering the past: “One cannot and must not try to erase the past merely because it does not fit the present” (My Life, p. 231). 

https://www.jpost.com/judaism/torah-portion/article-733182  

My friend from Boston ended her post with an Israeli poem. I will leave you with his words: 

“Order of the Day” by Yitzhak Laor 

Remember
That which
Amalek did,
to you
of course, 

Over.
Do unto Amalek
what Amalek
did, to you
of course, 

Over. 

If you can’t
find yourself
an Amalek, call
Amalek whomever
you want to do
to him what
Amalek did,
to you of course, 

Over. 

Don’t compare
anything
to what Amalek
did, to you
of course, 

 Over. 

Not when
you want to do
that which
Amalek did,
to you of course, 

Over and out, 

Remember. 

Be Happy It’s Adar: 

If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands…then your face will surely show it.” 

When the calendar turns to Adar, the month of Purim, the greeting, the commandment, Is to “Be Happy; It’s Adar.” And while the survival of the Jewish people is a good thing, it is hard to command an emotion—or live up to it. Since my middle name is Joy and family members call me that, this is a topic I have wrestled with extensively.  

Is there a difference between joy and happiness? And if so, what? What if you can’t muster those feelings of joy and happiness? Does that make you a bad Jew? A bad person? 

In Hebrew there are multiple words for joy. Simcha. Hedva. Gila. Rina. Sasson, Ditzah, Oneg, Many of them turn up in the seven marriage blessings, the Sheva Brachot.   

If you think about it, we have different words for happiness in English as well. Happy. Joy. Gaity. Contentment. Pleasure. Delight. So what is the difference, and does it matter? It is nuanced. In preparing, I asked on Facebook how others see these terms. Lori Lippitz, who is with the Klezmer Foundation and who I have reconnected with since being back in Chicagoland, (her sister used to babysit me!) said this: “Purim is a happy holiday. There’s something less momentous about happiness than joy. Joy is profound and elevates one from everyday life. The chatan and kallah feel joy. The L’chayim we give on Purim, conversely, is light-hearted and happy. It’s very much of this world. Adar asks the question, “What if we always triumphed over Haman? What if happiness were our normal condition?” Adar gives us a chance to imagine what that would be like.” 

Our Friday night liturgy gives us lots of opportunity to talk about joy. The word, simcha, is sprinkled throughout the service, especially in the Psalms we use on Friday. 

Psalm 95: “Let us rejoice in our Creator.”
Psalm 96: “Let the heavens rejoice…Let field and forest sing with joy.”
Psalm 97: “Light is sown for the righteous and joy for the upright in heart.”
Psalm 98: “Let all on earth shout for joy.”
Lecha Dodi, “Greeted in joy, in song and accord.”
Psalm 92: “I sing with joy of Your creation.”  

Another friend, from Spain said, “To be happy and joyous means having freedom to be me. It is genuine goodness and comes from a place of honesty and integrity. You can’t fake joy. You can fake happiness. Both are felt in your heart and communicated through your eyes. Both talk to the absence of negativity for the moment they are felt. They are transient and temporary. We can construct happiness and through happiness comes joy. The most important thing in both of these emotions is that the more you give them away, the more you have yourself.” 

This reminds me of another song from camp. “Love is something if you give it away…you’ll end up having more.” It is true for happiness too. As is the concept of another song, “Happiness runs in a circular motion. Thought is a little boat upon the sea. Every body is a part of everything anyway. You can be happy if you let yourself be.” Except I learned that as Love is a little boat upon the sea. So there seems to be a connection between happiness and love. 

Closer perhaps to my thinking, I found this quote: “Joy is an inner feeling. Happiness is an outward expression. Joy endures hardship and trials and connects with meaning and purpose. A person pursues happiness but chooses joy.” Compassion.com  

Our Declaration of Independence suggests that we are guaranteed life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Happiness, is then something we run after, we actively chase, but we are never quite there. Can you choose joy? I have a coaster that I set my morning coffee on, hoping to set that as my intention for the day.  

David Brooks, a columnist for the New York Times in addressing a graduating class of Arizona State University said: 

“Happiness usually involves a victory for the self. Joy tends to involve the transcendence of self. Happiness comes from accomplishments. Joy comes when your heart is in another. Joy comes after years of changing diapers, driving to practice, worrying at night, dancing in the kitchen, playing in the yard and just sitting quietly together watching TV. Joy is the present that life gives you as you give away your gifts.” 

Or maybe it is the reverse as Elaine Steinberg suggested: “Joy is unbridled and external, such as the birth of a baby. Happiness is a sustained and nourished state of mind ( 

She agrees with Rabbi Jo David, “The difference I think has to do with what is sustainable. Happiness is sustainable. Even small things can bring happiness into our lives many times a day – walking die. The block on a mild winter day, for example. Joy is the result of experiencing something that is out of the ordinary. As an example, completing a very difficult task that may have seemed impossible at some point.” 

I am not sure ultimately that it matters. What matters is how we attain joy or happiness. Many people mentioned being with friends and family. Others mentioned pets. Books. Wine. Coffee (It wasn’t me, really!) For some it is being in community—like CKI or even watching Michigan football. (That wasn’t Simon either!). Sports. Accomplishing a task. Pursuing beauty. Cooking good food.  

However you find happiness, or create it for others, may this celebration of Purim allow you to Be Happy.  

Bobby McFerrin – Don’t Worry Be Happy (Lyrics)