May we be comforted amongst all the mourners of ZIon and Jerusalem and all the world.  

How can we be? So much has been written about the return of four coffins this week. 500+ days ago, the world changed. The world was ripped apart.  

My emotions range. I am the mother of a red head. Every picture of that baby looks like my own we used to call “frosted flake.” I am not alone in this.  

Two babies came back. We now know they were killed, brutally murdered by the hands of their captors in that first awful month.  Their mother was not sent back. Some unknown Palestinian was in the coffin. How is that even possible? Bring her home. NOW! My words utterly fail. What words of comfort can there possibly be for Yarden, her husband, their father. When Aaron’s sons were “zapped,” he remained silent. We learn from Job’s comforters the power of silence.  

And yet.. 

I am a peace activist from long ago. Since my first fiancé was killed by a terrorist bomb in 1983. I have supported Parents Circle-Families Forum and Rabbis for Human Rights and other organizations for decades. I have bought olive trees in the West Bank for Tu B’shevat.  

And yet, unlike Oded, I never drove a Gazan to an Israeli hospital. How do we offer comfort to his wife who was also a hostage? How does she go on? How do any of us go on? 

Some have argued this week that we can never forget, and we can never forgive. I agree with the first part.  

I wrote a thesis on the 13 Attributes of the Divine (Exodus 34) looking at repeating patterns in the 3rd and 4th generation. I examined domestic violence, German-Jewish reconciliation and the Israeli-Palestinian peace process.  

I learned a lot about forgiveness. We are told to be like G-d, forgiving iniquity, transgression and sin. But like in the book the Sunflower, Jews are taught that we cannot forgive the harm done by someone to someone not ourselves. Only the person harmed can forgive. 

Tonight, it is too early to talk about forgiveness. Now or in the future. The emotions are too raw. It may never be time. It is not mine to say. 

As a DV counselor, or a clergy member, one should not tell a woman to go back to her husband who abuses her. Instead, we talk about safety planning and exit strategies. We are taught to believe women.  

There are at least two instances in this current, ongoing trauma where women were not believed. The first was when the IDF intelligence officers who happened to be women were not listened to. This was a glaring intelligence failure. The second was in not listening to and believing what happened to the victims—especially the women—who were brutally raped and tortured at the hands of their initial captors, before they were murdered or taken into captivity.  

In 2006 I was sitting in Germany, in a Holiday Inn in Waldorf, near my job at SAP. wokring on my thesis. Israel had “accidentally” bombed an apartment building in Lebanon. A young father who had escaped with the three month old was being interviewed on CNN. He said something like, “I don’t blame Israel, but this baby where will she be in 20 years? What anger will she hold?’ It illustrated the point. The sins of the fathers (and mothers) are visited on the children and the children’s children to the third and fourth generation. 

What happened on October 7th was wrong.  Period. What happened to all those held in captivity was wrong. Period. Israelis need to live in safety. Period.  

What I learned in writing that thesis and I argued, successfully, that unless someone feels safe one cannot forgive. When will Israelis feel safe? Or Palestinians either? 

Revenge, however, is not sanctioned. Leviticus is clear. “Revenge is Mine,” says the Lord. Yet we are directed to wipe out all of the Amalekites. We read about the Amalekites who attacked the weak, the young and old on the Israelites trek to the promised land. We read this section just before Purim. “Zachor…remember not to forget the Amalekites” Saul spared the Amalekite king and lost his own kingship. Some have likened Haman, Hitler and yes Hamas to the descendants of the Amalekites.  

This week I learned a remarkable thing.  Rabbi Rob Scheinberg taught in the AJR Purim Supplement that in the Talmud it teaches, “Some of the descendants of Haman studied Torah in B’nei Brak.” (Gittin 57b) After this week, can we imagine such a world? Can we afford not to? If we totally wipe out Hamas, in their anger what rises to take their place?  

And yet…My anger is great. At Hamas. At Netanyahu who seems to not have believed the women, who may have prolonged the war to save his own skin. At the world response, including the UN. At the American political system. Even at G-d, to whom we pray to make peace but who has not yet. 

At the Gazans themselves whose losses are astronomical as well. Who puts children in schools and hospitals that are the hiding places for missile launchers knowing that they will most likely be bombed?  

This is known as Repro Shabbat in some of the Jewish world. I have spoken about this extensively in other years. I even have a t-shirt for it. I started to set this up last week when talking about the 10 Commandments and translation. Does it say, “Thou shall not murder.” or “Thou shall not kill.” Later in Deuteronomy we are told to “Choose life so that we may live.” Shiri brought two beautiful children into this world. Those children whose lives were just beginning had no choice in their brutal end. We as a world must do better.  

For 500+ days I have prayed for the hostages, and those wounded and those returned. For those babies. All those babies.  

I am a small town rabbi. If I could have solved peace in the Middle East decades ago I would have. I fear based on my thesis we are now looking at least another 3 to 4 generations, without peace. And it makes me very very sad.  

May we be comforted? How can we be? Can we pray for peace? What other choice do we have?  

The only statement I have read this week that makes sense to me comes from NCJW: https://www.ncjw.org/news/our-statement-on-this-profound-moment-for-the-jewish-people/?emci=b5668747-82f0-ef11-90cb-0022482a94f4&emdi=aa0c48bb-88f0-ef11-90cb-0022482a94f4&ceid=8833339 

Yehuda Amichi taught, “Don’t stop after beating the swords into plowshares, don’t stop! Go on beating and make musical instruments out of them. Whoever wants to make war again will have to turn them into plowshares first.” 

We owe this to the beautiful piano music of Oded and his commitment to peace making.  

Today we read the 10 Commandments. We do that every year, even on a triennial cycle. The text of today’s portion is powerful, sweeping and has much to teach us even today, especially today. People have wrestled with this text from the very beginning. There are two editions of the 10 commandments, the one here in Exodus and the one in Deuteronomy. They are almost the same. Almost but not quite. One of the major differences is about Shabbat. Do we shamor, keep, guard the Sabbath or do we zachor, remember the sabbath. The answer is both.  

We guard Shabbat when we don’t work on Shabbat, when we fulfill the negative commandments. We remember shabbat when we fulfil the positive commandments. And in Lecha Dodi we learn that shamor v’zzacor bidibur echad, both were uttered by G-d simultaneously at Mount Sinai. Because after all G-d doesn’t make a mistake. 

We practice this in a number of ways: We light two candles, one to remember and one to guard and make it holy. Homes are made sacred by loving relationships, healthy connections and the protection of love. And according to JWI. Last night we talked a lot about love and at the very end, I thanked organizations like the Community Crisis Center and Shalva who work on domestic violence issues because sadly love isn’t always protected at home, even in Jewish homes. The lights of Shabbat illuminate a path to a world where our very rest that we are commanded to do refreshes us and enables us to be inspired to action.  

But what does it mean to be commanded? G-d? Moses? Tradition? If we are not commanded in the historical sense, are we still obligated? Why are these 10 Sayings, Aseret Debrot as they are called in Hebrew, so powerful? So important? 

What really happened on Mount Sinai? There are lots of midrashim to explain it. One of the most powerful is that we all stood at Sinai but at birth we forgot. I even wound up teaching this at the grocery store this week.  

There are not just 10 Commandments. There are 613 Commandments. Next week we read Mishpatim, which has more commandments than any other portion. Is there a difference between a mitzvah, command, a mishpat, a rule and a hok, a law. A hok is seen as a mitzvah without any explanation. 

Why review this material? Because at some level the Hebrew Bible is under attack. There are moves afoot, to display the 10 Commandments in public schools and in courthouses in several states. There are bills pending to “register non-Christians” (We’ve seen that before) and to make this a Christian nation.  

Just from a separation of church and state, guaranteed in the US Constitution, these moves should alarm us. When the display of the 10 Commandments was first announced for Oklahoma last spring, I immediately wrote to Tony Sanders, the former U-46 superintendent and now the Illinois State Superintendent. He wrote back and assured me he understood the establishment clause. It will not happen in Illinois. Not on his watch.  Oklahoma has now introduced House Bill 1006 which would require a poster or a framed copy of the Ten Commandments to be posted in a conspicuous place in every public school classroom in Oklahoma, a state where the head of public schools also is endeavoring to put Biblical texts in classrooms, effective for the 2025-2026 school year.  

Here is where my husband, in particular got upset. He spent hours exploring these questions: Which version, Exodus or Deuteronomy? Which language? If not Hebrew, which translation? Which numbering system, it varies between Jewish, Protestant and Catholic versions. As I have often said, every translation is a commentary. 

Does it say, “Thou shall not kill.” or Thou shall not murder.”? Even today when taking about the metaphor of eagles which shows up in the portion and in some of our prayers, someone reminded us that it could be translated as vulture. That has a very different connotation.  

Nor will it help with what the legislators want. They want to reduce violence in the classroom, to make kids be better behaved, more moral and ethical. Has anyone ever read the list of how to close this building? It is posted right by the door and the alarm. Eventually, it just blurs into the background. Research has shown that things like that do exactly that, 

The simple truth is that the 10 commandments, as important as they are, do not belong hanging in classrooms. It is in fact a violation of the establishment clause and freedom of religion guaranteed in the Bill of Rights.  

This is something that our founding fathers understood. Wahington’s letter of 1790 illustrates:  

The citizens of the United States of America have a right to applaud themselves for having given to mankind examples of an enlarged and liberal policy — a policy worthy of imitation. All possess alike liberty of conscience and immunities of citizenship. 

It is now no more that toleration is spoken of as if it were the indulgence of one class of people that another enjoyed the exercise of their inherent natural rights, for, happily, the Government of the United States, which gives to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance, requires only that they who live under its protection should demean themselves as good citizens in giving it on all occasions their effectual support. 

It would be inconsistent with the frankness of my character not to avow that I am pleased with your favorable opinion of my administration and fervent wishes for my felicity. 

May the children of the stock of Abraham who dwell in this land continue to merit and enjoy the good will of the other inhabitants — while every one shall sit in safety under his own vine and fig tree and there shall be none to make him afraid. 

From the very beginning, the 613 commandments were seen as too difficult. Many prophets have tried to distill them. Micah famously said, “Do justly, love mercy and walk humbly with your G-d.” The Talmud starts with 15 and reduces them to one. The early Reform Movement kept the ethical commandments and discounted the ritualistic ones. Others have talked about as I did last night, “Love G-d, Love your neighbor, Love the stranger.”  

Once a long time ago I talked about the refrigerator magnets, the abcs and the alef bets that graced my parents ice box that my father gifted to my daughter. If you had to boil this down to one commandment that you could spell out in those magnets, I think mine might be “Do the right thing.” What would your refrigerator say? 

What the world needs now is love sweet love. It’s the only thing that there’s just too little of. 

By Hal David and Burt Bachrach. I learned it as part of the choir at Temple Emanuel, Grand Rapids as part of Jewish Music Month which is held in February. 

Today is Valentine’s Day. Not a very Jewish holiday some would argue because it is really St. Valentine’s Day.  

Yet love is very important in Judaism. There are really two words for love, Ahavah, the first use of it in the Torah is in Genesis when Isaac takes Rebecca to Sarah’s tent and he loved her. The other word is chesed, perhaps best translated as lovingkindness.  

Shai Held recently wrote a book called Judaism is About Love. It is 643 pages and on every page, I found myself highlighting something.  I am not finished with it yet. It tells the kind of things I have been saying for years. Having grown up in a highly Christian community of Grand Rapids, the myth that Christianity is about love and Judaism is about works, or law or something not quite as good. Everyone wants to know that they are loved. That they are worthy and Christianity offers that assurance. So does Judaism but too often it gets hidden. Part of why I became a rabbi is to change that dynamic.  

The official review of the book says this: “He shows that love is foundational and constitutive of true Jewish faith, animating the singular Jewish perspective on injustice and protest, grace, family life, responsibilities to our neighbors and even our enemies, and chosenness.” 

Last week our littlest ones made heart shaped cookies, one to eat and one to donate and then read Larry Kusher’s book The Hands of G-d. They then hid the platter of extras in the ark for our Saturday morning crowd to discover. Their hands were the hands of G-d, doing gemilut chasadim, acts of lovingkindness. Pirke Avot teaches: the world stands on three things, on Torah, on work or worship and on acts of lovingkindness.  

Psalms teaches and Rabbi Menachem Creditor composed the song, “Olam chesed yibaneh” The world will be built on love. (We taught his song on Sunday morning to all our students!) 

Micah teaches that G-d demands three things, “do justly, love mercy and walk humbly with G-d.” The Hebrew is v’ahavat chesed. Love lovingkindness.  Both words for love, back to back. 

What about ahavah? We are told that we should love G-d, love our neighbor, love the stranger. When people ask me what is a Jewish value, a moral imperative? I think that is it. 

Our service tonight includes two of these examples. All evening services have this example. Our choir director Stew Levin talks about it as the ultimate love song. I say, it is like being wrapped in a warm blanket. Ahavat Olam tells us that G-d loves us and like a loving parent, G-d gives us rules, commandments, laws so that we will live long. It is like the parent who sets limits and says “No you can’t touch the stove!”  

Then we have the Sh’ma. The watchword of our faith. The proclamation that G-d is one. This powerful proclamation is something we witness, and it is in the code of the words themselves. The word Sh’ma ends in an ayin. Echad ends in a dalet. Ayin Dalet spells witness. 

Immediately following we chant the V’ahavta, “You shall love the Lord your G-d with all your heart, with all your spirit, with all your everything.” But wait, you say, you can’t legislate an emotion. And yet, the “prayer” continues with ways that we demonstrate our love. We study these very words. We put them on the doorposts of our houses. We recite them at home and away, when we lie down and when we rise up. And we teach these very words to our children. That’s why I am so happy when we have a child present who can lead this portion.  

A warm blanket of love on a cold winter’s night. Ahavat Olam, Sh’ma, V’ahavta. 

Loving our neighbor also comes with a recipe for creating a moral and civil society. The holiness code, in which “Love your neighbor” is included tell us: You should keep Shabbat. That’s what we are doing now. You should leave the corners of your field for the widow, the orphan and the stranger, the most vulnerable amongst us. We do that with our community garden. You should revere your mother and your father. You shall not steal, lie, seems right out of the 10 commandments that we read tomorrow. The wages of a laborer shall not remain with you until morning. You shall not insult the deaf, or place a stumbling block before the blind. That’s why we try to have an accessible building as possible. You shall not stand idly by while your neighbor bleeds. That’s why we sponsor blood drives. You shall not render an unfair decision: do not favor the poor or show deference to the rich; judge your kindred fairly. You shall have just weights and measures.  

You shall not hate your kinsfolk in your heart. Reprove your kindred but incur no guilt on their account. You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against members of your people. Love your fellow as yourself: I am GOD.  

A recipe for love. A blanket of love. 

Then there is loving the stranger. We got hints of it in this passage teaching us how to be holy. Giving us that recipe to create a civil society, a holy group, a kehila kedosha. 

And 36 times the Torah tells us, according to the Talmud that we should, have to, take care of the stranger. We need to love the stranger. Why? Because we were strangers in the land of Egypt. We know what it is like to be marginalized. To be enslaved. To be othered. So we must not do that to others. That  is a Jewish value. A Jewish imperative. A moral imperative. 

What the world needs now is love, sweet love.  

Before we get to the d’var Torah, the sermon, I just want to say, what a fabulous weekend at CKI. From First Friday Family Shabbat with our little ones learning about chesed, acts of loving kindness and making heart cookies, one to eat and one to donate, to Larry Kushner’s Book about the Hands of G-d, to Shira’s haftarah, just WOW! and Nikki’s palm tree cookies, and Nina’s brunch, and Nikki’s Tu B’shevat challah baking with the kids, to my Alef Bet who sang Dayenu by reading it! What a weekend! This is what I live for. 

Today is called Shabbat Shira, the Sabbath of Song. We mark it by reading, singing, chanting the Song at the Sea and the haftarah’s Song of Deborah. How perfect that we have Shira chanting haftarah for the first time. We are grateful to her and to Rabbi Gordon for teaching her. To quote Talmud, “Much I have learned from my teachers, even more from my colleagues and the most from my students.”  

This is a remarkable moment at CKI, and yet not. Let’s think about this for a moment. I am a woman rabbi. Rabbi Gordon is a woman rabbi. Shira is a woman. We have a woman who is our cantorial soloist. We had women who have been CKI presidents. This doesn’t always happen everywhere in the Jewish community.  

Historically, women didn’t count in a minyan, the required group of 10 adults to hold a full service. Congregation Kneseth Israel has counted women since the 50s. Women and men have sat together for generations, since Walter Kohlhagen told his wife he wouldn’t join CKI unless he could sit with her, something they had done for years in West Hartford, CT. So she said come sit with me and he did. My husband calls her the original Rosa Parks. We have had Bat Mitzvah ceremonies here since before Barbara Simon Njus and Sue Sharf Johnson had theirs. Women have had aliyot here since the 50s. Blossom Wohl was the first. I am not the first woman rabbi. Rabbi Debra Eisenman was the first and was written up in the Chicago Trib: https://www.chicagotribune.com/1992/12/04/rabbi-creates-stir-in-congregation/  Then there was Reb Deb Greene.  

And yet, this nonsensical notion of Kol Isha, the voice of a woman as an almost evil thing is still contested in parts of the Jewish community and in Israel itself.  

I stand here proudly wearing my Woman of the Wall tallit. Women of the Wall has stood at the Western Wall since Chanukah 1988 arguing and demonstrating for equal access to this most holy of sites. Every month they are subjected to men and yes women screaming at them, whistling and even worse. Assaulting them for carrying or possessing a Torah or putting on tefilin. Both of which are not prohibited by Jewish law, yet some people think are.  

Why is this so complicated? So fraught?  

Historically, our codes, written by men, warn that a woman’s voice may be too alluring. (If you need me to spell that out I will at the Kiddush) Historically, women are exempt (but not prevented or prohibited) from time bound mitzvot.  

I remember working at an assisted living facility in Boston. A woman came up to me after services and said that it was a lovely kiddush, but now could a man do it, so it would count. Even here we had someone argue that HE would do a better Kol Nidre rather that our cantorial soloist Stephanie because he was a male and it would count. Kol Nidre is a legal declaration, and back in the day women could not be witnesses. Therefore, a woman couldn’t chant Kol Nidre.  

Once when the Men’s Club was hosting a regional event a former member of CKI walked in and praised the breakfast that the women must have made. It wasn’t the Men’s Club breakfast. The men had done that themselves and it was in the library. Then he said something about only counting men for the minyan. I quipped something like, “Here we count men and women. But if you are only counting men, I am sure there will be enough today.” Welcoming but clear.  

This is a congregation that embraces diversity in religious observance, so if you come from a more traditional background and only count men in a minyan, yes, I as your rabbi have arranged for that. For funerals. For shivas. For other events. If I work with Rabbi Shem Tov at Chabad, I understand our ground rules. I can speak or tell stories but not sing. And I appreciate his respect. 

It doesn’t always happen that way. Especially in Israel. Depending on governmental coalitions, women are not allowed to say Kaddish at a graveside. Women’s voices are not on the radio. And tragically, women intelligence officers were not believed before October 7th.  

And yet, here we are at today’s texts. Miriam and Deborah. Two women we revere. Two women of seven granted the designation of prophetess. Sarah, Miriam, Deborah, Hannah, Huldah, Abigail, and Esther. 

Today’s text about Miriam begins: 

“Then Miriam the prophetess, Aaron’s sister took a timbrel in her hand, and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dancing. And Miriam chanted for them, “Sing to the Lord, who has triumphed gloriously. Horse and rider were thrown into the sea.” 

Such relief at escaping such danger. The gratitude is palpable and physical. They danced. They sang. They played their timbrels.  Often, I play a game with children—sometimes even adults at the Passover seder or recently when people were forced to flee the California fires. If you were leaving Egypt in haste—what would you take with you. I get the usual answers—food, water, sunscreen. It is the desert after all. My family, my stuffed animals, my dog, my GameBoy, camera, photos, books. No one has ever said timbrel—or frankly any musical instrument. But somehow these women knew, they took food, lamb and matzah baked in haste, their neighbors’ gold and their timbrels. They knew that out there in that desert there would be opportunities to celebrate, to rejoice, to be grateful. How did they know? 

Read Sandy Sasso’s book here: 

This singing and dancing, her singing and dancing, is emblematic of her deep gratitude. They are her prophesy. She chooses life over death, gratitude over bitterness, joy of the moment over fear. 

However, she is not alone in this. Biblical scholars believe that Miriam’s song maybe a fragment of a larger poem that has been lost. However, we do have its parallel—Moses’s song which has made its way into our daily liturgy—both in its entirety as Az yashir in the morning service and as Michamocha, asking “Who is like You, O Lord”. He and the Israelites are grateful too. 

The full text includes two verses that I want to comment on both of which are personal expressions of gratitude to God. 

Ozi v’zimrat Yah, vayahi li yeshua 

The Lord is my strength and my might. And He was my salvation (or deliverer). Zimrat can either be read as my might which Rashi does or as my song, Either way it is an expression of deep gratitude, and I suspect the double entendre was intentional. Perfect for this morning with members of Shabbat Zimrah, The Sabbath of Song here to support Shira. 

Zeh eli 

This is my God. Zeh as the demonstrative pronoun is seen as a finger pointing to what is seen, what is real, not just a vision. Usually when we pray in Judaism, the words of our liturgy are written in the plural. Notice that here, in the midst of great communal redemption that this prayer is written in the singular—The Lord is MY strength and MY might, MY salvation, MY God. Why? 

In the Michamocha itself, we say, Zeh Eli anu v’amru—This is MY God, THEY answered and said. 

Mekhilta teaches us that while Ezekiel and Isaiah had visions of the Divine, “even a slave woman at the shore of the sea, saw directly the power of the Almighty in splitting the sea All recognized in that instant their personal redemption and therefore all of them opened their mouths to sing in unison.  

Think about the setting. The Israelites have just crossed the sea. They are finally free. How would you feel? Relieved? Joyous? Tired? Anxious? You might think, “Wow!” Or maybe as our Hebrew School kids said, “That was cool!” “That was amazing!” “That was awesome.” “Do it again!” “How did You do that?” “What just happened here?” “What happened to the Egyptians?” “We are safe now.” “We are free.” “Thank you G-d.” “Hallelujah.” One girl said she would have fainted. They got the awesomeness of this moment. Just like Moses when he first sang Mi Chamocha. And we echoed it. And that is what real prayer is–the prompting our hearts to what is going on around us. 

And our text proclaims, “Ze Eli! This is my G-d!” They said. Together as one. An entry point into spirituality. One each of us needs to find for ourselves. Today. Not just historically. So that when we sing, “Ze Eli,” we mean it for ourselves. Each of us individually. 

Moses wasn’t the only one who sang. Miriam took a tof, a timbrel, a tambourine, a drum in her hand and led the women in song. 

I learned recently that in the Dead Sea Scrolls, in the Qumran text there is an addition to the Biblical text. Preserved in the feminine imperative are half the lines of Miriam’s song. It was thrilling to learn about this and the link between this song and other women’s songs, such as Deborah’s song, which we will also read this morning, Hannah’s prayer, and Judith’s. These pieces of poetry, song are amongst the oldest in scripture. 

http://digitalcommons.unl.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1096&context=classicsfacpub 

https://rabbisylviarothschild.com/tag/meaning-of-the-name-miriam/ 

And for me as a woman rabbi, it makes modern day arguments about why some Jews misquote Jewish texts to make women’s voices in prayer not kosher. Those arguments seem less and less valid. Women have always prayed. Women have always sung. Women will continue to do so. 

Bo means come. Like in Lecha Dodi when we sing, Boi Kallah, Come O Bride. But it also means Go, like in Let my people go. 

Today, as we do every day, every week, we recite the blessing, Baruch ata Adonai,Eloheinu melech ha’olam, matir asurim. Blessed are You, Lord, our G-d who frees the captive. This is part of the morning blessings, and as such had to do with unfurling our captive limbs from bed. And its double meaning of real captives. We repeat the phrase in Nishmat Kol Chai and then again in the second paragraph of the Amidah. This is a powerful phrase and the burden of rescuing hostages or captives is a very high one in Judaism.  

The rabbis of the Talmud taught that we should say 100 blessings a day. Saying the morning blessings (page 65 in Siddur Sim Shalom) gets us to 15. We are on our way. 

Gates of Prayer and retained in Mishkan Tefilah has a prayer before Kaddish that includes, “It is hard to sing of oneness when our world is not complete.” That speaks to the tremendous grief that we are still feeling. At the death of 1200+ on October 7th, at the death of thousands of Gazans, including far too many children, at the death of those killed on the plane crash over the Potomoc with more children, talented skaters, or the plane that crashed in Philadelpha with a young child on a medical flight. And yes, our own personal grief about our own personal tragedies and losses. The pain is real. It is palpable as we await word, of hostages released today including Yarden Bibas while the rest of the Bibas still waits including the two youngest hostages, Kfir and Ariel as well as their mother, Shari and the remainder of the hostages.  

Nonetheless, today we are grateful that another three hostages have been released and returned to their families. This includes Israeli-American Keith Siegel.  

Apparently reported in multiple sources, Keith used to tell his fellow hostages that they should strive to find one thing they were grateful for every day as a way to find a little light in those dark tunnels. I sometimes stand here and say at Modim Anachnu Lach, never mind 100 reasons to be grateful, just find one and concentrate your attention on that.  

Research has shown that being grateful can lead to finding meaning and that can lead to finding joy. Victor Frankl, himself an Auschwitz survivor and the author of Man’s Search for Meaning, and the developer of logotherapy, part of the larger discipline of positive psychology, said “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”
― Viktor E. Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning 

He also said, “Those who have a ‘why’ to live, can bear with almost any ‘how’.”
― Viktor E. Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning  

His understanding of this topic, began when he himself was a prisoner in Auschwitz. He felt that those who could find their own why did better in Auschwitz than those who did not. 

Today’s parsha is a pivotal portion.  

It is in this portion we are told, “And you shall explain to your child on that day, ‘It is because of what GOD did for me when I went free from Egypt.’” 

Each of us has a story. Each of us has a story of liberation, of freedom from some narrow place. Mitzrayim, the Hebrew for Egypt, also means narrow place. It is up to each of us to figure out that meaning, to figure out how to tell the story. Whether that is sitting around the dining room table at a Passover seder, or interviewing bubbe and zayde for a class project, or writing an ethical will. Or on a morning like this when we are gathered to celebrate another trip around the sun for one of our dearest members, one who brings us heat and light and warmth and wine for kiddush and havdalah.  

She has quite the story to tell in her (almost) 90 years and has created quite the legacy, right here at CKI. Today, we honor her this morning for that. And more importantly with her family, many of which we managed to gather here today. But she is a behind the scenes kind of gal. Taking the levels of tzedakah that the Rambam taught us to heart. Give a man a fish and he’ll eat for a day. Teach a woman to fish and she will fish for a lifetime and feed thousands. That is part of the Franks-Lindow legacy.  

Our parsha has more to teach. When Moses was negotiating the release of the Israelites, he refused Pharaoh’s offer to allow only the men to go–because a community needs all of its parts to be whole, and everyone has value no matter their age or gender! 

When the Israelites finally left Egypt, they left as a erev rav, a mixed multidate. We came together as one b’nei yisrael, children of Israel with many kinds of diversity. Our vision statement, crafted by some of the people in this very room includes embracing diversity. Look around you—we are quite diverse,  

All kinds of diversity. Religious observance. Country of origin. Age. Community. Level of ability, and disability. People who were born Jewish, people like in our story wanted to become Jewish and throw their lot in with us. That is part of why I am teaching Intro to Judaism right now. People wanting to become Jewish since October 7th is up, according to what we are experiencing right here and in an article in the New Yorker magazine. This is a class Helen is actually taking proving that at 90 there is always something more you can learn, another of our pillars, life long learning. All while building community. 

That is also part of her legacy.  May she, may we, find that meaning in our lives and live ad meah esrim to 120 years just like Moses.