Today is Shabbat and Sukkot. Sukkot is described as zeman simchateinu, the time of our joy. I know a little something about joy. It is, after all my middle name, the name that my family uses and that I talk to myself in. This morning I purposely drank out of an old coffee mug my mother had given me years ago. It says JOY all around the top, and has many ornaments. But one is broken. I call it my broken joy mug. I have even started writing a book about joy in Judaism.  

Sukkot has always been my favorite Jewish holy day. I remember decorating the sukkah at the temple as a kid. I remember my freshman year at Tufts when I learned about an allen wrench, necessary to building that sukkah, and then it snowed when we slept in it. I remember Sukkot in Israel and not going to Egypt during the Sukkot break because that was the year Sadat was assassinated, and Brandeis wasn’t sending Jewish kids to Egypt that year. I remember performing a wedding for one of my own bridesmaids during Sukkot and dancing the night away to Frank Sinatra. I remember building and decorating any number of sukkot with Simon, in Chelmsford and then here. Entertaining and welcoming guests. Shaking the lulav and the etrog with all sorts of students.  

Words are important. Sarah Tuttle-Singer reminded me of that when she was talking about news reporting. It matters whether you call Hamas militants or terrorists. Words need to be precise. There are multiple words for joy, in English: joy, gladness, happiness, content, delight, elation. That list goes on.  

Hebrew has multiple words for joy as well: 

• Simcha, the one we probably know best, is used for joy, happiness, gladness . It also refers to a happy occasion like a wedding or B-mitzvah.  

• Osher denotes a deeper, more profound and lasting happiness. Our prayer Ashrei has the same root. Happy is the one who dwells in the House of the Lord. It also comes with a send of richness and contentment. 

• Gilah can mean an ecstatic or exuberant outburst of joy. 

• Ditza carries with it a sense of sublime or noble joy. 

• Sasson refers to a sudden or unexpected happiness. 

• Chedva is a joy or gladness, often the happiness of togetherness or unity and thus is included in marriage blessings.  

• Rinah is a song, a joyful cry or shout of happiness.  

• Masos is great exultation or great rejoicing.  

We use many of them in the sheva brachot, the blessings of a marriage. Listen for them: 

Sameach TeSamach Re’im Ahuvim, KeSamechacha Yetzircha BeGan Eden MiKedem. Baruch Ata HaShem, MeSame’ach Chatan VeKalah 

Let the loving couple be very happy, just as You made Your creation happy in the garden of Eden, so long ago.  You are blessed, Lord, who makes the bridegroom and the bride happy. 

Baruch Ata HaShem Elokainu Melech HaOlam, Asher Barah Sasson VeSimcha, Chatan VeKalah, Gila Rina, Ditza VeChedva, Ahava VeAchava, VeShalom VeRe’ut. MeHera  HaShem Elokeinu Yishama BeArei Yehudah U’Vchutzot Yerushalayim, Kol Sasson V’eKol Simcha, Kol Chatan V’eKol Kalah, Kol Mitzhalot Chatanim MeChupatam, U’Nearim Mimishte Neginatam.  Baruch Ata HaShem MeSame’ach Chatan Im Hakalah. 

You are blessed, Lord our G-d, the sovereign of the world, who created joy and celebration, bridegroom and bride, rejoicing, jubilation, pleasure and delight, love and brotherhood, peace and friendship.  May there soon be heard, Lord our G-d, in the cities of Judea and in the streets of Jerusalem, the sound of joy and the sound of celebration, the voice of a bridegroom and the voice of a bride, the happy shouting of bridegrooms from their weddings and of young men from their feasts of song.  You are blessed, Lord, who makes the bridegroom and the bride rejoice together. 

Please, G-d, may there soon be heard, Lord our G-d, in the cities of Judea and in the streets of Jerusalem, the sound of joy and the sound of celebration. 

This is a complicated weekend. We are celebrating Sukkot and we are waiting. Waiting. Waiting. It requires patience, savlanut in Hebrew and hope. Tikvah. The ceasefire seems to be holding. Palestinians are moving back throughout the Gaza Strip. Aid is starting to move in. Later this weekend, or perhaps Monday, the hostages are supposed to be returned. These are the first, I emphasize, the first steps to peace. 

“We could not be happier,” said someone in what has become known as “Hostage Sqaure,” said. I heard a rabbi say he was “elated.” 

Some of you often remind me that you cannot command an emotion. That’s true. While I applaud this possible resolution of a two-year war, I am not yet elated. I am not yet happy. I think the best word I can come up with is relieved. Cautiously optimistic. Worried about what may come next. And perhaps a realist. We’ve been here before.  

It would be amazing if the hostages actually come home. The reporting is that there are still 48 hostages, 20 living two of whom are in bad shape. There were 1200 people murdered in the initial onslaught on October 7^th. There were women who were raped. There have been Israelites who were displaced both in the north and the south, living in hotels. Hotel ballrooms turned into classrooms for students. There is the ongoing rising anti-semitism, which was a thing even before October 7^th. Just today there was a large rally in London of pro-Palestinian activists. London, just after the massacre last week in Manchester. And there are too many deaths. Israeli soldiers in Gaza. And whatever the real number is, 60K+ Gazans, many of whom were women and children. 

One night this week I heard an interview of Shirii Bibas’s cousin, Yifat Zailer on Anderson Cooper. As a young mother with a child one month younger than Kafir, she said, “I want to laugh without guilt. I want to go to sleep without anxiety that someone will come into my home and take me.” She asked to say one more thing at the end of the very poignant interview. “no more children will die because of grown-ups’ mistakes” 

Another person said: “This agreement will not bring back my son, who was killed in Gaza on 1.1.24, but he and my other son both fought in this war and dreamed of rescuing hostages. Today, also the day that we dedicate a park in memory of Amichai Yisrael Yehoshua Oster, I have so many complicated feelings. I will be so happy to see the hostages back here and reunited with their families, and I will continue to mourn our loss.” 

Eleh Ezcarah. We remember. We remember it all. These are the words from the martyrology from Yom Kippur. We remember it all. 

Today we read as part of our special Torah portion for Sukkot, the 13 Attributes of the Divine, that we read over and over again as part of the High Holy Day liturgy. Adonai, Adonai, el rachum v’chanun. a God compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in kindness and faithfulness, extending kindness to the thousandth generation, forgiving iniquity, transgression, and sin. That’s where the rabbis end it in the liturgy. But it continues with this: “yet not remitting all punishment, but visiting the iniquity of parents upon children and children’s children, upon the third and fourth generations.” 

The third and fourth generation. That’s where we are now since the founding of the State of Israel. This is what I wrote my rabbinic thesis on. What “sins” get passed down from generation to generation. I examined domestic violence, often a pattern from generation to generation in families. I looked at German-Jewish reconciliation and I studied peace between Israelis and Palestinians Sometimes it feels like it is already out of date. And sometimes it feels like it oh so current. What the Torah is describing is what we now call generational trauma. It is still happening now.  

Ha’aretz had a story yesterday, “Do you know how many generations want revenge now?” https://www.haaretz.com/middle-east-news/palestinians/2025-10-09/ty-article-magazine/.premium/do-you-know-how-many-generations-want-revenge-now-the-future-of-hamas-and-gazans/00000199-c8b6-d198-abdb-dcf7a4720000  

I can’t predict entirely what will happen next or even tomorrow. I do know that my research showed that in order for there to be a lasting peace, people need to feel safe. I doubt very much that either side will wake up tomorrow and feel safe. There needs to be a period of time where trust is rebuilt. I don’t know how long that will take, but I suspect generations.  

Sukkot is a holiday of remembrance, In every joyous moment there is some sadness. While there are many explanations, it is why we break a glass at a wedding. Either we are mourning the destruction of the Temple. That’s a long , long time to be sad. Or we are missing the people that we wish were be able to be there.  

Sukkot is one of four times a year, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, Passover and Shavuot, that we recite the Yizkor prayers. Tomorrow we will hold our Sukkot yizkor service at 11:15 with time to remember all  

In Kohelet, Ecclesiastes which teaches that there is a time for everything, a time for peace and a time for war for example, we also learn, “It is better to go to a house of mourning than to a house of feasting; for that is the end of every man, and a living one should take it to heart.” 

Yet Judaism is about joy and peace. For thousands of years, we have prayed for peace, we have hoped for peace, we have dreamed of peace, we have worked for peace. We will continue to do so. Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlev said, “Never despair, never.”  

Tonight the Cubs play in the decisive game of the playoffs. A victory will bring joy to many, sadness to others. I am hoping we don’t need this line at the end of the game: “There is no joy in Mudville. Mighty Casey has struck out.” May the Cubs win and may there be a pervasive peace and the hostages returned home. Speedily and in our day. Amen.  

This is a personal reflection as we continue to await news out of Egypt.

“Ufros Aleinu Sukkat Shlomecha, Spread over us the shelter, the fragile sukkah of Your peace.” 

I have taught this for years. To Jewish and non-Jewish groups. Often, since October is National Domestic Violence Awareness Month to groups marking that observance. 

Sukkot begins tonight. It is often fraught for me as I was the victim of a violent crime in Israel on the second night of Sukkot. It is why building a Sukkah is so important to me. If I can sit on my porch, my deck and listen to the birds and watch the moon rise through the branches, I know that I am whole. I can be at peace. 

But I know that the sukkah is fragile. Knots not well tied, a wind too big and the whole thing can collapse.  

Two years ago, on the last day of Sukkot, called Shmini Atzeret here, the 8th day of assembly, Israel was overrun by Hamas who proudly filmed the atrocities. Because the Jewish calendar and the Gregorian calendar differ, two years ago is tomorrow. Exactly tomorrow. I doubt that many Jews will forget where they were when the news filtered to synagogues early that morning in the United States. 

This is personal. One of Simon’s niece’s cousin is still one of the suspected living hostages. Simon’s grand nephew now serves in the IDF. I have worked behind the scenes to get people out of Gaza. I have decried the starvation and the use of children as human shields. And tomorrow, and the next day will be hard, hard days. I may just disappear until Weds night.

As a congregational rabbi, I was met with two Elgin Police squad cars, breaking the news. They returned the next day, without being asked. They wanted to make sure that we were safe when we were scheduled to dance outside with the Torahs. We are always grateful to the EPD. I am grateful.  

Tomorrow could be hard. Some of you have expressed anxiety. There is plenty of that to go around. Increasing anti-semitism. (I’d rather not lead with that one but it is true!). A polarized nation. Increasing violence on city streets. Wars in too many places to name.  

And the Middle East. I cannot know what will happen in these negotiations between Israel, the US and Hamas. I continue to pray for the hostages to be returned. All of them. (I had even dared to hope, briefly, that it would be tomorrow because I liked the symmetry of an even 2 years. 2 years too long!) And yes, I pray for the people of Gaza. For the women, the children. For the elderly. Far too many have died. Full stop.  

This I know, having written my rabbinic thesis on the 13 attributes of the divine. Some of you will disagree with me.  

The full 13 attributes contain a last phrase that the sins of the parents will be carried on to the third and fourth generation. We are now in the the third and fourth generation since the founding of the State of Israel, since the ongoing hostilities. 

What my research showed was profound. In order to make peace, a profound, pervasive peace, people need to feel safe. Whether that is after a violent crime like I endured, a domestic violence incident like I work as a chaplain, or any number of bombings. Too many bombings.  

Some of you have said that I am such an inspiration. You don’t know how I do it.  You don’t know how I keep going or where my energy comes from.  

Part of it is I was lucky. I got really good physical and emotional support. If you need help reach out. Part of it is I have a supportive family. Part of it is through my writing, Writing helps me manage my own anxiety. Because yes, I worry too. The combination of ICE raids and this anniversary has been hard on my own mental health. Yet, I still like the phrase, “Here am I, Hineini.” I am still here. Despite the violent crime. Despite the death of my first finance due to a terrorist bomb. Despite having multiple myeloma. 

How then do we dare to celebrate Sukkot with joy (my middle name!) It is Zeman Simchateinu, the time of our joy. Last year some people even left their sukkot undecorated as a way to express their unease, as a way to hope that the hostages would be home.  

Kohelet, Ecclesiastes, which we read on Sukkot, reminds us: “It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting; for that is the end of all people, and the living will take it to heart” (Ecclesiastes 7:2) 

On the surface, that seems difficult to understand. A house of mourning is better that a house of feasting?  

Rabbi Jill Jacobs reminded me of a midrash: 

“It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting.” Why? It is because “the heart of the wise is in a house of mourning” (Ecclesiastes 7:4), as anyone who mourns, the Blessed Holy One brings them joy, as it is stated: “The humble will increase their joy in the Lord” (Isaiah 29:19). (Kohelet Rabbah 7:2) 

She adds: “Coming face to face with death is a humbling experience that also reminds us that we are alive, that we still have responsibilities in this world, and that we can take delight in the world around us. Our joy in times of mourning is not a pollyannish one that ignores the brutal realities of the world, but rather one that insists on joy especially because we know how precious our time here is.” 

There is much work to be done in this world. Mine is still to be a peacemaker, as the Psalmist said, “Seek peace and pursue it.” Hineini. Here am I. May I be up for the task. And may I sit under my vine and fig tree and none make us afraid. Ufros Aleinu Sukkat Shlomecha.  Spread over us the sukkah of Your peace.

Last night we began a topic. It can be a hard one. Where is G-d? 

We started with Sh’ma Koleinu, Hear our prayer.  

But as Chuck might ask, does G-d need our prayers? Does G-d need our sacrifices? Does G-d need the “pleasing odors” of those offerings? Today’s haftarah is clear, maybe G-d doesn’t even need our fast:

the people ask:
“Why, when we fasted, did You not see?
When we starved our bodies, did You pay no heed?” 

And G-d answers:
Because on your fast day
You see to your business
And oppress all your laborers!
Because you fast in strife and contention,
And you strike with a wicked fist!
Your fasting today is not such
As to make your voice heard on high. 

Instead we are told:
No, this is the fast I desire:
To unlock fetters of wickedness,
And untie the cords of the yoke 
To let the oppressed go free;
To break off every yoke.
It is to share your bread with the hungry,
And to take the wretched poor into your home;
When you see the naked, to clothe them,
And not to ignore your own kin. (Isaiah 58) 

And then, as I said last night G-d also says, “Hineini, Here am I.” 

Where is G-d? 

Rabbi Sid Schwarz  in his book “Finding a Spiritual Home,” says this: The Jewish community has lost some of the most sensitive spiritual souls of this generation. They are Jews who were looking for God and found spiritual homes outside of Judaism. Their journeys traversed the Jewish community, but nothing there beckoned them. The creation of synagogue-communities in which the voices of seekers can be heard and their questions can be asked will challenge many loyalist Jews. It will upset and enrage them. But it would also enrich them.”  

He’s right. These are hard questions. It may make you uncomfortable. That’s what Isaiah was trying to do. Challenge you and make you uncomfortable.  

He profiles four American synagogues that are doing well. One from each of the major movements. One of the things I found most fascinating was that the ones that are “successful” have strong programs to feed the hungry or house the unhoused, across all four movements. Sometimes, it was exactly what would bring a new person into the synagogue and then they would become a member. 

There is a tradition of racing out to do a mitzvah after Yom Kippur. You could still write a check to CKI for our annual Isaiah food drive, this year earmarked for the Community Crisis Center which we heard about last night. Or maybe you could attend (maybe) tomorrow’s Partners in Peace breakfast for the Community Crisis Center. You could volunteer at the soup kettle next week.  

Those are part of living out the Holiness Code. We find G-d when we live out the Holiness Code which is today’s afternoon Torah portion. These past 10 days we have been studying “Love Your Neighbor as Yourself.” The verse is included in that portion. It’s a good topic and we’ve learned a lot. What we haven’t done is look at in the context of the section of the Torah. It is part of a section called Kedoshim. Holiness. Set in the middle of Leviticus, much of which is addressed to the priests who serve in the temple, this is addressed to all of us. 

“Speak to the whole Israelite community and say to them: You shall be holy, for I, your God יהוה, am holy.” 

So first we have to ask, what does holy mean. It is not that sort of holier than thou sort of way. Kadosh is more like to be set apart, separated.  

“You shall each revere your mother and your father, and keep My sabbaths: I יהוה am your God. 

“When you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not reap all the way to the edges of your field, or gather the gleanings of your harvest. You shall not pick your vineyard bare, or gather the fallen fruit of your vineyard; you shall leave them for the poor and the stranger: I יהוה am your God.” That’s what we do with our community garden so beautifully tended by Jerry and others. 

“You shall not steal; you shall not deal deceitfully or falsely with one another. 

You shall not defraud your fellow [Israelite]. You shall not commit robbery. 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. You shall fear your God: I am יהוה.” That’s why this floor is accessible as possible. Why we have a transfer wheelchair. Why there are comfort height toilets. Why we continually improve the sound system. We try to be accessible to all. That’s part of our vision statement, “Embracing Diversity.” 

“You shall not render an unfair decision: do not favor the poor or show deference to the rich; judge your kin fairly.” Any one can be a member here. Earlier this year someone felt that she hadn’t gotten an honor because she hadn’t contributed enough. Some synagogues used to function that way. They would actually auction off high holy day and Shabbat honors. We do not. We do not favor the poor or show deference to the rich. We welcome all of you to worship and participate. 

Do not deal basely with members of your people. Do not profit by the blood of your fellow [Israelite]: I am יהוה. Other translations are “Do not stand idly by while your neighbor bleeds.” That’s why we host community blood drives. It is also why we have first aid kits, an AED and Stop the bleed kits. Our staff has all been trained in CPR.  

You shall not hate your kinsfolk in your heart. Reprove your kin but incur no guilt on their account. 

You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against members of your people. Love your fellow [Israelite] as yourself: I am יהוה.  That’s our verse. Love your fellow, your kin, your neighbor as yourself.  

This is what we call the holiness code. G-d is holy so we should be holy. I have said that this is a recipe for love. It tells us what to do to set up a civil society. It tells us how to be holy. It tells us how to be like G-d. How to actually love our neighbors, all of our neighbors as ourselves.  

Some of it is easy. As we have said, and even more importantly done, we have had blood drives. We have tried to assure that this floor is accessible to all, the blind and the deaf, people with mobility issues. We have planted the corners of our field for those who do not have enough. Talk to our top gardeners and they will tell you that when they are tending the garden they feel closer to G-d.  

  Don’t worry though. There is still plenty to do! 

Some of it is much harder. Rebuking our friends when they make a mistake. That takes really skill to do it in such a way that we are not offensive. Many of the prayers we confess today, about 65% have to do with speech. Our mothers were right: “Think before you speak.” Not holding a grudge. Are you still carrying hurts, real or perceived from long ago. My father was a grudge holder. His list is long. But the issue with grudge holding is it can embitter us.  

We are still sitting here. We are still praying. We are still trying to find G-d.  

When we pray, what are we doing? When we demand that G-d hears our voice, what are we doing? Where is G-d? How do we know if G-d responds?  Sometimes we express our gratitude and thanksgiving. Or we might offer prayers of intercession, when we pray for others, like a mi sheberach. We might praise G-d with psalms of adoration, all those Hallelujahs! We might offer confessional prayers, that’s what those viduis are for Yom Kippur. And we might petition G-d for our needs. Please G-d, let me pass the math test even though I didn’t study. Please G-d let those sirens not be going to my house. Those might be considered a “wasted prayer” or in Hebrew a bracha l’vatala, a prayer in vain since it has already happened. Once I remember sitting at a camp , a JCC one not a Girl Scout one when my mom was sick, and I couldn’t get home. My prayer was a bargain. “If You heal her pneumonia, I’ll be kosher.” It was always pneumonia. When people tell me that they don’t think G-d hears their prayers it is often these prayers of petition that they are worried about. 

Where is G-d?  

Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlav taught that we should go outside for an hour every day and pour our hearts out. It doesn’t have to be hard.  

“Talk to God as you would talk to your very best friend. Tell the Holy One everything. Even if all you can say to God is “help!” it is still very good. Repeat this over and over again until God opens your lips and the words begin to flow from your heart. And even when no words come, do not despair. Come back day after day to your secluded spot and wait. Just wanting to speak to God is in itself a very great thing.”
     Rebbe Nachman of Breslov 

When we pray are often looking for G-d. Sometimes like Rebbe Nachman, we find G-d outside in nature. Sometimes we find G-d on a mountain peak (Moses did) or at an ocean or inland sea. Sometimes at sunset or sunrise.  

Sometimes we find G-d in the synagogue itself. Listening to the music or staring out the beautiful stained glass or in a comment of a friend. Sometimes we find G-d is the still small voice like Elijah heard and sometimes the booming voice of the Psalmist.  

We had a member, Peretz Mehr of blessed memory. Bonnie Bonner’s father, he sat right over there. (Point). He used to say that our sole reason for being was to praise G-d. And he would cite some of our early preliminary prayers as his reason. Everything praises G-d. Every breath we take. Every hallelujah. Just your being here. 

As we read earlier this morning, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel explained, “Prayer cannot bring water to parched fields, or mend a broken bridge, or rebuild a ruined city; but prayer can water an arid soul, mend a broken heart, and rebuild a weakened will”. He continued, “those who rise from prayer better persons their prayer is answered. He is also the one who famously said that his feet were praying when he marched with King. 

Prayer is not a magical solution to our problems, but the spiritual discipline helps transform the inner self giving us strength and hope, in the face of life’s challenges. We also know from scientific research that praying for someone who is sick, even if they don’t know you are praying, can help them improve. It doesn’t necessarily cure them but it can help heal them. There is a difference. Once when I was singing the last verse of Adon Olam, the Debbie Friedman version, the ICU nurse and I watched in amazement that the blood pressure stabilized. Neither of us could explain that. They know that they are not alone. 

Sometimes people find G-d when they are sitting quietly meditating. Sometimes people think that the object of all of this is to become one with the divine. The Day of Atonement can mean the Day of At One Ment. If G-d is One, then we need to be at one with G-d. That is somehow the object of Kabbalah. The object of Tikkun Olam.  

In the 1500s Rabbi Isaac Luria , the Arizal, taught about the “shattering of the vessels.” It seems that when G-d began to create the world, G-d was everywhere. G-d needed to take a breathe, to contract, in order to make room for the world. We call that tzimtzum. Go ahead, take a breathe from deep in your diaphragm. Feel that tzimtzum, that contraction. When G-d created that first light, it was so bright that it was contained in vessels. Those vessels shattered and the shard and the light scattered to the ends of the universe.  

Each of us is created b’tzelem elohim, in the divine image, each of us is a spark of the divine. The task, then, is to find those sparks and restore the divine light, to do tikkun, repairing.  Those sparks are not lost. They are within us. They are us. Gathering those sparks together. That is the original meaning of tikkun olam, repairing the world is where we find G-d. It is through our actions, our repair of ourselves and the world where we find G-d. 

Where is G-d?  In those sparks. Those divine sparks in each of us. When we can see that we are all created b’tzelm elohim, in the image of G-d.  

G-d is present when we gather those sparks together. When we compassionately hold the hand of someone who is dying. G-d is present when we take care of the widow, the orphan, the sojourner, the most marginalized among us. G-d is present when we do what what the haftarah says to do feed the hungry, clothe the naked and house the unhoused. G-d is present when we do justly, love mercy, ahavat chesed as we learned last week and walk humbly or modestly with our G-d. G-d is present when we love our neighbors as ourselves. 

So this Yom Kippur, I echo the words of the Psalmist who specifically for these Days of Repentance, who demanded of G-d: “Don’t hide Your face from me.  

Hear, O LORD, when I cry aloud;
have mercy on me, answer me.
Do not hide Your face from me;
do not thrust aside Your servant in anger;
You have ever been my help.
Do not forsake me, do not abandon me,
O God, my deliverer. 

Sh’ma Koleinu, Hear our voice! Do not hide from me. From us. Be with us, here, now, today.

By now you know my spirituality often comes from song lyrics. One that has always been important to me is Bette Midler’s “From a Distance”: 

From a distance, the world looks blue and green
And the snow-capped mountains white
From a distance, the ocean meets the stream
And the eagle takes to flight 

From a distance, there is harmony
And it echoes through the land
It’s the voice of hope
It’s the voice of peace
It’s the voice of every man 

From a distance, we all have enough
And no one is in need
And there are no guns, no bombs, and no disease
No hungry mouths to feed 

From a distance, we are instruments
Marching in a common band
Playing songs of hope
Playing songs of peace
They’re the songs of every man 

God is watching us
God is watching us
God is watching us
From a distance 

From a distance, you look like my friend
Even though we are at war
From a distance, I just cannot comprehend
What all this fighting’s for 

From a distance, there is harmony
And it echoes through the land
And it’s the hope of hopes
It’s the love of loves
It’s the heart of every man (every man) 

Seems simple, no?  

I could take each of those stanzas and intersperse how they impact my spirituality. Like seeing those mountains from a distance, reminds me of the question we looked at last week, “Have you seen My Alps? Have you taken pleasure in my world? YES! From a distance, we all have enough. But apparently we don’t know how to share it or distribute it equitably. From a distance, people look like friends, but still there is war. ENOUGH I want to scream. And yet from a distance there is hope.  

But why is G-d saying this from a distance? Where is G-d? 

One line of our High Holy Day liturgy begs: 

Sh’ma Koleinu, Adonai Eloheinu, hus v’raham aleinu. v’kabel b’rachamim uv’ratzon et tefilateinu. 

“Hear our voice, O Lord our God; spare us and have mercy upon us, and accept with mercy and favor our prayer”. 

When Stephanie sings it, it reminds me of a gentle waterfall or a babbling brook at a Japanese garden, maybe at Anderson Gardens. It is one of the most beautiful pieces of liturgical music. It transports me, it elevates me. Listen for it when you hear it.  

During the next 25 hours we will sing this prayer over and over again. 

Recently I was driving to a police death investigation in my role as chaplain, and praying. I was thinking about a question I was asked recently. If the cantor sings Hineini, Here am I, shouldn’t G-d also answer that G-d is here? Where is G-d?  And I was wondering where was G-d in the moment I was driving toward? And a related question from a young Torah School student who wanted to know if we can see G-d. 

Where is G-d? That is a big and important question.  

First, we may need to figure out what we mean by G-d.  

Maimonides codified what Jews believe in 13 articles of faith.  

About G-d he said that G-d exists, is perfect, that G-d is One, the creator of everything, is and was and will always be. That G-d doesn’t have a body.  That our worship and praise should only be directed to G-d and we don’t need intercessors or intermediaries.  Many of us might agree,  

Yet, here’s the deal. You don’t have to agree with him. Not on all 13 or even on specific individual points. Others have argued with him before. And will again. In Judaism there is no litmus test of what you must believe.  

You don’t even necessarily have to believe in G-d to be Jewish, because sometimes it is a question of what concept of G-d are we talking about. There are Jewish atheists, including my own father and maybe some of you.  

If it would help you and if you want, you can read all the arguments with Rambam in the published form of this with a link to My Jewish Learning.  https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/the-thirteen-principles-of-faith/ 

So how can I stand up here and try to answer the question. Where is G-d? 

When children ask me how can we see G-d I answer simply. It is like the wind, I say. We can’t see wind, but we can see the trees blow. We can’t see G-d but we can see the after effects of G-d’s presence. We can see the good in others. We can see the spark of the divine. We can feel G-d’s presence like we feel the wind on our faces. 

But where then is G-d? 

G-d asks where Adam and Eve are at the very beginning of the Torah, after they eat from the apple, perhaps really a pomegranate. “Ayecha,” G-d calls, “Where are you?” But if G-d knows everything doesn’t G-d know where they are? 

G-d calls to Abraham in the story of the Akeda, the binding of Isaac that we read last week, and Abraham answers “Hineini,  Here am I “. G-d calls to Moses at the burning bush and Moses answers “Hineini., Here am I” 

G-d calls to Isaiah and Isaiah answers Hineini, Here am I, and adds “send me.”  (Isaiah 6:8) 

Eight times in Scripture the phrase Hineini is used to answer G-d. 178 times the word is used.  When a name is doubled, like Abraham, Abraham or Moses Moses, you better pay attention! And you better answer. Maybe it is like a parent who calls you by your full name. That is usually when you are in trouble. The difference here is that the answer “hineini” carries with it a profound meaning. Hineini. Here I am. Fully present. Ready. It is a declaration of spiritual presence and readiness to serve, even in the face of fear or the unknown. And it has had great meaning for me. Hineini, Here am I. I am still here, despite all the obstacles.  

Yet, this doesn’t answer your question. Where is G-d? Does G-d ever answer Hineini?  In fact only twice does G-d declare Hineini. Both in Isaiah.  

Hineini, Here am I, I about to do something new;
Even now it shall come to pass,
Suddenly you shall perceive it:
I will make a road through the wilderness
And rivers in the desert. (Isaiah 43:19) 

Most of Isaiah 43 is designed to bring us comfort, that G-d is here and that G-d loves us.  

The second example is from tomorrow morning’s haftarah and it brings me hope: 

Then shall your light burst through like the dawn
And your healing spring up quickly;
Your Vindicator shall march before you,
The Presence of GOD shall be your rear guard.
Then, when you call, GOD will answer;
When you cry, [God] will say: Hineini Here I am.
If you banish the yoke from your midst,
The menacing hand, and evil speech, (Isaiah 58:8-9) 

G-d seems ready to act and be present with the people. G-d is reaffirming the covenant that G-d made with us. If we do x then G-d will do y and take us back in love. 

Many people sit in High Holy Day services wondering what does any of this have to do with me. Isaiah was a long, long time ago. It doesn’t seem like G-d is fully present. It doesn’t seem like G-d loves us. G-d doesn’t answer my prayers. I feel distant from G-d. I am really angry with G-d.  I am not even sure that G-d exists. That’s OK.   

When Jacob’s name was changed to Israel, we became G-d wrestlers. He received the name Yisrael because he wrestled with G-d and man and prevailed.  

Isaiah’s message for these yamin nora’im, these fraught days of awe when the world seems to hang in the balance that G-d doesn’t want our fasting. G-d wants something else. To feed the hungry, clothe the naked and house the unhoused.  If only we would make good choices as Heather would say, then G-d would be present.  

But G-d’s love is unlimited. How then do we reconcile the words of unetaneh tokef that acknowledges that some people will live and some people will die. That’s true, of course. But the prayer continues that tefilah, teshuvah, tzedakah can avert the decree. Our class looked at very translations of that. Avert, lessen, annul. The prayer doesn’t promise that there will be no death.  

When we feel distant from G-d or we think that G-d is not answering our prayers, I want to suggest something else.  

Sometimes we think G-d is all powerful, omnipotent, all knowing, omniscient and all good, beneficent. This is a very traditional understanding of G-d. And yet, it can be a problematic understanding, like the Rambam formulation. If G-d is all good, and all powerful, G-d could have stopped the Holocaust, right?  

Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev (1740-1810) argued with G-d, wanting to know where G-d was if people are suffering. Using a very similar construction to Moses, he demanded, commanded G-d:, It is a prayer of protest, “Din Torah mit Got” (a lawsuit with God) in which he asserts, “And I, Levi Yitzhak, son of Sarah Berditchev, say, from my stand I will not waver, and from place I shall not move until there be an end to this exile.”  

Here is another Rabbi Levi Yitzhak story about Kol Nidre and not letting G-d off the hook. The tailor had cheated Goldman (not our Goldman, just the way the story was told!)  out of a pair of trousers, yet G-d had allowed a little girl to die of diphtheria.. The tailor lost his temper with his children ,but G-d had known about a famine in another country.  So the tailor said, “And for every sin I had committed during the past year, God had done one too. So I said to God, ‘Look, we each have the same number of sins. If you let me off, I’ll let You off!’ ”  

http://www.berdichev.org/arguiing_with_heaven.htm  as told by Rabbi Larry Kushner. 

Sometimes we don’t even know what the question might be, as Reb Levi Yitzhak illustrates at a Passover seder. When speaking about the four children, he said, “Lord of the Universe, I Levi Yitzhak. am the one who does not know how to ask….doesn’t the haggadah say that with the child who does not know how to ask, “you must start with him.”…Lord of the Universe, are You not my Father? Am I not Your son? I do not even know what questions to ask. You take the initiative and disclose the answer to me. Show me, in connection with whatever happens to me, what is required of me? G-d, I do not ask You, about why I suffer. I wish to know only that I suffer for Your sake.” 

Elie Wiesel called G-d to account in his haunting play, The Trial of G-d. In introducing the setting for the play, Wiesel gives us an idea of the provenance of the din torah / trial concept: “Its genesis: inside the kingdom of night, I witnessed a strange trial. Three rabbis—all erudite and pious men—decided one winter evening to indict God for allowing his children to be massacred. I remember: I was there, and I felt like crying. But nobody cried.” 

 Reverend Larry Zimmerman said at the funeral of John Oganowski, the pilot of Flight 11 which had left from Boston, that G-d was present when the World Trade Center Towers fell. G-d wept as we wept. G-d gave the firemen courage as they raced up the stairs. G-d held every victim in the palms of His hands. Perhaps too anthropomorphic but comforting nonetheless.  

Rabbi Harold Kushner, in his major work, “When Bad Things Happen to Good People” argued we have to limit G-d’s power. If we have free will, G-d can’t stop people making bad choices that cause that kind of suffering of the Holocaust, or 9/11 or October 7th. People chose to do those things. The question we need to wrestle with, because the word Israel means G-d wrestler, isn’t where is G-d when bad things happen but when bad things happen, because even us ordinary folk will experience bad things , the question is when that happens what do we do with our lives.   

Sometimes there is no good explanation. Each person needs to respond to tragedy in their own way, in their own time.  

Maybe the question isn’t where is G-d? But how ? How do we answer G-d with Hineini? Can we hear G-d calling to us? Even if, as Bette Midler sings, G-d seems distant.  

Earlier this year you may recall that my good friend Danise Habun died. She and I ran our cancer journeys together. We served on several boards together. We would talk about this word after almost every oncologist visit. Hineini, Here am I ready to meet life’s challenges. Ready to make the world a better place. Ready to make good trouble. Even if it was hard. Even if we would rather be in bed. 

So one of my questions is why am I here, and Danise is not. Many of you have similar questions. But look around you…we are still here. Hineini. Here am I ready to be fully present. Ready to wrestle with these eternal questions.  

One of my favorite poems is from Mary Oliver, Summer Day. 

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life? 

That’s how we find G-d and that’s how we answer Hineini. May this be the beginning of beautiful wrestling, for each of us and as a community. Gmar chatimah tovah.  

We know the story. Abraham almost sacrificed Isaac. On a mountain in Jerusalem. Mount Moriah, now the Temple Mount. “And Abraham named that site Adonai-yireh, whence the present saying, “On the mount of יהוה there is vision.” (Genesis 22:14) 

There is a lovely folk tale, The Two Brothers that has any number of tellings because that’s what happens with folk tales. Two farmers, brothers, on the opposite side of a hill. Each one believes the other has greater needs, one is married with many children so has more people to help with the farming. The other, single, doesn’t need as much grain. Each thinks the other deserves more of the harvest. Every night they sneak over the hill and bring their brother more grain. One night they meet in the middle. They are loving their neighbor, their brother. That very spot is where we are told is where G-d chose for Solomon to build the Holy Temple in Jerusalem.  

It is also taught as the origin of the song from Psalms, “How good it is for people, for brothers to dwell together.” Sing it with me…Hiney Ma Tov u’manaim, shevet achim gam yachad.” 

It is a great illustration of loving your neighbor as yourself. Each brother is sharing with the other brother, their neighbor.  

Hiney Ma Tov. This is the world we want to live in. 

Or as another verse of Psalms says, that Rabbi Menachem Creditor set to music, 

Olam Chesed Yibaneh. We will build this world with love.  

But legends are just that, legends. What if this is not a Jewish story at all. There are many versions of this legend told from a Jewish perspective often attributed vaguely to a midrash.  Despite scholarly research, which I admit fascinates me (and you can read the whole analysis later), it may not be a Jewish tale at all. Rather it seems the story originated in India, made its way to the Arabs in the eighth century where it was given a positive spin, and then in the early nineteenth century migrated to Europe where the Jews then adopted it and applied it to the Temple.  

It would seem that no one quite agrees on the origins here. We talk about this. How Jews question, think and argue. We’ve even been known to argue over the word argue. Perhaps it should be the word “debate” instead. How there are two Jews and three opinions. Even, apparently on origins of legends. 

What, then, do these sacred texts come to teach: 

The saga of Abraham and Ishmael and then Abraham and Isaac teach us that we are not to sacrifice our children.  Full stop. Apparently, the surrounding cultures did. We should not. Not then. Not now. 36 times it tells us in the Torah, according to the Talmud that we need to take care of the widow, the orphan and the sojourner. 

Yet in today’s world we too often sacrifice our children. Not in a traditional sense of sacrifice by killing them on a mountain and offering them up to the gods. No, we sacrifice our children today. To parents’ high expectation. To overprogramming. To screen time. To social media. To gun violence. To hunger. Did you know that 25% of all American children go to bed hungry every night?  

I had a conversation this week with a modern Orthodox rabbi. Should d’vrei Torah, sermons, be timeless or timely. He answered both. We reminded each other that people hear what they want to hear in any of these stories, any of the Torah and in any of our d’vrei Torah. 

Perhaps one of the best books I read this summer was Beyond Dispute: Rediscovering the Jewish art of constructive disagreement. Two members of CKI suggested that I read it. It will be the November book group book which we co-sponsor with Gail Borden Public Library as part of National Jewish Book Month.  

Beyond Dispute was written by Daniel Taub who is an Israeli diplomat, international lawyer and writer of British origin who served as Israel’s ambassador to the United Kingdom from 2011 to 2015. 

He outlines another time period where the world, at least the Jewish world, was in crisis. After the destruction of the Second Temple when the Israelites were forced into exile again, he explains, “The trauma was unspeakable. Homeless and spiritually adrift, the Israelite found themselves facing an acute crisis on three levels: spiritual, theological and social.” Into that world, we know, Judaism became a religion of prayer and study and Talmud was born.  

We have told this story before. It is in our Shabbat siddur, prayer book. According to the Talmud, after the destruction of the Temple, Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai and his student were wandering through the ruins of the Second Temple. The rabbi’s student, Rabbi Yehoshua, lamented the loss of the atonement rituals that took place there. How could we achieve atonement without those sacrifices? In response to his student’s grief, Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai offered comfort with these now-famous words. He assured Rabbi Yehoshua that atonement had not been lost, but simply transformed. The way of finding divine favor and forgiveness was through deeds of lovingkindness, or gemilut hasadim. 

And that’s where Talmud was born. Talmud, comprised of both the Mishnah and Gemara. The “oral law” passed down from generation to generation, finally codified and sourced. Footnoted. The argument preserved even across the generations. As Taub says, “they gave birth to a new way of thinking about truth, difference and dissent which would accompany Jewish life from here on: argument for the sake of heaven.”  

The Talmud asks what is an argument for the sake of heaven, and the example is Hillel and Shamai, one of those stories which I told earlier this week. Not for the sake of heaven: Korach and his followers. The examples even make it into a Great Britain prayerbook in their prayer for committee meetings.  

“Let us come together in G-d’s name and prepare ourselves to do His will. May his presence dwell among us, drawing us to serve Him and His creatures with justice and with love. Let us listen to each other with respect, and treat each other with wisdom and generosity, so that we witness to the master whom we serve and justify His choice of us. ay none of our controversies rise up like those of Korach, from ambition and self-seeking. Let them only be for the sake of heaven, like those of Hillel and Shammai. May our eyes be open to see His greatness in the smallest things we do. Through our faithfulness may the cause of goodness prosper in the world.” 

(Page 296, Forms of Prayer for Jewish Worship, Seventh Edition, 1977, The Reform Synagogues of Great Britain) 

I have used this prayer when I have been asked to offer an invocation at the State House, at Kane County, Elgin Township, City Council, here or Lowell. We do this when we have our own CKI board meetings. We try to have people listen to each other with respect and care and often that leads to better decision making. As Proverbs teaches, “As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another” (Proverbs 27:17) 

Taub retells a Talmudic story that ends “Both these and these are the words of the living G-d.” Both things were true at the same time. There was a fly and there was a hair. “Both opinions are true, and both are necessary to the story.” 

There is another story. In my pockets I have two pieces of paper. One says, “I am but dust and ashes.” The other says, “The world was created for my sake.” Both are true. There is even a text book we used to read with middle school students called, “Two Truths in My Pocket.” Holding those two truths at the same time is about balance. It is about humility and knowing that no one else is called to be you.  

While the model of Talmudic argument can point a way forward, these discussions are often difficult, heated, fraught. Not everyone will agree with what I might say next. That’s OK.  

And some of it is so, so painful. Let’s begin with this. I lived in Israel during college. I was engaged to an Israeli who was killed in the first incursion into Lebanon. You’ve heard that before. Simon’s grandnephew has moved to Israel, made aliyah and is currently in the IDF. Simon’s niece’s cousin is still a hostage. We believe one of those still alive. 

So let’s start here. Israel has the right to exist. Full stop. I have dreamed of, prayed for, worked for peace in the Middle East for as long as I can remember. And as a rabbi I am not a policy wonk. I don’t have the solution. And my heart breaks.  

When we talk about two truths, it is true that May 14, 1948 is both called Yom Ha’atzma’ut by the Jewish community and the Nakba, the catastrophe by the Arab world. It is true that Sabra and Shitilla should not have happened. It is true that West Bank settlers should not uproot ancient olive trees, forbidden in Deuteronomy 20. It is true on Purim 1994, that Baruch Goldstein should not have massacred Muslim worshippers at the Cave of Machpela. It is true that October 7th should not have happened. That children should not be used as human shields. That too many people have died.  

May the answer, my friends, really is blowing in the wind.  

Answers I have heard from some of you, and there is no consensus here: Hamas must be completely eradicated. The two-state solution is dead. The only solution is a two-state solution. There must be a ceasefire now. All of the hostages must come home now. You can never disagree with Israeli policy. You must disagree with the current government of Israel, like 70% of Israelis. You must buy more Israeli products. You must divest from Israel. You must recognize the Palestian state, which seems to be the current European plan de jour.  

Yet the State of Israel must continue to exist. It is our land, a place we have longed for 2000 years. A place many of you have said could be your escape valve if things get too dicey here in the States.  

We, living here, cannot really affect a solution. Daniel Taub could not really affect a solution as a diplomat. What you must do is to stay informed. You must speak out, whatever your views are. You must not shy away. This is hard. It is painful. It is important. And they are our neighbors, our fellows, our kin. In some cases, our actual family.  

This is what I do know from studying  the 13 Attributes of the Divine in depth for my rabbinic thesis, is that people, all people, need safety before they can offer forgiveness, before they can be at peace. We are used to singing “Adonai, Adonai” as a way to achieve forgiveness…but there is another part of the verse that the rabbis truncated liturgically:  

“yet does not remit all punishment but visits the iniquity of parents upon children and children’s children, upon the third and fourth generations.” 

We are now in the third and fourth generation since the founding of the State of Israel. This is what they call generational trauma, the transmission of trauma and its negative effects from one generation to the next, caused by things like violence, abuse, famine. It seems to stretch on indefinitely. It is very hard to interrupt the cycle, despite all our prayers for peace throughout our two thousand year liturgical history.  

Yet, there is hope. Just a little. In our text, the Torah, itself. 

After these traumatic encounters, Ishmael and Isaac both disappear for a while, they exit stage right, if you will. How could they not, after the trauma Abraham himself inflicted on them. He died alone. They only come back together when they have to bury their father, in that Cave of Machpela, This is post-traumatic growth. We, too, can find a way to come together, even through our pain, our tears, our trauma.  The hope, my hope, is in the children. It is always in the children.  

Love Your exceptional life. 

We are walking, running, marching, maybe even dancing into this new year. How many of you have a tradition of buying new clothes or new shoes for yuntif? Here are my new shoes, just because they are fun and because they promote healthy living. The slogan for this company is “Run Happy.” That’s what I try to do. These shoes make me happy.  

I saw this billboard on a long car ride. Love your exceptional life. That seems to me the first step to loving your neighbor as yourself. 

Before you can love your neighbor, you have to love yourself. For many people that seems to be difficult.  

In case you haven’t heard this. In case nobody told you, each of you is created in the image of G-d, b’tzelem elohim. Each of you is a beloved child of G-d. And each of you is loved.  You are exceptional. Your life is exceptional. Your life matters. No one can do the things you can do. No one is called to be you. 

I remember a Girl Scout camp song: 

I’m proud to be me and I also see 
Your just as proud to be you
We make look at things a bit differently
But lots of good people do 

It’s just human nature
So why should I hate you
For being as human as I.
We’ll live and let live and
We’ll get as we give and
We’ll all get along if we try. 

I remember driving my mother to my brother’s wedding. We were crossing the George Washington Bridge in New York at rush hour. She turned to me, clearly working on a toast for the wedding and said, “I’m not supposed to say I’m proud of my kids? Because I am.” She had never said it before…and didn’t make it into the toast. I think that is part of that generation’s problem. If you were to praise a child, it would “go to their head.”  

So yes, I am proud of you. Each of you has been through a lot. As a community, we have survived the pandemic, rising anti-semitism, October 7th, the war in Gaza thus far, health challenges, job changes, moves, and so much more.  Each of you have risen to the occasion. There is much to be proud of. 

Yet, sometimes people say to me “I was the black sheep of my family.”  It caused me to look up the definition: The term “black sheep of the family” is an idiom for a family member who is considered an outcast, different, or troublesome compared to the rest of the family. Historically, the term comes from literal black sheep that stood out in a flock and whose wool was less desirable because it couldn’t be dyed. In modern usage, it describes someone who doesn’t fit in or who is blamed for family problems, often feeling marginalized, lonely, or misunderstood. 

In our Rosh Hashanah readings, some of our women characters seem to have a self-esteem issue. They may have felt they were the black sheep. Sarah was barren. She was so concerned that she wouldn’t be loved or appreciated by Abraham that she gave her “handmaiden” Hagar to Abraham and they together had Ishmael. That kind of surrogacy can often, even today, cause issues. Hagar runs away only to be told by G-d to go back and submit to Sarah. Hannah, also barren, has tried everything to conceive. Crying, she goes to pray at the temple and the priest who sees her lips moving but cannot hear her, thinks she is drunk. Barrenness and infertility are real issues, even today, but they should not be a measure of your own love for yourself. Yet many women, even today, try desperately to conceive.  

Our value, our worth was measured by our children. This was wrong then and is still wrong today. Your children alone do not define you. And it goes both ways, Rabbi Harold Kushner, z’l taught “Children need parents who will let them grow up to be themselves, but parents often have personal agendas they try to impose on their children.” 

The person who feels like the black sheep of the family may be the one who does not feel they are loved or are worthy of love. The 13 Attributes of the Divine, which we sing over and over again during the High Holy Day period tells us over and over again that G-d loves us, even if we don’t feel that love. Adonai, Adonai, el rachum v’chanun. Erech payim v’rav chesed v’emet. The Lord, The Lord, G-d, merciful and gracious, slow to anger (or patient) full of lovingkindness and truth.  

This is how G-d taught Moses to seek forgiveness. By repeating these words over and over again. It is part of our High Holy Day liturgy. While Yom Kippur atones for sins between a person and G-d, For sins between people the person has to first appease the other person by asking forgiveness.  

When a word is repeated in the Torah it comes to emphasize something, to teach us something. The repetition of the word Lord the rabbis instruct us is to emphasize that G-d loves us before we sin and after we sin. G-d always loves us. You may find that a strange message. I know that I did. Growing up in Grand Rapids I learned that Jews are about law and works—the halacha we might call it, and Christians are about love. The 13 Attributes of the Divine answers that question for me. It is part of why I became a rabbi, to answer that eternal question.  

We are told we are to be like G-d, full of lovingkindness, loving people.  

But before we can love other people, before we can love our neighbors, we need to love ourselves. 

It is not always easy to love our own selves. We might not like how our body looks. We might not find ourselves worthy of love. We might have had parents who were dictating a different message or who withheld love. We might need to forgive ourselves for sins actual or imagined. 

  How, then, do we grow into this? How do we learn to love ourselves? How do we demonstrate that we love to ourselves? Some of it is about good self-care. Self-care is a popular buzz word these days. And it basic. 

Risa has a list of five things that we need to do every day that are essentially good self-care. They show that we love ourselves, that we are taking care of ourselves: eat, drink (water), exercise, sleep, take your necessary medications. It is a good list. A checklist.  It’s simple. And on a good day I get 4 out of 5. That’s 80%. That’s a B. That’s good enough. It’s about taking care of our bodies, keeping ourselves as healthy as possible. 

But there is another component to showing love for ourselves. That’s taking care of our emotional wellbeing. When we do the mi sheberach prayer, the prayer for healing of as I always say, “mind, body and spirit.”  treating ourselves with care. The mind and spirit. Mental health is as important as physical health. It’s part of health. 

There is no shame in seeking help for mental health. It is just another specialty. I often argue with our elected officials that we need more mental health services. In Elgin we do pretty well on emergency mental health services. Arrive at either hospital, and you will be treated. Dial 988 the emergency mental health line and there is always someone on the other end of the line. Or you can text. Yet, after the critical emergency, It can be hard to find ongoing services without a waiting list. Those waiting lists can be as long as 6 months, particularly for adolescent mental health. 

People are sometimes surprised when I say I have a therapist. I do. It is a very necessary component of my life. I also have a primary care physician, an oncologist, an ophthalmologist, a dermatologist, a gastroenterologist and a dentist! They all end in ist! Finding the right match can be a challenge and a process of trial and error but it is so important.  

I suffer from what I call Better Homes and Garden syndrome. In the modern world it could be called Pinterest syndrome though I don’t hear as much about Pinterest these days. I do hear about Instagram and how people carefully curate the life they share there. It has to be just so. Perfect. I know exactly how a holiday, like Rosh Hashanah for example, should sound, look, feel, even taste. Many of those details we have managed to accomplish for today. But those expectations I put on myself are often destined to fail. And I may put them on all of you—and then lose patience when they fail. If I can’t meet my own perfectionistic expectations I can’t expect any of you to do so either. Brene Brown talks about this extensively in her book, Rising Strong. I recently I heard a similar thing on the Hidden Brain while driving to Torah School. https://hiddenbrain.org/podcast/escaping-perfectionism/  

This perfectionism streak is something I will be atoning about during these Days of Awe. It is something I will have to forgive myself for.  

The previous surgeon general released a study in 2023 about the dangers of isolation and loneliness. It is one of the fastest growing issues in the United States. Lacking social connection can be as unhealthy as smoking up to 15 cigarettes a day.  The full advisory is (still) on the Health and Human Services website.  

https://www.hhs.gov/sites/default/files/surgeon-general-social-connection-advisory.pdf 

The surgeon general adds that “Each of us can start now, in our own lives, by strengthening our connections and relationships. Loneliness and isolation represent profound threats to our health and well-being. But we have the power to respond. By taking small steps every day to strengthen our relationships, and by supporting community efforts to rebuild social connection, we can rise to meet this moment together. We can build lives and communities that are healthier and happier. And we can ensure our country and the world are better poised than ever to take on the challenges that lay ahead.”  

Loneliness increased during the pandemic. Screen times are up. Kids may struggle in school. Kids may be bullied. And cyber bullying is a thing. The town of Barrington as their one book, one read the book Anxious Generation. Haidt argues that “After more than a decade of stability or improvement, the mental health of adolescents plunged in the early 2010s. Rates of depression, anxiety, self-harm, and suicide rose sharply, more than doubling on many measures. Why?

He lays out the facts about the epidemic of teen mental illness that hit many countries at the same time. He then investigates the nature of childhood, including why children need play and independent exploration to mature into competent, thriving adults. Haidt shows how the “play-based childhood” began to decline in the 1980s, and how it was finally wiped out by the arrival of the “phone-based childhood” in the early 2010s. This reminds me of another book, Nature Deficit Disorder which argues that kids (and adults) need time outside in nature, in unstructured play. Or lifelong kindergarten which says that play, passion, peers and projects are the best way to learn. 

Many of you have suggested that they are feeling a great deal of despair and what you need to be hearing from me is hope. I want to begin by acknowledging that there is a lot to be worried about in the world.  

Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlav, who himself suffered from depression, said, “Kol ha’olam kulo gesher tzar me’od. All the world is a narrow bridge, the important thing, the central thing is to not be afraid.”

He also stated, “There is no such thing as despair” and that “It is forbidden to despair” (Lo tit’ya-esh). This perspective emphasizes that even in the direst circumstances, there is always an “unbroken point” from which renewal is possible, and maintaining hope is a fundamental aspect of Jewish identity, as expressed by Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, who said, “Our hope, we say, has never been destroyed”.  

My hope always comes back to the kids. The kids bring me hope.  

This leads us right back to our connected community here at CKI and loving our neighbors as ourselves. Identifying the problems and moving to towards solving them gives me hope.  

Ron Wolfson’s book, the Seven Questions You are asked in heaven ends with this question: Have you seen my Alps. Have you allowed yourself pleasure? If we have learned nothing else, life is short. So take that trip. Sip that coffee. Listen to the birds. Read that book. Dance in the rain. Oh, a buy the shoes. You are loved. You are worth it.  

Shanah Tovah, 

Happy New Year. Did you know the word Shanah that we often translate as year can also mean change? What we hope for during this period of reflection, celebration and connection is one of change. It calls upon us to reflect. What do we want to change this year?  Last year was a difficult year for many. We hope that this year is a better year, one of health and happiness. One of change, community, connection.  And hope. 

This is a pot. A pot you say? A pot of gold, you hope? What is it doing on the bimah someone else asks. Wait, you’ll see. 

One of my favorite parts of CKI is helping to pick a study topic for the year. This year’s study topic is from Leviticus, “V’ahavta L’rayecha Kamocha. Love your neighbor of yourself.” We see this reflected in the beautiful artwork graces the bimah and has been part of all our publicity.  But what does it mean and how does it relate to us today. 

You probably know the word V’ahavta from our prayer the V’ahavta which tells us we should love G-d with all our heart, with all our soul, with all our might, all our everything. Some of you have correctly pointed out that you cannot command an emotion. So how can we even think about the commandments to love G-d, love your neighbor and love the stranger? 

First, we need some definitions: 

What does ahava, love mean? It is more than the AHAVA salt from the Dead Sea. 

An American online dictionary defines loves as, “an intense feeling of deep affection. “babies fill parents with feelings of love” or a great interest and pleasure in something.” 

Love is an intense, unconditional care, a deep connection, a passion, and a commitment toward one another. It involves trust, warmth, affection, and a selfless concern for another’s well-being and happiness.   

Love…I’ve been thinking about it all summer. Maybe for a lifetime. It is part of why I became a rabbi.  

 Rabbi Shai Held wrote a book recently, “Judaism is About Love.” In its roughly 400 pages, 600 with notes, it sums up much of what I have been thinking about.  

The kids in school this weekend brainstormed a list of all the things, all the people they love, all the blessings that they hope for in the new year. The kids get it. When does it get complicated or uncomfortable for adults.  

The first use of ahav in the Torah is in the story of Isaac and Rebecca.  I often say that this story eads like a Hollywood script. It was love at first sight. Isaac lifts his eyes while he is meditating and sees Rebecca. Rebecca falls off her camel and then…“Isaac brought her into the tent of his mother Sarah, and he took Rebekah as his wife. Isaac loved her, and thus found comfort after his mother’s death.” (Gen 24:67) 

There’s a lot going on there. He takes her as a wife. He loved her. And he found comfort. Loving someone brings us comfort. That’s a good thing. It is about connection. Bringing comfort is a way of loving our neighbors. 

Love has been the subject of much theater all the way back to Greek tragedies, Shakespeare and yes, Disney, Broadway and Hollywood. One of my favorite musicals is Legally Blonde. Listening to it in the car from Boston to New York is part of how I got through rabbinical school: 

 “Love! I’m doing this for love
And love will see me through
Yes, with love on my side, I can’t lose” 

It is a refrain that repeats through the show. And the real hero of the show is guy named Emet, truth, who helps Elle get through school. Throughout the show there are examples of people helping people…isn’t that what we mean when we talk about loving neighbors. Helping others. 

There is another word in Hebrew for love:  chesed, that also has to do with love. It is a word repeated in the 13 attributes. Adonai, adonai el rachum v’chanun, erech al payim, the rav chesed v’emet. Nose chesed l’alaphim…. 

This word is more closely lovingkindness, but as Dr. Nelson Glueck, a former president of HUC said in his seminal thesis, can’t really be translated well.  

We are taught that the world stands on three things, on Torah, on Avodah, (service or sacrifice) and on gemilut chasadim, acts of lovingkindness. 

Sometimes the words are used together. You may know the quote: “Do justly, love mercy, walk humbly with your God” from Micah 6:8. Love mercy is interesting in the Hebrew: וְאַ֣הֲבַת חֶ֔סֶד 

Love lovingkindness.  

We are told that we should be like G-d, loving kindness. When we do acts of lovingkindness, like loving our neighbor we are being like G-d. We are showing our love.  

Hillel said, in a place where there are no good people, strive to be a mensch. I’ll add what that means is love your neighbor as yourself. 

But what is Reyecha: This is the word we usually translate as neighbor. It can also mean kin or fellow. The question (sadly in my mind) comes up about whether loving the other is just about loving all our neighbors or about loving just Jews. Hillel famously addresses that question with this quote from Pirke Avot: “If I am not for myself, who will be for me? If I am only for myself, what am I?  And if not now, when? (Pirke Avot 1:14).  

Hillel makes it clear, in my mind at least and others that we have to love ourselves and our neighbors, all our neighbors. Now. 

You may know the story about the non-Jew who comes to Shamai to convert. Knocks on the door and says he will convert if he can teach him the entire Torah while standing on one foot. Shamai shoos him away. You can’t possibly do that! Not deterred, he goes to Hillel, the same Hillel from If I am not for myself fame, and asks again, “I will convert if you can teach me the entire Torah while standing on one foot.”  

Go ahead. Stand up. Try it. 

Hillel converted him saying, “What is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor, that is the entire Torah, the rest is just commentary, now go and study.” (Shabbat 31a) 

In the old days rabbis were told to act more like Shamai, to shoo potential converts away three times. I’ve actually seen people do it here, in the modern world. But do you know something remarkable, inquires about conversion to Judaism are up since October 7 and rising anti-semitism. People want to be part of us—even in our increasingly dangerous world. This gives me hope. https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2024/12/09/converting-to-judaism-in-the-wake-of-october-7th 

Rabbi Avika said that the great principle of Torah, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” (Lev 19:18) And continued with what this means: “Thus, one should not say, “Since I am scorned, I should scorn my fellow as well; since I have been cursed, I will curse my fellow as well.” Rabbi Tanchumah said, if you act thus, realize who it is that you are willing to have humiliated – “the one who was made in the likeness of God.” (Bereshit Rabbah 24:7) 

We are all made in the image of G-d. B’tzelem elohim. All of us. In our global world we are all neighbors. In our Zoom room, right here. On my own neighborhood block right here in Elgin. It has  one other Jewish family, one very large Indian family from India, they sit outside every night in front of one of their homes, a Muslim family from Saudi Arabia, a Christian Assyrian family, a family from Guatemala, a Chinese family, a couple of black families. We all co-exist. We all look out for one another. We shovel each other’s walks. We inquire about people’s health. We talk about flowers and tomatoes, mint and hummus. That’s part of loving your neighbor as yourself.  

This is what the Holy One said to Israel: My children, what do i seek from you? I seek no more than that you have love for one another, and respect for one another; and that you have reverence for one another. (Tana d’Bei Eliyahu Rabbah 26:6) 

Back to the pot. Do you know the story of Stone Soup?
“Stone Soup” is a European folktale where travelers convince stingy villagers to contribute ingredients for a shared meal by pretending to make soup from a single stone, ultimately revealing that cooperation and sharing create abundance. The villagers, initially unwilling to share their own food, contribute vegetables, meat, and other items to “improve” the magical stone soup, resulting in a delicious feast for everyone. The story’s moral is about the power of teamwork and generosity, showing that sharing resources leads to more rewarding outcomes for the entire community.   

Tomorrow the kids will be preparing the perfect way to illustrate Love your neighbor as yourself. They said that we show lovingkindness by sharing bread, food and extras like toys. Shoveling walks, helping old people, holding groceries and doors for other people. 

Sprinkled throughout these 10 days we will have some of our community leaders tell us about how they illustrate Love Your Neighbor as Yourself. 

There is no secret sauce in how to do this. Our tradition gives us some real examples. When we host a blood drive, (they called by the way today), we are not standing by while our neighbor bleeds. We are loving our neighbors. When we plant the corners of our “field” with the community garden, we are taking care of the widow, the orphan, the stranger, we are loving our neighbors. When we work at the soup kettle, we are loving our neighbors as ourselves. When we open our doors to Girl Scouts, NAMI or theater groups, or participate in National Night Out, dancing in the street even, we are loving our neighbors.  When we show up at a shiva minyan or help a bride and groom rejoice or help someone who is ill, we are loving our neighbors. Whenever we show kindness and empathy, we are loving our neighbors.  

For Kol Nidre will be collecting food and monies for the Community Crisis Cente, our neighbor, r as part of our annual Isaiah Food Drive. It is another way to show loving our neighbors as ourselves. 

Our tradition is not alone in talking about loving our neighbors as ourselves. Jesus said it both Matthew and Mark. Our neighbors are great here at CKI. Unity on Division with its commitment to reducing neighborhood violence and watching each other. To Holy Trinity and the Funeral home that let us park in their parking lots. To the Elgin Police Department. To our friends in the wider community that help fund our security fund. To friends far and wide that reach out. One example, Father John Cox reached out this morning with a lovely Rosh Hashanah greeting for all of us. He grew up in Lowell, MA and was a proud member of his neighborhood Boy Scout Troop 5 that met at Temple Beth El. Even as a priest he has never forgotten those roots.  

Loving ourselves. Loving each other is what brings me hope. The kids bring me hope. Over and over again. 

What does G-d require of you. Do justly, love mercy , ahavat chesed, and walk humbly with G-d. That’s what we are called to do as we enter this new year. That’s what G-d demands of us. How we do that is by Loving our neighbors, all our neighbors as ourselves.  

Please stand. Atem nitzavim. You stand. All of you this day. 

“You stand this day, all of you, before Hashem your God—your tribal heads, your elders and your officials, all the men of Israel, your children, your wives, even the stranger within your camp, from woodchopper to water drawer— to enter into the covenant of Hashem your God, which Hashem your God is concluding with you this day, with its sanctions; to the end that They may establish you this day as Their people and be your God, as Hashem promised you and as They swore to your fathers, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. I make this covenant, with its sanctions, not with you alone, but both with those who are standing here with us this day before Hashem our God and with those who are not with us here this day.” 

You may be seated. This is a powerful moment. A covenantal moment. Past, Present and Future. That’s us. That’s why I had you stand. You belong here. All of you.  

What does it mean to stand? I think it means to be fully present.  

This word here is nitzavim. You might have expected omdim, like the word amidah, the standing portion of our service, or amud, the podium, the reading stand.  Nitzavim  comes from the root meaning stable, firm, fixed in place. It isn’t a casual or tentative pose. You had to choose to do it. Teshuvah is also something you have to choose to do. It begins with the act of standing still — very still — in the presence of God and community. We stand fully present and firmly planted in these relationships – not hiding, or preparing to flee. Fully present. 

On Monday night we begin the new year. There is always some trepidation any time we enter a new year. That maybe why the period between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur is called the Yamim Noraim, The Days of Awe. Noraim carries with it a sense of fear and trembling. There is much at stake with a new year, any new year. This year, in reading my colleagues’ comments, and in listening to some of yours seems especially fraught. 

Deuteronomy and the seven weeks of consolation come to reassure you. It is going to be OK. I can’t tell you exactly how. I can’t solve some of the big problems of the world. G-d will take us back in love. There is always hope. 

Together on Monday, we will, for better or worse, (that’s covenantal language too, like a marriage ceremony), walk through the gateway of the new year 5786. For some it will come with relief. This year is finally over. For others it may have that sense of fear and trembling. As Rabbi Sharon Cohen Anisfeld, the head of Hebrew College asks, “For many of us this year, the weight of this moment for our people feels almost crushing — the gateway crowded and cluttered with the debris of collective grief, guilt, and mutual recriminations. How do we begin to pass through? How do we keep walking – alone and together – through the gateway of this new year?”  

Walking is a part of the equation. Walking brings us hope. Walking we are moving forward. Or perhaps like Dory’s song in Finding Nemo, “Just Keep Swimming.” It expresses Dory’s pep talk to Marlan about their difficult journey. The quote is a mantra for perseverance, encouraging one to keep moving forward and not giving up, even when life is overwhelming or challenging.   

As Rabbi Cohen Ainsfeld teaches, there is another instance of this root. Nitzavim. When Sodom and Gemorah are about to be destroyed, Lot and his wife are told to flee and not look back. Lot’s wife does look back and is turned into a netziv melach, a pillar of salt. “She is still “standing” — but no longer present. Frozen in her grief for all that has been lost, she becomes nothing but salt – the residue of tears. She is a pillar of dry tears, without the water that allows sadness to flow through us; that allows us to continue to move – even through grief and loss – to renewed life.” 

We cannot be paralyzed. We must continue to move forward, into the Promised Land. 

“You stand today, all of you, kulchem–before Adonai your God.” It calls out to each of us, addressing our unspoken fears. “Yes!” It says, “You belong here.” Whether you feel beloved or betrayed, whether you feel at the center of the community or at its margins, we all stand here together. Each of us and all of us – in our endless complexity and interconnection.” 

This portion tells us that the Instruction, the Teaching, the mitzvah is not too hard for us. It is not too baffling. It is neither in the heavens nor beyond the sea.  

“See, I set before you this day life and prosperity, death and adversity…. I call heaven and earth to witness against you this day: I have put before you life and death, blessing and curse. Choose life—if you and your offspring would live—” 

Choosing life is important. One of our central commands. Our tradition teaches that to save one life is to save the world. We just ordered a plaque with that saying for the new AED. Today I want to talk about another aspect. And this one needs to come with a trigger warning. I will be talking about suicide and that can be hard for some. If you need to get up, walk around, that’s fine. You need to talk care of yourself. 

September is Suicide Prevention Month. In Elgin this past week I am aware of two suicides. The numbers continue to increase as people experience more despair and less access to mental health services.  

According to NAMI the national statistics are: 

1 in 20 U.S. adults (5%) have serious thoughts of suicide each year.
About 1 person dies by suicide in the U.S. every 11 minutes.
79% of all people who die by suicide in the U.S. are male.*
Although more women* than men attempt suicide, men are 4x more likely to die by
suicide. 

I am so proud that we have a local chapter of NAMI meeting in our building once a month.  

It used to be true that people did not want to ask someone if they were feeling suicidal, afraid that it might plant the idea. Now we know better and it is OK to ask. NAMI says it this way: 

“With one conversation, asking someone how they’re really doing — and being ready to truly listen — can save lives. Because here’s what we know: No one has to face this alone. Help exists. Healing is possible. And all it can take is for one person to start a conversation.” 

That’s about standing together, all of us. That’s about loving our neighbors as ourselves. That’s about choosing life.  

This may be one of the most important things I have ever said to you: 

If you or someone you know is struggling or in crisis, help is available. Call or text 988 or chat 988lifeline.org to reach the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline. You do not have to go it alone.  

“My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we’ll change the world. Jack Layton 

Collectively we can root out despair.  

A religious man is a person who holds God and man in one thought at one time, at all times, who suffers harm done to others, whose greatest passion is compassion, whose greatest strength is love and defiance of despair. Abraham Joshua Heschel

Collectively, all of us standing together in community, we can do it. May this be a sweet new year, where we just keep standing and moving forward.

Remember. This portion is about memory. We are told that we need to remember that we were slaves in the land of Egypt.  

“Remember that you were a slave in Egypt and that your God יהוה redeemed you from there; therefore do I enjoin you to observe this commandment.” (24:18) 

“But wait,” you say, “this is Moses addressing the next generation. They were not slaves in Egypt.” That experience was so seminal, so formulative, so important that even until today there are clear echoes. Every Passover at the seder we say, “We were slaves in the land of Israel.” This is a clear example of what we call today, “generational trauma.” And it is trauma that leads us to better behavior than how the Egyptians that enslaved us.  

36 times in Torah we are told to take care of the widow, the orphan, the stranger. As I often say, the most marginalized among us.  

We are told to “love G-d, V’ahavta et Adonai. Love our neighbor, V’ahavta l’reyacha kamocha and Love the Stranger, v’ohav ger”. This las one, love the stranger, is precisely because being a stranger in Egypt was bad. 

Let me be clear. Being a slave was bad. We did not have rights. There was no Shabbat. There was not enough time for, shall we call it, conjugal relations. You could be beaten at will. There was not enough food. OK, cucumbers and leeks and melons are tasty and the Israelits longed for them in the desert, but they are not sustainable.  

Rabbi Lord Sacks said: “The Hebrew Bible contains the great command, ‘You shall love your neighbour as yourself’ (Leviticus 19:18), and this has often been taken as the basis of biblical morality. But it is not: it is only part of it. The Jewish sages noted that on only one occasion does the Hebrew Bible command us to love our neighbour, but in thirty-seven places it commands us to love the stranger. Our neighbour is one we love because he is like ourselves. The stranger is one we are taught to love precisely because he is not like ourselves.”  

Many of those 36 or 37 or as the Talmud argues maybe even 46 quotes are in today’s portion. I will underscore them for you: 

When you reap the harvest in your field and overlook a sheaf in the field, do not turn back to get it; it shall go to the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow—in order that your God יהוה may bless you in all your undertakings. 

This is why we have a community garden. If you need something take it. Sometimes it goes to the micro-pantry across the street at Holy Trinity. Getting fresh veggies if you are on the margins is tough. Or ask Jerry about the guy walking by who wanted a spicy pepper. He was thrilled when Jerry just gave him four. “Really?” he asked in surprise. That’s why it is there!

You shall not abuse a needy and destitute laborer, whether a fellow Israelite or a stranger in one of the communities of your land. 

You shall not subvert the rights of the stranger or the fatherless; you shall not take a widow’s garment in pawn. 

When you reap the harvest in your field and overlook a sheaf in the field, do not turn back to get it; it shall go to the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow—in order that your God יהוה may bless you in all your undertakings. 

When you beat down the fruit of your olive trees, do not go over them again; that shall go to the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow. 

When you gather the grapes of your vineyard, do not pick it over again; that shall go to the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow. 

Taking care of the widow. We get that. Our job is to bury the dead and comfort the bereaved. Our job is to provide meaningful engagement to widows and widowers so they don’t feel isolated and alone. This summer marked the 20th anniversary of the heat wave in Chicago that killed 739 people over a period of five days. Yes it was hot. Yes, people lacked air conditioning. But one of the biggest contributing factors was that people were alone. No one knew that they were there. While we have a number of people in this aging category and living alone, I think they are more integrated and they all have air conditioning. (I know, in my role of rabbi, I checked! Those calls are part of loving our neighbors as ourselves) 

Taking care of the fatherless, the orphans maybe even harder to understand how to do that. That involves advocating for a foster care system that works on behalf of the children, advocating for SNAP and Medicaid, participating in our annual Isaiah Kol Nidre Food Drive.

Why? Why then is the Torah so repetitive? It seems simple, no? Again, the text reminds us, “Always remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt; therefore do I enjoin you to observe this commandment.” 

And yet, we are told something else too in today’s portion: 

Remember what Amalek did to you. To us. 

“Remember what Amalek did to you on your journey, after you left Egypt— 

how, undeterred by fear of God, he surprised you on the march, when you were famished and weary, and cut down all the stragglers in your rear. 

Therefore, when your God יהוה grants you safety from all your enemies around you, in the land that your God יהוה is giving you as a hereditary portion, you shall blot out the memory of Amalek from under heaven. Do not forget!” 

These are the driving principles in Judaism. Jewish values. Remember that we were slaves, so we should treat the strangers with love, with respect, providing for their needs. And remember Amalek. It is a both and.  

We are at just such a moment where both are in play. And the echoes exist not just in ancient history but more recent. I don’t personally remember the St. Louis, the ship that was turned away from these shores during the Holocaust. But my brother-in-law cites that as the reason he became an immigration attorney and judge. Even last week when we were all together, he was on his phone working with a client from Afghanistan. Just as he was at my husband’s last big birthday. There are many organizations that work on immigrant rights: HIAS, National Immigration Law Center (NILC), the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU), the International Rescue Committee (IRC), and the National Immigrant Justice Center (NIJC). My brother-in-law has worked with HIAS, Episcopal Relief, Jewish Federations, Catholic Charities. There are many local and regional groups, such as the Illinois Coalition for Immigrant and Refugee Rights (ICIRR), who also offer resources and support. In Elgin we have Centro de Informacion whom we at CKI have supported, and whose executive director has spoken right from this bimah, and CMAA who is headquartered across the street at Holy Trinity. I interned for such an agency in rabbinical school, Refugee Immigration Ministry. Like my brother-in -aw I was driven by the same Jewish values of welcoming the stranger. That was the year of 9/11 and I remember the executive director explaining to the staff on the Friday after the attacks that our clients were scared. They had made it to the United States and now they had nowhere else they could go. It was a powerful moment.  

We have congregants today who are scared. Really scared. Did you know that we have members who come from 17 foreign countries? Some of them are scared of being picked up, even those with legal standing. That they worry their kids or grandkids could be separated from them, no matter how long they have been in this country.  

What we are witnessing now in this country is a fear of the other, and a fear that operates from a scarcity mindset, that there will not be enough to go around. Not enough jobs. Not enough education. Not enough health care. From the richest nation in the world. We have forgotten what it means to be a stranger. It is based on the Amalek way of seeing the world. 

It is not limited to the United States either.  We are seeing it in some of the responses to Gaza. Make no mistake, It has been 700 days since Hamas invaded Israel. 700 days since the remaining 58 hostages have been held. 700 days since Israel began exerting revenge. 700 days where Gazans have struggled to find food, shelter, healthcare. 700 days too long. It has all be nothing short of brutal.  

We have to hold both things at once and act accordingly. Yossi Klein Halevy talks about Passover Jews and Purim Jews. I thought someone finally undestood my husband, a Passover loving Jew and me, a Purim one. No. Passover Jews are the ones who remember we were strangers. Purim Jews are the one who remember Amalek, the precursor of Haman and Hitler and dare I say Hamas. But in the last two years he has mitigated his stance. His words are much more eloquent than mine: https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/our-season-of-reckoning-israels-moral-crossroads-in-gaza/ 

Read the full article. He ends it with this:
“Now, as Rosh Hashanah approaches, we are once again at a moral crossroads. Perhaps the most profound move of the High Holidays is not that God puts us on trial but that we hold ourselves accountable for our actions. Even as the mob taunts us with its lies, our self-reckoning can no longer be avoided.” 

It is painful. It is important. I confess I had to take breaks to read the full thing. On the eve of whatever may happen in Gaza and whatever may happen in Chicago and Elgin as an outlining suburban city in the suburbs, I urge you to remember. We were slaves. We must remember to take care of the widow, the orphan and the stranger. Wherever they may be. 

We were slaves, strangers so we must treat the stranger well. And we need to remember Amalek. Do not forget.