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.  

“I can see clearly now, the rain is gone
I can see all obstacles in my way
Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind 

It’s gonna be a bright (bright), bright (bright)
Sun-shiny day “ 

Our portion begins with these words: “See, this day I set before you blessing and curse.” 

Why start with the word “See”? In other translations you might see “Behold,” which essentially means see. I think it is there for emphasis. Stop. Look. See. This is important. 

We have a choice between blessing and curse. Sometimes it is not easy to see the blessings.  

Later in our portion we are given very specific mitzvot, commandments, laws to follow.  We are told not to gash our skin. We are told how to treat slaves because we were slaves in Egypt. We are taught to tithe. We are taught to love the stranger, the widow, and the orphan. We are told some of the laws of kashrut and some of the laws of the three pilgrimage holidays.  Some of you see these rules as obligations. Some of you see them as an encumbrance, a burden, obstacle. 

And we are taught how to treat poor people: 

“If, however, there is a needy person among you, one of your kin in any of your settlements in the land that your God יהוה is giving you, do not harden your heart and shut your hand against your needy kin.”  

So if we open our hands and our hearts, then there will be no needy? No so fast. 

 It goes on later to say that there will always be needy. “For there will never cease to be needy ones in your land, which is why I command you: open your hand to the poor and needy kin in your land.” 

Isn’t this a contradiction? 

 I am reminded of what Tevye said, “it is no great blessing to be poor, but it is not great honor either.” He was singing about what it would like to be a rich man. It is his dream of what it would be like to be rich. He wants a big house with one long staircase just going up and one going down and one more going no where just for show. And with a giant sigh, he sings, “If I were rich, I’d have the time that I lack to sit in the synagogue and pray and maybe have a seat by the eastern wall.” 

Perhaps Tevye knew that quote from Moses, “Man cannot live on bread alone” (Deuteronomy 8:3 and Matthew 4:4.) We need spiritual nourishment too. 

A long time ago, I fell in love with a man who was older than me, but he was committed to social action, he loved going to synagogue and he talked about G-d. He, like I had wanted to be a rabbi. I saw someone so different from the household I grew up in. We worked on lots of tikkun olam projects. Feeding the hungry, working on housing issues, interfaith dialogue. The Merrimack Valley Project was founded on our dining room table.  

But one of the seminaries told him he was too old to learn Hebrew, so he signed up for Ulpan at Hebrew College. He continues to learn every day and to work for the world that he thinks the prophet demands. 

Sometimes now people tell me that they “see” an old man. Or tell me he is just an old man.  

Our senior citizens have a lot of wisdom. They have much to teach us. My colleague, Rabbi Susan Elkodsi has just put the finishing touches on a new Torah commentary. Midrash Hazak Torah wisdom by 70 over 70.  

One of the things my husband taught us is a difference between Judaism and some forms of Christianity. In the Gospels we learn that “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God” (Luke 6:20), and “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 5:3). It seemed to him that sometimes we as a society glorify being poor and that ultimately that glorification keeps people poor.  

We hear a lot about the poor these days. Things like they should just work. That they should pull themselves up by their bootstraps. That there shouldn’t be any free handouts.  

That is not what our text this morning is saying. Both our Torah portion and our haftarah portion which tell us to treat the poor with dignity and respect. 

Ho, all who are thirsty,
Come for water,
Even if you have no money;
Come, buy food and eat:
Buy food without money,
Wine and milk without cost. 

As part of our High Holy Day observance, we will once again be collecting food, and money for what is nationally called the Kol Nidre Isaiah food drive. Isaiah, quoting G-d asks, “Is this the food I desire?” The answer is a resounding no.  

“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.” 

This is how we love our neighbors as ourselves. This year the cans and the money will go to the Community Crisis Center. Our neighbor, run by our own Maureen Manning.  

What do you see this morning? Do you see the poor person? Do you see the old person? Do you see blessing, or do you see curse? 

David Brooks’s new book, How to Know a Person, is really about how to see a person. It is well worth the read. One of its best chapters is about to accompany and walk with other people.

Soon we will be doing a heshbon hanefesh, an accounting of the soul, Often times, in our liturgy, the accounting is all negative, an alphabetical list of sins recited in the plural. But we can build a positive heshbon, both as individuals and as a community. Here is one that our Torah School students created several years ago: 

A Positive Assessment of CKI 

We are: 

Accepting
Beautiful
Coming together as community to celebrate
Diverse
Eating
Friendly and fun which make us ferkelmpt
Games and Gaga
Hebrew
Inclusive
Joyful
Kind
Learning
Meaningful
Nice
Optimistic with lots of opportunities and olives
Patient
Quality
Respect with ruach, reading and religion
Singing
Teaching Torah
Understanding
Valuable and venerable
Worship
Xcellence
Young at heart
Zest for learning and life 

     Ruach 5780 

What I see today is that each of you is a blessing.  

A few weeks ago, a dear friend, not Jewish and I don’t think interested in becoming Jewish although he calls me his rabbi, asked a seemingly simple question. Standing in my kitchen over coffee, in the early morning with no one else up, he asked, “What does it mean to be a Jew.” I was tempted to retell the Talmudic story of the guy who went to Rabbi Shamai’s house and said he would convert if Shamai could tell him everything about Judaism while standing on one foot. Shamai shooed the person away. Not deterred, the guy went to Hillel’s house and was told, “What is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor. That is the whole Torah; the rest is commentary. Go and study it”. (Shabbat 31a) 

Or Rabbi Akiva who said, “This is a great principle of the Torah: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself” (Lev. 19:18). (Bereshit Rabbah 24:7) 

His question was a serious one and a modern one and a personal one. I don’t think he wanted what the ancient rabbis had to say. After decades of our being friends, he wanted to deeply understand why be Jewish? Why am I Jewish? 

I, however, stand on the shoulders of those ancient rabbis, and those texts. I explained that those very texts give me meaning and that they help me act in a spiritual and moral way. They help me draw close to G-d, however you define G-d. And they give me community. They help me create community and the world I want to live in. He argued back that my community is bigger than the Jewish community. So, in an age of rising anti-semitism, he asked again, why be Jewish? 

That morning, we had Java and Jews, and like the House of Hillel and the House of Shamai, the House of Frisch Klein turned to some of you. What does it mean to be Jewish? Why be Jewish. I got similar answers…community, connection to the past, to debate and question, like my father said, a Jew is someone who questions, thinks and argues, so I ask you again, what does it mean to be a Jew.  

We refined our answer some to expound on our connection to the past, to be our parents’ legacies, their kaddishes. We are Jewish out of sense of obligation and a sense of identity. For most of the people in the room, we have always been Jewish. It is deeply part of our identity. Or we chose it as part of our identity. It is part of our ethical framework. And finally for that discussion, as cultural Jews, it is all about the food. Chicken soup with matzah balls, kugel, bagels. And that connects us too to all those family dinners and celebrations.  

Now to be clear. You don’t have to believe in G-d, per se to be Jewish. Although that fact surprises some leaders of other religions. Judaism is a religion and it is more than a religion. It is people, a culture, an ethnic group (and then some). Nevertheless, this week’s Torah portion offers a clue of how to draw close to G-d: “And now, O Israel, what does the Lord demand of you? Only this: to revere the Lord your G-d, to walk in G-d’s paths or ways, to love G-d and to serve the Lord your G-d with all your heart.” 

What, then, does it mean to walk in G-d’s ways? In one of my favorite midrashim we are taught: 

 “To walk in God’s ways” (Deuteronomy 11:22). These are the ways of the Holy One: “gracious and compassionate, patient, abounding in kindness and faithfulness, assuring love for a thousand generations, forgiving iniquity, transgression, and sin, and granting pardon.” (Exodus 34:6). All who are called in God’s name will survive.(Joel 3:5) How is it possible for a person to be called by God’s name? Rather, God is called “merciful”—so too, you should be merciful. God is called “gracious” as it says, “God, merciful and gracious” (Psalms 145:8)—so too, you should be gracious and give gifts for nothing. God is called “just” as it says, “For God is righteous and loves righteousness” (Psalms 11:7)—so too, you should be just.” God is called “merciful”: “For I am merciful, says the Lord.” (Jeremiah 3:12) so too you be merciful. That is why it is said, “And it shall come to pass that all who are called in God’s name will survive.” This means that just as God is gracious, compassionate, and forgiving, you too must be gracious, compassionate, and forgiving. [Translation by Rabbi Jill Jacobs] 

We are actually given a recipe if you will of how to do this, and it is in our siddur, our prayerbook as a study text every Shabbat: 

“And this is what Rabbi Elazar said: What is the meaning of that which is written: “It has been told you, O man, what is good, and what the Lord does require of you; only to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God” (Micah 6:8)? “To do justly”; this is justice. “To love mercy”; this is acts of kindness. “To walk humbly with your God”; this is referring to taking the indigent dead out for burial and accompanying a poor bride to her wedding canopy, both of which must be performed without fanfare.”  (Sukkah 49b) 

And spelling it out even further based on this week’s portion:
Rabbi Hama said in the name of Rabbi Hanina: Follow Adonai your G-d. (Deut 13:5) What does this mean? Is it possible for a mortal to follow God’s presence? The verse means to teach us that we should follow the attributes of the Holy One. As God clothes the nakes, you should clothe the naked. The Bible teaches that the Holy One visited the sick: you should visit the sick. The Holy One comforted those who mourned; you should comfort those who mourn. The Holy One buried the dead; you should bury the dead.” (Sotah 14a) 

Later in the parshah it tells us that we should “Love the stranger because we were strangers in the land of Egypt.” It continues we need to uphold the cause of the orphan the widow and love the stranger, providing food and clothing.” 

These commandments are about building community, which was one of your answers. Community is perhaps a more modern concept. A community is about being in communion with others. What separates our community from other communities that we are all apart of? The PTO, the health club, the softball team? The answer I think is still in our texts. We are a kehila kedosha, a holy community, not in a holier than thou kind of way, but rather in a way that supports one another, in our sad times and our joyous ones. That’s about walking in G-d;s ways too. Its about celebrating life cycle events together, a birth, a Bar or Bat Mitzvah, a wedding. Or comforting others with a job loss, a health issue, a death. It is about coming together and saying Amen to each other.  

Still later it tells us again to “Love the Lord your G-d and always keep His laws, His rules and his commandments…” This is what we call the second paragraph of the V’ahavta and it is somewhat repetitive of the first. The reason to say this, is clear. It is part of the brit, a covenant, If you do this, then G-d will make rain to fall in its season, and you will eat and be satisfied.  

It seems simple to me: Judaism is an ethical way that demands we love G-d, love our neighbor, love the stranger. That we take care of the widow, the orphan, the stranger, the most marginalized among us, providing community, that we are a link in that chain of ancient tradition that has survived, that we leave the world a better place, that we ask good questions, that we do justly, love mercy and walk humbly with our G-d.   

So thank you for helping me to answer my friend’s question more completely.  

Today we celebrate Tu B’av in addition to Shabbat. The Jewish holiday of love, mentioned in the Talmud. Today was the beginning of the grape harvest in Israel and the young women, dressed in white, would go out into the fields to find their b’shert, their destined one. It was one of the two happiest days of the year, the other being Yom Kippur. 

As you know I work in song lyrics. So “what’s love got to do with it. A second hand emotion. Oh-oh, what’s love got to do, got to do with it?
What’s love but a second-hand emotion?
What’s love got to do, got to do with it?
Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken? 

One of my favorite musicals, Legally Blonde has much to teach us about love: 

How about love?
Have you ever been in love?
Cause if you have, you’ll know
That love never accepts a defeat
No challenge it can’t meet
No place it cannot go
Don’t say no to a woman in love. 

Elle goes all the way across the country, to the hallowed halls of Harvard Law to win back her love. If you haven’t seen this one you should. One thing that has always intrigued me is the real hero is named Emet, that’s right, the Hebrew word for truth.  He echos the song later in the play: 

What about love?
I never mentioned love
The timing’s bad, I know
But perhaps if I’d made it more clear
That you belong right here
You wouldn’t have to go
‘Cause you’d know that I’m so much in love 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ueC6w7POKSY 

And there is truth in love.  

In Hebrew we have a two words for truth. Ahavah and Chesed. The verb form ohaiv first shows up in describing Isaac who took Rebecca to his mother Sarah’s tent and he loved her. He also drew comfort after his mother’s death. The beginning of Genesis is clear, “It is not good for Man, for individuals to be alone.”   

Our service has a blanket of love. In the evening we are told, Ahavat Olam, G-d loves us. We know this because G-d gave us Torah, Mitzvot, Chukim and mispatim to lengthen our days. G-d is like a loving parent who gives us rules. Those very rules keep us alive. Don’t touch the stove. 

Rabbi Rami Shapiro who I had the privilege of studying with, and some of you know his books, like Amazing Chesed, wrote a beautiful poem: 

We are loved by an unending love. 

We are embraced by arms that find us
even when we are hidden from ourselves.
We are touched by fingers that soothe us
even when we are too proud for soothing.
We are counseled by voices that guide us 

even when we are too embittered to hear.
We are loved by an unending love. 

We are supported by hands that uplift us
even in the midst of a fall.
We are urged on by eyes that meet us
even when we are too weak for meeting.
We are loved by an unending love. 

Embraced, touched, soothed, and counseled,
Ours are the arms, the fingers, the voices;
Ours are the hands, the eyes, the smiles;
We are loved by an unending love. 

https://shiryaakov.bandcamp.com/track/we-are-loved  

In the morning  our prayer changes to Ahavah Rabba. Similar themes. Still aware that G-d deeply loves us by giving us the Torah and by gathering us from the four corners. That’s why we gather the four corners of the tallit together. 

Then we find the Sh’ma. Hear O Israel, the Lord is our G-d. The Lord is One. Six words. The watchword of our faith. There is only one G-d. G-d alone, unique. One.  

After the Sh’ma, the other side of the blanket is V’ahavta. Also in today’s Torah portion. We know these so well. But sometimes we don’t stop to reflect on the English.  

V’ahavta et Adonai elohecha, b’chol levavcha, b’chol nashecha, b’chol m’odecha. 

You shall love the Lord, your G-d with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your might, your being, with all your everything.  

Joel Hoffman, My People’s Prayer Book (Vol. 1, pg. 102)
…nefesh and levav together form an idiom in biblical Hebrew…probably used to represent the entirety of human existence, much the way we use “mind and body,”or sometimes “body and soul” depending on the context, but always in order to mean “the whole person.”
 

Siddur Lev Shalem for Shabbat and Festivals, pg. 42
“You shall love Adonai your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all that is yours.” You shall love- what a paradox this embraces! Can love then be commanded?…Yes of course, love cannot be commanded. No third party can command it or extort it. No third party can, but the One can. The commandment to love can only proceed from the mouth of the lover.
— Franz Rosenzweig 

Debbie Friedman, z’l composed two settings in English: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FVDTNL4I7Aw&t=50s 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GHjFEAMptvc 

I can still see one of my first classes dancing to this version that they composed. Yes, we taught them diligently.  

Take to heart these instructions with which I charge you this day.
Teach them diligently to your children. Impress them. Sharpen their teeth with them,
Recite them when you stay at home and when you are away,
when you lie down and when you get up.
Bind them as a sign on your hand and let them serve as a symbol on your before your eyes.
inscribe them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates. 

Siddur Lev Shalem for Shabbat and Festivals, pg. 41
You shall love – Repeatedly the Torah instructs us to love: to love God, to love our neighbor, and to love the stranger. We might well take the word “love” to imply an intense inner emotion, but the ancient rabbis frequently understood the biblical injunction to “love” in a more concrete and behavioral sense: love consists of acts of empathy, care, and kindness as well as behavior toward others that is just and righteous. To love God is certainly to recognize our conscious relationship to God. Equally, it may mean that we behave in ways that are pleasing to God – acting morally and fulfilling what God desires of us, to walk through life lovingly. 

This fits with the last paragraph that the rabbis added a paragraph to what we call the full V’ahavta. It does not follow in order. It ends with the quote from Numbers that we should remember that we were slaves in Egypt and that we  

“Thus you shall remember to observe all My commandments and to be holy to your God.
I am Adonai, your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt to be your God:
I am Adonai your God. 

Like our ancestors, we are all on a journey. Perhaps my highlight of services has been little Robert mastering this very prayer. Whether he is at home or away. That is because his parents have “taught him diligently.” Being able to recite this prayer at home or away can bring comfort, solace, reassurance. If we love G-d, if we recite these very words, and put them on our doorposts, like the Israelites, wandering in the desert, G-d will go with us.  

And there is one more step, pun intended. Like this blanket of love, ahavah rabbah, sh’ma, v’ahavta, we are told to love G-d, love our neighbor, love the stranger.  

 This week many of our students go back to school. That is a journey too.
My hope is that they are taught diligently. That they know that they are loved by their parents and their teachers. That they have everything they need, crayons, pencils, books, notebooks, paper and digital. That they ask good questions and embrace creativity and curiosity, That they are kind—to their fellow students and their staff. That they have fun and find laughter.  

The prayer that I wrote for this moment. 

A Prayer for Going Back to School
“Who is wise? One who learns from all people.” (Pirke Avot 4:1)
New lunch box, multi-colored sharpies, a notebook
Tucked in a new backpack.
A new outfit. 

You are ready.
Off to school you go.  

We hope
That this school year is great.
That you ask good questions 
From anyone and everyone.
That you learn much
From your teachers, your parents, your friends.
That you are kind and compassionate.
That you are safe.
That you make friends.
That you become wise. 

May this be a great year. 

Shabbat interrupts the mourning we are told. Over and over again. Yet, we are also told that in every joyous moment we experience some sadness. We break a glass at a wedding to remember the destruction of the Temple. We recite yizkor, the memorial prayers at our most joyous holy days, Sukkot, Passover and Shavuot, and of course at Yom Kippur. We add Kaddish Yitom on Shabbat. And we welcome the mourners in. 

Sometimes I say, “this week we may all be mourners,” depending on what is going on in the world. Maybe it is this year. Or the past two years. 665 days since October 7, 2023. The pictures coming out this week of one of the starving hostages forced to dig his own grave are haunting. Beyond description. And yet the roots of October 7th stretch back much further. This year this Shabbat feels so heavy as we move into Tish B’av this evening.  

As always on the Shabbat before Tisha B’av,  we read the beginning of Deuteronomy, Devarim. These are the words. These are the words that Moses spoke as his swan song, as his ethical will. Looking back over the past and looking forward from his present.  

This past Chanukah I gave Simon a gift of Storyworth. Every week he receives a question that he is supposed to answer and then at the end of the year, they will bind it in a book. Some questions are easy. “What was your favorite vacation?” “How did you learn to drive?” Some are much more difficult: “What advice would you give to future generations in your family?”   

You have to figure out:.  

o  Who are you addressing?
o  Why should they listen to you?
o How will you present your advice in a compelling way?
o  What lessons from your life are important enough to pass down? 

Moses spends most of the Book of Deuteronomy answering that question.  It iis exactly what Moses is trying to do. 

Rabbi Greg Schindler in a D’var Torah he wrote for AJR last year helps us discover that advice just in the first chapter of Deuteronomy, and adds that Moses focused on the timeless in rendering his advice so that it is still relevant for us:  

Establish a just society
Choose capable leaders at all levels of society:
“So I took your tribal leaders, wise and experienced men, and appointed them heads over you: chiefs of thousands, chiefs of hundreds, chiefs of fifties, and chiefs of tens, and officials for your tribes.” (1:15) 

Administer justice fairly to everyone, even (especially!) to the stranger:
“Hear out your fellow Israelites, and decide justly between one party and the other—be it a fellow Israelite or a stranger. You shall not be partial in judgment: hear out low and high alike.” (1:16-17)  

You need to implement your ideals through actions
Moses tells us that ideas alone are insufficient; they must be accompanied by detailed actions: “Thus I instructed you, at that time, about the various things that you should do.” (1:18) 

Don’t wait for someone else to do it
As the People are now entering the “real” world, Moses emphasizes that they cannot sit and await miracles:
“See, your G-d has placed the land at your disposal. Go up, take possession” (1:21) 

Don’t be deceived by appearances
Moses reminds us of the error of the spies, who wrongly trusted only their eyes:
“We saw there a people stronger and taller than we, large cities with walls sky-high.” (1:28) 

Moses assures us that G-d is with us – even as open miracles have given way to seemingly natural occurrences:
“Your G-d, G-d, Who goes before you, will fight for you, just as [G-d] did for you in Egypt before your very eyes, and in the wilderness, where you saw how your G-d G-d carried you (1:30-31) 

Have faith
Moses recalls how lack of faith cost the Generation of the Spies entry into the Land:
“Yet for all that, you have no faith in your G-d” … not one of those involved, this evil generation, shall see the good land that I swore to give to your fathers” (1:32; 1:35). 

Despite the struggles of our lives, have faith in the future and in future generations:
“Your little ones who you said would be carried off, your children who do not yet know good from bad, they shall enter it; to them will I give it and they shall possess it.” (1:39) 

Unseen, G-d is with us.
“This day I begin to put the dread and fear of you upon the peoples everywhere under heaven, so that they shall tremble and quake because of you whenever they hear you mentioned.” (2:25) 

Keep your promises; Remember your brothers and sisters. 

Moses recounts how he held the two and a half tribes accountable to their promise to fight before their brethren:
“At that time, I charged you [tribes of Reuben, Gad, and Manasseh], saying, “Your G-d G-d has given you this country to possess. You must go as shock-troops, warriors all, at the head of your Israelite kin.” (3:18) 

Most of all: Do Not Fear!
Five times in this single parashah, Moses exhorts us: “Do not fear!” 

o  “You shall not be partial in judgment: hear out low and high alike. Fear neither party, for judgment is G-d’s.” (Deut. 1:17) 

o  “Go up, take possession, as G-d, the G-d of your ancestors, promised you. Fear not and be not dismayed.” (Deut. 1:21) 

o  [You said:] ‘We saw there a people stronger and taller than we, large cities with walls sky-high, and even Anakites.’” I said to you, “Have no dread or fear of them.” (Deut. 1:29) 

o  “G-d said to me: Do not fear him [King Og of Bashan], for I am delivering him and all his troops and his country into your power.” (Deut. 3:2) 

o  “Do not fear them [the kings of Canaan], for it is your G-d, G-d, who will battle for you.” (Deut. 3:22) 

Yet fear seems to drive many of us. Fear of the other. Fear of failure. Fear of success. Fear of criticism. Fear of social interactions. Fear of dying. The list goes on and on. How, then, do we combat fear? Rebbe Nachman of Bratslav said that “All the world is a narrow bridge, the central thing, the ikar, is to not be afraid.” 

Franklin D. Roosevelt famously said, “The only thing to fear is fear itself.” In his first inaugural address in 1933. He used it to address the widespread fear and uncertainty during the Great Depression, encouraging Americans to have confidence and take action. That fits with what Moses was teaching.  

Today’s today portion mirrors our haftarah and our book for tonight, Eicha, Lamentations in English. Questions show up in what we are reading today. Eicha. How.  

“(Because you are so numerous), How can I carry, I alone, your load, your burden, your quarreling?” 

Reflecting the first word of the book, it is the Hebrew name of the book we read tonight. Eicha. How.  

אֵיכָ֣ה ׀ יָשְׁבָ֣ה בָדָ֗ד הָעִיר֙ רַבָּ֣תִי עָ֔ם הָיְתָ֖ה כְּאַלְמָנָ֑ה רַבָּ֣תִי בַגּוֹיִ֗ם שָׂרָ֙תִי֙ בַּמְּדִינ֔וֹת הָיְתָ֖ה לָמַֽס׃ 

Alas/How is it? Lonely sits the city once great with people! She that was great among nations is become like a widow; the princess among states is become a thrall. (Eicha 1:1) 

How did we get to this point? The very beginning of Genesis asks a question as well. Ayecha? Where? G-d asks Adam and Eve. Where are you? Of course, G-d already knows. It is more existential. It reminds me of the song, “Where are you going my little one, little one.”  

How did we get to this point? Where are we going? What do we do now? I don’t have all the answers but this I know: 

We never end a haftarah on a down note. We have to remain positive. Some weeks (years?) it is harder to do that. But we must. The Israel National Anthem, Hatikvah, is one of hope. The very name means The Hope.  

Where does the hope come from? For me, it comes from these very words of advice from Moses. It is from the words of our tradition. It is from the very values that we hold dear as Jews. Those values command us to build. To rebuild. To regain our moral compass. To do those things that Moses taught us so many years ago.  

At Torah Study this week we looked at Isaiah’s vision of Jerusalem destroyed. And then we looked at the haftarah for Yom Kippur. G-d asks in Isaiah’s voice, is this the fast I desire? No, rather it is to feed the hungry, clothe the naked and take the unhoused into your homes. 

The destruction of the Second Temple marked a sea change in Judaism. No longer could we offer animal sacrifice. Judaism became a religion of prayer and study. I tell this story from the midrash frequently. 

Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai was walking with his disciple Rabbi Joshua near Jerusalem after the destruction of the (Second) Temple. Rabbi Joshua looked at the ruins and said: “Woe is us! The place which atoned for the sins of the people Israel through the ritual of animal sacrifice lies in ruins!” Then Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai spoke these words of comfort: “Be not grieved, my son. There is another way now of gaining atonement even though the Temple is destroyed. We must now gain atonement through gemilut chasadim, acts of lovingkindness, for it is written: “For I desire hesed, lovingkindness, not sacrifice.” (Hosea 6:6)  

Avot d’Rabbi Natan 11a 

Rabbi Menachem Credit said this week:
But we are not a people who only mourn.
We are a people who build. “Jerusalem was destroyed.
And Jerusalem was rebuilt.
That is our story. That is our task.
So let us see the world clearly. Let us feel the pain fully. And then let us act — with compassion, with urgency, and with vision.
Because this world is redeemable, and we are the ones who must redeem it. 

For me, the hope comes from our children.  

For the sake of our children, all of our children, come join me tomorrow as we turn the page from mourning and begin to rebuild by feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, providing for the unhoused, shipping books and making friendship bracelets for National Night Out. We will “Love our neighbors as ourselves.” As Rav Kook taught, we will turn baseless hatred into baseless love. 

There is an old saying. We must remember that we have two truths in our pockets. In the one pocket a note reads: “The world was created for me,” in the other pocket there is a note that reads, “I am but dust and ashes.” (Rabbi Simcha Bunim of Parshischo, Poland, (1765–1827)) 

Both are true. At the same time. 

There is much written about what is truth these days and the role of the media. We’ll save that for another time.  Maybe not.  

A picture is worth a thousand words, we are told. This week has been an impossible week of pictures.  

50 Jewish campers returning from Spain on a plane to France, kicked off the plane for making a disturbance and their leader handcuffed and beaten. Their “crime?” Singing Hebrew songs and being “Zionists.” I have been that counselor leading kids singing songs like that, on buses, on trains, and yes, planes.  

Starving children in Gaza. It is unconscionable. The photos are horrific. And they may not tell the whole story. I am not even sure that sitting in Elgin can discern the whole story. The whole truth. 

This I know. Our sacred texts give us rules, laws, commandments to handle this moment. 

Our sacred texts tell us how to siege a city. Deuteronomy 20 gives us the rules of war and tells us we cannot cut down fruit trees.  

Jeremiah tells us 

 Thus said GOD:
A cry is heard in Ramah—
Wailing, bitter weeping—
Rachel weeping for her children.
She refuses to be comforted
For her children, who are gone. 

     Jeremiah 31:15

The text that we will read next Saturday night for Tisha B’av to mourn the destruction of the Temple and the expulsion of the Jews, from the land of Israel, and later from Spain, from England, from Warsaw, from the Book of Lamentations, Eicha says,  

From Chapter 4: “They let their babies die of hunger and thirst; children are begging for food that no one will give them. People who once ate the finest foods die starving in the streets; those raised in luxury are pawing through garbage for food.” 

As Rabbi Elyse Wechterman said on her birthday yesterday, “Today, children are being starved, intentionally, in Gaza. Intentional starvation is a form of genocide. (her word, not mine) It must be called out. I’m calling it what it is.”  

I join her in that wailing, like Rachel, and in her name I gave a donation to JewsforFoodAid ForPeopleInGaza. I also donated to Hadassah, JUF, and Standing Together. I also signed a letter as a rabbi, written by Rabbi Art Green of Hebrew College,  None of this feels like enough, but what can I do from here except support my friends and family on the front lines. 

But do we know who is doing the intentional starving? You will read that it is Israel. Don’t believe everything you read. That’s where the two truths come in. For sure, there is a role that Israel is playing. And you will read that it is Hamas. 

Rabbi Asher Lopatin in the Times of Israel wrote: “Hamas does not want anyone but them to distribute food to hungry Gazans, and they are tragically thrilled to show starvation to help their negotiations. However, bravely, some organizations like World Central Kitchen and The GHF, under the leadership of Rev Johnnie Moore, are distributing food that is already within Gaza’s borders. Please demand that the UN meet with the GHF and help distribute aid – through any organization- to the innocent Gazan civilians who need this food.” That too makes good sense.  

Peter Himmelman wrote a longer piece, Difficult Answers, Easy Targets: Gaza’s Humanitarian Crisis, citing amongst others Bret Stephens of the New York Times, which may be the best piece I have read on this crisis. (https://www.nytimes.com/2025/07/24/opinion/israel-genocide-bret-stephens.html ) Make no mistake, it is a crisis. 

Yet the back and forth reminds me of the book I just finished, Beyond Dispute. Daniel Taub, an Israeli diplomat and negotiator, goes back to the Talmud to teach us that arguing isn’t bad and that there are certain skills that are helpful, including active listening, curiosity and humor, 

And still, while we argue who is causing the hunger, the bottom line is that children are dying. That is wrong. Full stop. In Gaza. In Israel. In Sudan. In Ukraine. And here in the United States. Did you know that every night 25% of America’s children go to bed hungry? That is unconscionable too.  

I never trust the numbers coming out of the Gazan Ministry of Health or UNRWA who absolutely can be documented to have helped Hamas with the unconscionable attacks of October 7th. Nonetheless, MSN is reporting some interesting statistics that “One in every five children in Gaza suffers from malnutrition.”  

The words that resonate with me are those of Sarah Tuttle-Singer, also too long to quote fully here: 

I am a mother in Israel.
I am not a mother in Gaza.
I know the kind of mother I am here:
A fierce one.
A mother who demands the best for her children, who pushes them to explore, to question, to carve new paths in an ancient land.
A mother who lies awake at night, haunted, eyes tracing the cracks on the ceiling, listening for sirens, wondering how to make the world soft enough for her children to grow up inside it. (the full poem will be at the end)

Wendy McFadden, the head of publications at the Church of the Brethren, in her collection of stories, points out something in the Hebrew. “The words ‘Bread,’ ‘fight,’ and ‘war’ have the same root in Hebrew. The vowel sounds change and one has a prefix and a suffix, but you can hear the same three consonants in each of these words. Bread: lechem, Fight: lachem. War: Milchama.” (Notes to the Church by Wendy McFadden, page 134)

Too many wars have been fought over bread. The sad trend continues. 

How does any of this relate to this week’s Torah portion. 

This week we have a double portion, Matot-Masei, so there is a lot of material this week.  

At the very end of the portion, the end of the Book of Numbers, we say, Chazak chazak v’nitchazak. Be Strong, Be Strong and We will be strong.” Last night we talked about what it means to be strong. There are three Hebrew words, chazak, oz and koach. We need strength in these times. And we need strength together. We draw strength from being in community. It is what gets us through the hard times. Strength and community.  

Our portion talks about strength. When we were to enter the land, G-d told us to dispossess all the people there.  “You shall destroy all their figured objects; you shall destroy all their molten images, and you shall demolish all their cult places.” 

It seems that the Reubenites and the Gadites owned cattle in very great numbers. Noting that the lands of Jazer and Gilead were a region suitable for cattle, with lots of grazing land, they wanted to stay on the other side of the Jordan. Moses replied to the Gadites and the Reubenites, “Are your brothers to go to war while you stay here? They promise to be shock-troops, the advance guard. Then they stepped up to him and said, “We will build here sheepfolds for our flocks and towns for our children. And we will hasten as shock-troops in the van of the Israelites until we have established them in their home, while our children stay in the fortified towns because of the inhabitants of the land.  

That seemed to be acceptable to Moses. 

They would be the vanguard and they would protect their children. Isn’t that what we all want? To protect our children? I remember the early kibbutzim that had children’s houses so that no one could infiltrate and murder the children.  

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had made aliyah. There certainly was enough pressure on me to do so as a young college student. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had married that Israeli soldier and had split our time between Boston and Chaifa to educate Jewish children as was the plan. Would we have built fortified cities for our children. Would we have had children go off to war? To serve in the IDF Currently Simon’s grandnephew is serving in the IDF. He is 19. Will he survive? 895 have not. For the most part they are children too.  

 https://www.timesofisrael.com/authorities-name-44-soldiers-30-police-officers-killed-in-hamas-attack/’ 

What is our role here in the Diaspora, as we watch events unfold in Israel. Do we have a role when the government votes that the haredi don’t have to serve? What if the minister of heritage says, “Thursday that Israel is advancing the destruction of Gaza, and that the Strip will be made totally Jewish, drawing outcry among opposition politicians and eventually from Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu himself.” https://www.timesofisrael.com/far-right-minister-says-israel-pushing-to-wipe-out-gaza-will-make-it-jewish/ 

We can give money, as I did. Carefully and targeted. And we can speak out when we can discern the truth and Israel defies Jewish values. 

I saw a meme this week from a colleague, Tehilah Eisenstadt, “Hamas. Get Out. Everyone, let the food in. Everywhere. Let the hostages go. All of them. Now.” That would be my prayer this Shabbat.  

Sarah Tuttle-Singer’s full poem: 

I am a mother in Israel.
I am not a mother in Gaza.
I know the kind of mother I am here:
A fierce one.
A mother who demands the best for her children, who pushes them to explore, to question, to carve new paths in an ancient land.
A mother who lies awake at night, haunted, eyes tracing the cracks on the ceiling, listening for sirens, wondering how to make the world soft enough for her children to grow up inside it. I know the kind of woman I am here, too:
The kind who suffers no fools.
The kind who speaks her mind.
Who dances barefoot at midnight.
Who laughs loud and loves hard.
Who walks through Jerusalem with fire in her eyes and salt on her skin.
It is easy for me to say, “I would never put my child on the front line.”
And yet, I am.
Every Israeli parent is, by raising our sons and daughters with the knowledge that when they turn 18 – only 18, barely more than children themselves – they will put on a uniform, lace up their boots, and carry a weapon.
It isn’t a choice. 
It’s the weather here.
Eighteen.
Still young enough to text me for help with laundry.
Still young enough to cry in frustration when love doesn’t work out.
Still young enough to call me “ima” with a baby voice when they want something.
But old enough to guard a checkpoint.
Old enough to fight.
Old enough to die.
And yet, they will always be my babies.
It is easy for me to say I would never support Hamas.
And yes – I wouldn’t.
But I’ve also never been hungry.
I’ve also never stood in line for flour that never came.
I’ve also never watched the ceiling of my home buckle from the force of an airstrike.
I’ve also never had to choose between silence and survival in a regime that devours dissent.
I don’t know what kind of mother I would be if I were born behind a blockade, if I had electricity only four hours a day. If I had to warm soup over a candle while the sea-wind howled through cinderblock walls.
I don’t know what kind of woman I would be if I watched my leaders drag so-called collaborators through the streets, bodies mangled and leaking blood like red ink on a scorching road, while my child watched from the window and asked, “Why, Mama?”
I don’t know what I would do if my daughter – my wild, laughing daughter – lost a leg, an arm, half her face, to a retaliatory missile meant for the men who fire rockets from schoolyards.
I don’t know if I would have room in my heart to grieve the Israeli child killed on the other side of the border.
Or if my heart would be too swollen with rage.
I don’t know if I’d plant flowers in tires or throw Molotov cocktails over the fence.
I don’t know.
God help me, I don’t know.
But I do know that I am the kind of mother who would throw her body over her children—
I have.
Even now, with teenagers taller than I am, I will still shield them with my body, my bones, my skin.
Because I know the wild stink of fear.
I know the way it floods the throat.
And I know that I don’t run.
I fight.
I come from a line of Jewish women who did whatever it took- who lit fires, who smuggled guns, who clawed freedom into being with their bare hands.
And I know I would have stood beside them.
Now, in this moment -this war – I carry their fire.
I see the videos.
The children burned.
The women defiled.
The hostages still somewhere underground – our children.
I see the silence, the excuses, the masked celebrations of our grief.
And I feel the rage rise like floodwater.
Like an earthquake beneath my ribs.
And yes, I want to fight.
Because it feels like a fight for our very existence.
Because too many in the world seem to believe that fewer Jews would have been the better outcome.
But.
And.
Also.
Also – I know that in Gaza, there are mothers holding the lifeless bodies of their babies.
Babies who were alive on October 6th.
Who giggled.
Who learned new words.
Who took shaky steps and had favorite toys.
I know there are children starving now, their bellies bloated, their lips cracked, their mothers digging through rubble for grains of rice.
I won’t look away. 
I know that somewhere a baby is crying over a mother who will never wake up – her body grey, her milk gone, her arms too still. Her skin putrefying into soup while flies swarm in the heat.
I know that famine is a slow death and shameful one.
And I know shame.
We are all made of the same flesh.
All of us.
Dust and blood and breath.
We forget this at our peril.
So while I pray for our soldiers – these precious, beloved sons and daughters and brothers and sisters and partners of my friends and neighbors – 
And while I pray for the safe return of every last hostage – 
And while I beg God to protect my own children from the call to battle – 
I also pray for the mothers in Gaza.
For the ones who still live.
For the ones who don’t.
For the children caught between terror and siege, between monsters below ground and bombs above.
I grieve all of it.
And I rage at all of it.
And I refuse to flatten any of it.
Because to be human is to hold contradiction.
To love your own fiercely, and to weep for the other.
To fight when you must, and to see clearly even through your tears.
I am a mother in Israel.
And I am trying – desperately – to stay whole.
To keep my heart from cracking entirely open.
To believe that somehow, from this horror, something better might still grow.
That maybe one day, our children’s children will not need to be brave.
They will just get to be children. 

You have heard me say that my father’s definition of a Jew is someone who questions, thinks and argues. Yes, argues. We’re good at it. Over everything. Even here. He was so proud of Judaism commitment to education, to scholarship, to being part of the People of the Book. As a scientist who prided himself on using the scientific method, a method of procedure that has characterized natural science since the 17th century, consisting in systematic observation, measurement, and experiment, and the formulation, testing, and modification of hypotheses. He felt that it was like how the rabbis argued in the Talmud, and he loved that the Talmud preserves the debate. 

Why are we talking about this today? 

This week we mark the yahrzeits of both Myra Becker and Saul Mariaias. Saul was my bimah partner and as I told our Torah Study group this week, while he faithfully read haftarah every week, he hated reading Hebrew poetry. He served in the militaries of four countries: Argentina, Israel, US and in the Norwegian merchant marine. He was conservative to his core. Myra was what I would call a social justice warrior. Her last week, she spent lobbying for children not being separated from their families at the border. They did not agree on politics, yet they were the best of friends. They died about two hours apart. I teach today in my father’s name and Myra and Saul. 

Last night we looked at a little piece of our larger portion, the story of the daughters of Zelophehad, Mahlah, Noah, Hogath, Milcah and Tirzah. Just 11 verses. They thought it wasn’t fair that since they had no brothers that when their father died they did not inherit their father’s property and his name would die out. They brought their case to Moses who brought their case to G-d who said, “The plea of Zelophehad’s daughters is just. You should give them a hereditary holding among their father’s kinsmen; transfer their father’s share to them.” 

That is a change, a big change ordered by G-d Himself, in how the people lived out Torah.  

But wait, there is more. In our portion, which we read parts of as maftirs in other holidays throughout the year, we learn how to do offerings on Sukkot. It is hard to see the relevance in our post sacrificial Judaism. But here it is. On each day we offer one less bull. On the first day 13, on the second 12, on the third 11, etc. I am still not planning to do this on the synagogue parking lot or even praying to return to this on the Temple Mount. Yet, there is an argument in the Talmud that you may have even heard before. Rabbi Hillel and Rabbi Shammai are discussing how to light Chanukah lights. Rabbi Shammai says that you should like 8 on the first night, 7 on the second, 6 on the third etc., citing today’s very discussion of how to observe Sukkot. Hillel said that we should light one more each night. As you already recognize, the decision went to Hillel, because we should increase our light, increase our joy. Yet, if you are a member of a Reconstructing Judaism, you may light your candles according to Shammai, recognizing his minority opinion and today’s portion.  

The Talmud itself outlines 13 principles of how to disagree, how to argue about the text. Those rules help us understand the Torah better. Compiled by Rabbi Ishmael they are used to derive halacha, (Jewish law) from the biblical text. Biblical mitzvot are considered more important than rabbinical ones. Yet, these principles are not just technical rules; they reflect a sophisticated understanding of language, logic, and the nature of divine revelation. The arguments are often quite elegant and sometime grammatical. And to be honest, after eight classes of Talmud they are still not clear to me.  

While we are not going to discuss each of the 13 today, I have included them at the end for reference. These principles are not rigid rules but rather guidelines that provide a framework for interpreting the Torah and deriving halakha. They are used in conjunction with other methods of interpretation and are essential to understanding the complexities of Jewish law. And they teach us how to argue, even across the generations.  

How we disagree in the Talmud has much to teach us in this moment. First, it is OK to disagree. Second, it is important to preserve the minority opinion. Third, we must do it with civility, politeness, reason. And it must be constructive. Argument for the sake of heaven, not just to be disagreeable, not just to argue. And if not for heaven, it must make the world a better place! Recently, we read about Korach, who challenged Moses’ authority. It did not go well for him. In the daughters of Zelophehad, we learn that he was not one of Korach’s faction. 

Sometimes when I am called to do an invocation at a board meeting or the Statehouse, I like to use the words of a prayerbook from Great Britain that talks about Korach, Hillel and Shammai:  

“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. May 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) 

Some of you don’t like any controversy, especially in what is known as synagogue politics. Yet, politics exist all over including the Bible. When we look at the Holiness Code, Chapter 19 of Leviticus, it teaches us to “Love our neighbor as ourselves.” But it also teaches to feed the widow, the orphan, the stranger, to not stand by while your neighbor bleeds, to have just weights and measures, to not withhold the wages of a laborer overnight. Each of those instructs how to set up a civil society. Each of those is political. 

Some of you have brought to my attention a new book, Beyond Dispute, Rediscovering the Jewish Art of Constructive Disagreement. I can’t wait to delve into it more deeply. My hope is that we use our Jewish tradition, our Jewish values, to argue for the sake of heaven and to make the world or at least this little corner of it a better place. 

Here’s a breakdown of the thirteen principles: 

1. Kal V’Chomer (Light and Heavy):

An argument from the lesser to the greater or vice versa. If a less significant case has a certain rule, then a more significant case must also have that rule, and possibly more so.  

2. Gezeirah Shava (Equivalence of Terms):

If two verses use the same unusual or unique term, then the laws or interpretations associated with one verse can be applied to the other.  

3. Binyan Av Mikotuv Echad (Building a Principle from One Text):

A general principle derived from a single biblical text can be applied to similar cases.  

4. Binyan Av Mishnei Ketuvim (Building a Principle from Two Texts):

A general principle derived from two or more biblical texts can be applied to similar cases.  

5. Kelal U’Ferat U’Kelal (General, Specific, General):

A general statement followed by a specific example, and then another general statement, is interpreted to mean that the general rules apply only to things similar to the specific example.  

6. K’lal She’na’mar Bo Perat (General Specified in a Specific):

When a general statement is followed by a specific example, the specific example limits the application of the general rule.  

7. K’lal She’na’mar Bo Perat u’Mekushar Le’inyano (General Specified in a Specific and Related to its Context):

When a general statement is followed by a specific example, and that example is related to the context, the specific example limits the application of the general rule, but also highlights its contextual relevance.  

8. Davar Ha’lamed Me’inyano (Contextual Interpretation):

The meaning of a word or phrase can be determined by its context within the verse or passage.  

9. Davar Ha’lamed Mi’sofo (Interpretation from the End):

The meaning of a verse can be clarified by a later statement in the same verse or passage.  

10. K’tzat V’kabal U’mikbal V’Chazar al Hakelal (General, and the Specific is excepted):

When a specific instance is excepted from a general rule, the exception can teach us something about the general rule itself.  

11. K’tzat She’hayu Bo Kelal u’Perat, u’Perat She’hayu Bo Kelal (General, Specific, General, and Specific Exception):

Similar to principle 10, but with more nuance regarding the relationship between the general, specific, and exception.  

12. E’mat She’ne’emar Alav Alav (Reconciliation of Contradictory Statements):

When two verses appear to contradict each other, a third verse can be found to reconcile them.  

13. Kol Davar She’hayah Bi’Shem Elokim (Interpretation Through Association):

When a verse is understood in light of another verse, even if the connection is not immediately obvious.  

“Do justly, love mercy and walk humbly with G-d,” is a very famous verse from this morning’s haftarah. It was my mother’s favorite Biblical verse. She even learned enough Hebrew to calligraph it. You can find many pieces of art for your home with this. And you can find many translations as well. It is a guiding principle of Judaism.  

We also have the verse from our Torah portion, “How goodly are your tents o Jacob, your dwelling places o Israel.” Lately, we have all been thinking about tents. As a camper, a counselor, a lifeguard and a canoeing instructor, I think about camp every day.  

These two verses are connected in some way. While we can probably come up with as many different definitions of good as there are people in the room and on Zoom, the commentators tell us that the reason tents were good is because they were arranged in such a way that one couldn’t see into their neighbors’ tent. They were more private. I think about that when I look at how some of our suburban houses are built. Think about it. Can you see into your neighbor’s home from your home. Do you have blinds or curtains preventing people from seeing in? This is a form of modesty, we are told. 

Despite this, we need to be careful. While we might say “What happens in my house stays in my house,” as a desire for privacy and modesty and humility, it can also be used to conceal abuse. Our homes are supposed to be places of shalom bayit, peace of the house. As a reminder of that, we put mezuzot on our doorposts, to bless us as we go out and when we come in. 

We begin to mark the Three Weeks tomorrow, the period of time leading up to Tisha B’av, the period of mourning commemorating when the Holy Temple was destroyed. But all was not lost. Since the destruction of the Temple in 70 CE, our own homes are supposed to be a mikdash me’at, a small sanctuary.  Our Friday night ritual of candles, kiddush, motzi, echoes the sacrifices of that Temple. 

In the old Gates of Prayer, we learn in the introduction to Kiddush, page 719 which I actually remembered from my youth, “Wine is the symbol of our joy.” Today is a joyous day, we hope one of many for our bride and groom whom we bless today. A long time ago, 40 years ago actually this weekend, my husband and I learned an important lesson that I often share with wedding couples. When we announced our ow engagement to good friends, the wife was digging in her garden. She had a certification of “Master Gardener”, She stood up and said, “Mazel tov! Alyn, now, go get the champagne.” From that we learn you should always have a bottle of bubbly on ice.  Champagne, or a non-alcoholic bubbly.  To toast the big moments like today, or the little ones, day by day by day. We will toast the big moments soon when we make kiddush.  

The chuppah that is raised tomorrow is a symbol of your first home together. Open on all four sides, like Abraham and Sarah’s tent. A tent from which you can see anyone who is coming. To invite them in and welcome them. Hachnasat orchim, welcoming guests is a high value in Judaism. Shortly we will raise a tallit, held by your four children, and shower you with blessings and candies so your life together will be sweet.  

Our beautiful sanctuary, mishkan, here is also an echo of the Holy Temple. We have the ner tamid, that is always lit. We, as a community, as a team need to always watch it, to ensure it does not go out. We use the rich colors, blue, purple, crimson that they used in the mishkan, We have an ark, an aron kodesh that holds our precious scrolls.   And above the ark it says “Da lifne mi atah omaid. Know before whom you stand.” For me, while I am standing there, it is a humbling moment. I am not in charge. I stand here as a shliach tzibur, a prayer leader, as many of you do, as representative between us and G-d. It is an awesome responsibility. It acknowledges that G-d is in charge.  

The Torah portion today with all of its seeming humor of a talking donkey, makes that point as well. Balak, the local king hires Bilam, the non-Jewish prophet to curse the Jews. Is this the first example of organized anti-semitism? Is it any different than various and too many talking heads today who open their mouths only to curse the Jews? There will be much more to say about the NEA divorcing itself from the ADL, just the latest and most egregious example.  

Yet something remarkable happens. Every time Bilam opens his mouth, words of blessing come out, not curses. Who’s in charge here? Certainly not Balak or Bilam! Da lifne mi atah omed. Know before whom you stand. Know that you are blessed. Know that you are loved.  

How good are our tents, our dwelling places, our sanctuaries. The ancient ones and the ones right here, this very mishkan, and the homes we build with our beloveds. L’chaim.  

It is the 4th of July. American Independence Day. Our country is divided. It is hurting. There is rising anti-semitism. Young Israeli embasy staffers should not be gunned down in front of a Jewish Museum in DC. Period. There is rising political violence. State representatives and their families should not be shot in their homes. NOR THEIR DOG! This is wrong, period. This violence seems to be both on the left and the right. This is wrong, period.  

This year seems different. Again. I wrote these words some other year: 

“So again, this year, I am angry. Still not strong enough. Outraged. Enraged. Engaged.” 

And I think I am sad. Gun violence is a topic I have worked on for decades. And I fear it has only gotten worse. Solving a disagreement with a gun never ends well.

I have written other 4th of July posts before. 4th of July has always been important to me and my family, It leads into my mother’s birthday, the 6th and my father’s, the 7th. I have such fond memories. Parades. Picnics. Up North Beach. Fireworks. Mexican food. Late night runs to Meijers for home repair supplies. Mini-golf. Evanston. Grand Rapids. Charlevoix and Leland. Elgin.  

In our family, the question was never where will you be for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. No, the question was where will you be for the 4th of July and Thanksgiving—the two most American holidays. And also somehow profoundly Jewish as well. I think that was the point. These holidays were a measure of how American we were. 

This year seems different. Again. I wrote these words some other year: 

“So again, this year, I am angry. Still not strong enough. Outraged. Enraged. Engaged.” 

How do we take our anger and channel it to stay engaged. How do we find hope and resilience in a world that seems even more repressive. That seems to not care about human life. That cannot provide food or medical care for the most vulnerable amongst us. That turns every hate filled skirmish into a full scale battle.  

Jews have prayed on behalf of their secular leaders and governments since Jeremiah’s day. As an American Studies major with a concentration on colonial American History, I have loved the prayer that was written by the Jews of Richmond for George Washington, shortly after he began his presidency. It is elegant, with Washington spelled out in Hebrew acrostic. http://opensiddur.org/prayers-for/collective-welfare/government/prayer-for-george-washington-first-president-of-the-united-states-of-america-by-kahal-kadosh-beit-shalome-1789/ 

It is aspirational. Filled with hope. It is not that different than the prayer we will do for our current government in our siddur, Siddur Sim Shalom. It is aspirational, too.  

People have asked me if we can still pray for our president, for his leaders and advisors that they may administer all affairs of state fairly. The answer is yes. We must. It is aspirational.  

AND, we need to channel our anger, our disappointment, our fear, into action.  

• Don’t like putting up the 10 Commandments in classrooms, while not feeding children, find a way to work to get food into the hands of those who need it most. I like Mazon as an agency. 

•  Don’t like canceling tax credits for clean energy, buy the energy star appliances anyway. Advocate for not drilling in our national parks. Try joining the Sierra Club.  

• Don’t like the idea that rural hospitals might close (some are already, I heard this morning on NPR, another organization worth supporting. ) and health care will be denied to millions of people, talk to your own primary care doc and see how you can help. Make sure you are current on ALL your vaccines. Including shingles. Don’t be like me.  

• Don’t like the idea that this country, dedicated to welcoming the huddled masses yearning to breathe free, is deporting thousands of people, partner with agencies that are doing the hard work. HIAS tops my list, but locally try Centro de Informacion or CMAA.  

The list goes on and on.  Each action must be brought back to Jewish values. Love your neighbor. Love the stranger. Love G-d. Pekuach nefesh, preserve a life. Do justly, love mercy and walk humbly with G-d. If we are not doing that, somehow, we are missing the mark. 

So again, I am still angry. Still not strong enough. Outraged. Enraged. Engaged. And sad.

We must stay engaged. We must “fight” for this country we love, that has reflected our Jewish values (and my Girl Scout ones!).  

George Washington penned a letter of thanks and appreciation to the Hebrew Congregation of Newport, RI. I quote is almost every year 

He made it very clear and he was so eloquent, that Jews were welcome here in this country. That it is not a Christian nation, per se. This letter became the basis of the Bill of Rights: 

“It is now no more that toleration is spoken of as if it were the indulgence of one class of people that another enjoyed the exercise of their inherent natural rights, for, happily, the Government of the United States, which gives to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance, requires only that they who live under its protection should demean themselves as good citizens in giving it on all occasions their effectual support. It would be inconsistent with the frankness of my character not to avow that I am pleased with your favorable opinion of my administration and fervent wishes for my felicity. May the children of the stock of Abraham who dwell in this land continue to merit and enjoy the good will of the other inhabitants—while every one shall sit in safety under his own vine and fig tree and there shall be none to make him afraid.” 

. http://www.tourosynagogue.org/history-learning/tsf-intro-menu/slom-scholarship/86-washington-letter 

And maybe that is the point. We Jews in America have participated in the life of this country almost since America’s inception. The earliest congregations were founded in the 1600s. I can imagine Jews in their synagogues praying and celebrating the morning the Declaration of Independence was pronounced, on July 4th Later, there were Jews like Hayyim Solomon and Rebecca Gratz that were at the vanguard of funding the Revolutionary War. 

The Hagaddah that we use at home, a compilation of many begins talking about living in two communities. The Jewish community and the American community. 

“We share common histories— both the Exodus and the American experience; we share common dreams of equality, justice, and peace. …And so we join together to send out a message of freedom which we hope will ring through the hills of our land and across the seas. 

It spells out what some of those freedoms are that we celebrate: 

freedom from bondage        and freedom from oppression,
freedom from hunger          and freedom from want,
freedom from hatred           and freedom from fear,
freedom to think                 and freedom to speak,
freedom to teach                 and freedom to learn,
freedom to love                  and freedom to share,
freedom to hope                 and freedom to rejoice, 

It too is aspirational. It gives us a blueprint of the actions we need to take.  

This country is still a great country. One I pray for every day, using the ancient words of my Jewish ancestors. This country is a great country, founded on principles that mesh with my Jewish values and my heritage of being a third generation Girl Scout. This country is a great country that welcomed my ancestors even before Lady Liberty with her poem written by Emma Lazurus, “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.” This is a great country that includes the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. This is a great country that guarantees freedom of religion, freedom of speech, freedom of the press,freedom of assembly. We need to safeguard these freedoms.  

It would be my hope that we continue to uphold the dream, rededicate ourselves to this dream. To be a light to the nations. To speak truth to power. To do justly, love mercy and walk humbly with G-d.  Then as Washington, quoting Isaiah and Micah, will be right. This is a nation where “everyone shall sit in safety under his own vine and fig tree and there shall be none to make him afraid.” Here. In this country. Today. Amen.