A Berkman Mercaz Limud class was studying the Akeidah, or “Binding of Isaac,” one of the traditional Torah readings for Rosh Hashanah morning. In the story God commands Abraham to sacrifice his son, Isaac. As Abraham lifts his knife for the sacrifice an angel stops him at the last second; Abraham having proved his faith in God. When the class came to the arrival of the angel, one child burst out crying. “Why are you crying?” asked the teacher. “Didn’t the angel come, and wasn’t Isaac saved?” “Yes,” sobbed the child, “but what if the angel had been late?”  

In the original telling, this conversation was actually between Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel and his father. In recounting this story later in life, Heschel would often add that although an angel cannot come late, we, made of flesh and blood, can. Angels are never late, but we can be. How many times have we all said, “I’ll call them tomorrow…” or, “that can wait another day,” only to discover we were too late. Heschel is imploring us not to wait, not to put off what we need to do, because tomorrow might be too late.

This past spring, I was too late. Worried like many of you about going to my local polling place in person, I chose to apply for a vote-by-mail ballot. I meant to fill out the online form back in March but I was a little preoccupied. Then came April, and before I knew it, it was May and the deadline to apply had arrived. I submitted my form in just the nick of time and awaited my vote-by-mail ballot. I kept checking the mailbox, everyday, excited to cast my ballot. Monday, no ballot, Tuesday, no ballot. The election was fast approaching and it still hadn’t come. I called the city office for help, no answer. I emailed, no response. And so I kept waiting. Before I knew it, it was June 2, Election Day, and my ballot still had not arrived. My ballot arrived the next day. It was too late. Angels are never late, but humans can be. 

I don’t know whether it was the postal service, the state, or city offices, but somewhere, someone was too late and I was disenfranchised as a result. 

There are over ten million people eligible to vote in our state. In 2016, nearly four million of those people didn’t vote — some by choice, and many because they faced barriers to the ballot box. Barriers like too few polling places, a lack of interpreters, and inaccurate voting records. One of the most important races on the ballot in 2016, the presidential race, was decided here by 44,000 votes. Pennsylvanians votes matter—and not enough of them are being cast or counted. 

We have an opportunity to do something. But in 46 days it will be too late. It is our moral obligation to ensure that every Pennsylvanian who is eligible to vote on November 3 has that right afforded to them. There are no angels coming; it is up to us. 

Rodeph Shalom is proud to be a part of the Reform Movement’s 2020 Civic Engagement Campaign. It is grounded in our belief that democracy is strongest when everyone participates. 

This is not a partisan issue. Our goals are to ensure that our Reform Jewish values are present in the public square – all within
501 (c) (3) guidelines. This means that we will advocate for issues like equal access to the ballot and that we will not endorse candidates or parties. Voting rights may have been politicized – but they are not partisan. This is rooted in our most basic Jewish value of standing with the oppressed in our society and ensuring equality and justice.

Poor, minority, and geographically isolated communities are typically the most at risk for disenfranchisement and voter suppression. We have an obligation to stand up for their right to vote because all people are created b’tzelem Elohim/in God’s image; everybody has a spark of God’s Divine light inside of them. Every voice needs to be heard and every vote needs to be counted.

So here’s what we’re going to do about it!

Our first goal is to have 100 percent voter participation within our congregation. This is the low hanging fruit. I am proud to say that we have a highly engaged voting congregation already but we are not going to rest on our laurels. October 19 is the last day to register before the election. Please make sure you and your friends and family are registered and commit to voting in November. Studies have shown that people are more likely to vote if they commit to voting ahead of time. We will post a link at the end of the service with some commitment cards for you to fill out. Think about your voting plan now: Are you going to vote by mail? In person? Do you know where your polling place is this year? What time are you going to vote?

I am excited to share that teen members of our congregation are already working hard to get out the vote among their peers. If you are a teen, or maybe someone who can’t yet vote but wants to make a difference, please also fill out a commitment card and one of our teen leaders will reach out — probably on Snapchat or Instagram or something!

The second goal in our campaign is to combat voter suppression. According to an article in The Philadelphia Inquirer, tens of thousands of Pennsylvania voters were disenfranchised in the primary elections last spring. When I first thought of voter suppression, I imagined goons standing near a polling place and threatening you if you didn’t vote for the right candidate. I learned that voter suppression can come in many forms, including what happened to me last spring. Voter ID laws, a lack of polling places, poll workers, and interpreters, restrictions on vote-by-mail; these are all forms of voter suppression.

Voter suppression is not new. Just over 100 years ago, women in our country finally gained the right to vote with the ratification of the 19th amendment. Countless women worked tirelessly for their right to vote. Women like Harriet Forten Purvis, an African-American abolitionist and first generation suffragist from Philadelphia, who knew how important it was to count every voice and every vote. Standing on the shoulders of Harriet Forten Purvis and countless others who have worked for universal suffrage, we too must commit ourselves to this righteous work. 

Angels are never late, but we can be. This year, in this upcoming election, we can’t be late. Are you ready to stand up and be counted? Are you ready to help ensure that every eligible Pennsylvanian has the chance to cast their ballot. Are you ready to say hineini/here I am.

When God called out to Abraham at the beginning of the Akedah story, Abraham said, “hineini/here I am.” As they were walking up to the sacrificial altar and Isaac grew scared, he called out to his father, and Abraham said, “hineini/here I am.” And when the Angel of God came down to stop the sacrifice, yelling, “Abraham, Abraham,” Abraham once again said, “hineini/here I am.”

Are you ready to say hineini/here I am? According to Rashi, “Hineini is the answer of the pious. It is an expression of readiness.” God called to Abraham to prepare him to do something difficult. Abraham understood this; this is why he said hineini/here I am.

Are you prepared to do the work? Are you ready to say hineini/here I am?

At the end of the service, please follow the link to fill out your commitment card. Commit to:

Registering to vote

Creating a voting plan

Doing voter outreach within the congregation

Or joining in our advocacy campaign to combat voter suppression

Ten days from now, on Yom Kippur, we will read the words of the prophet Isaiah: 

“Is such the fast I desire, a day for people to starve their bodies? Bowing your head like a reed and lying in sackcloth and ashes? Do you call that a fast, a day that the Eternal wants? 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 chain. 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. Then shall your light burst through like the dawn and your healing spring up quickly; your Vindicator shall march before you, The Presence of the Eternal shall be your defense. Then, when you call, the Eternal will answer; When you cry, God will say hineini/here I am.”

When we say hineini, God says hineini. We are partners in the ever unfolding work of creation. Tikkun olam/repair of the world is built on the premise that God created this world incomplete for us to finish the work. When we show up, when we stand ready, declaring hineini/here I am, we bring God’s presence into this world. When we say hineini, God says hineini.                                                                                                                                        
Angels are never late, but we can be. This New Year, may it be your will, God, that we are not late. This New Year, may we all say, hineini/here I am. 

Ken Y’hi Ratzon/May This be God’s Will. Amen.

There is a new four-letter word in my household — plan. 

In these past months, we have essentially banned the word plan. We have hopes, we have scenarios, but when it comes to school, work, spending, visits with family, my daughter’s Bat Mitzvah, there is no plan. 

The Jewish philosopher Solomon ibn Gabirol wrote: “Clear understanding means realizing what is and what cannot be, and the consoling of what is not in our power to change.” In other words, uncertainty.

Obvious now, but always present, uncertainty is embedded in our ancient High Holy Day words of prayer.

A great shofar will cry and a still small voice will be heard. Who shall live and who shall die? Who will rest and who will wander? We do not claim to know. The Unetaneh Tokef prayer from this morning, and this season of pandemic life, and really, any season of our lives, compels us to face uncertainty.

Uncertainty leaves us on shaky ground. Yet, as I try to maintain solid footing on what feels like an earthquake, the cracks in the foundation are not only brokenness, they are space.  Uncertainty leaves a space — space to ask the big questions that do not otherwise captivate our full attention. What are my essential needs? What is my responsibility in a society where we do not all have the resources to stay at home or to survive? How do I run a business or classroom or little league team or household during isolation, in a way that reflects my values? If I am hospitalized, what are my wishes for care, and are my loved ones aware? If my life were to end, what do I need my loved ones to know. What gratitude and forgiveness do I need to express? What are the absolute priorities of my life?  

Today, in that space of uncertainty, we ask the profound questions of our lives. Even in this unprecedented time, when massive numbers of people are ill or dying, when our livelihoods are at risk, when societal injustices reveal tragic impact to the most vulnerable, when we feel the pain of distance, when nearly everything is out of our hands… even in these times, when I need to pre-record this sermon, not knowing precisely what our reality or news headlines will be when you hear these words…I have faith, that our tradition’s timeless wisdom was written for just this moment.  For every moment. We are pre-recording. And it does not matter. Because the wisdom of our tradition is eternal.

When we ask: Who shall live and who shall die? Who will rest and who will wander…our timeless Jewish wisdom, in the words of Unetaneh Tokef, proclaims this response:

The essence of the High Holy Days and of all Jewish life: t’shuvah, t’filah, tzedakah. Repentance, prayer, and justice.  

T’shuvah, t’filah, tzedakah, Jewish wisdom’s answer to the uncertainty that abounds, cannot exist in isolation.  Judaism cannot imagine any of this holy work, absent from community. The work of repentance, or relationships…of prayer, or deeper consciousness…and of justice, or righteousness, drives home the ultimate Jewish message: we are not alone in this world. T’shuvah, t’filah, tzedakah are tradition’s way of saying: We are a part of something greater than ourselves.  

To miss that message—that we are a part of something greater than ourselves—to miss that message is to miss Judaism.  But circumstances out of our control can distance us.  

In whatever are the most challenging struggles you face right now—health, income, boredom, missing friends at a Bat Mitzvah, missing family at a wedding, missing neighbors at a funeral, missing a loved one in a hospital bed, isolation from friends and even from strangers, or close quarters with a roommate, close quarters with a partner who is wrong for you, or with loved ones whom you’re loving a little less—Perhaps you’ve felt alone in it.  Separate, cut off, and distant. Even if stuck in the house, not quite at home.

Years ago, during shiva—the immediate period of mourning—during shiva for her husband, a grieving widow said to me: “I am not isolated. I am surrounded by family and friends, but I am lonely.  I feel unseen. I feel no sense of belonging.”

The profound experience of grief is unique, but still, anyone can feel what she felt: you can be with other people, yet still lonely.  

I believe what our Jewish community has learned in these past 19 weeks is that the reverse is also true! Together, we are discovering: you can be isolated, yet not alone. Still, part of something greater than ourselves. In this pandemic that demands we live separated in a way humans should not

be. A Jewish life of t’shuvah, t’fillah, tzedakah—of tightly bound connection—remains possible. 

In his book, Together: The Healing Power of Human Connection in a Sometimes Lonely World, former Surgeon General Vivek Murthy teaches: Solitude can be constructive; isolation is not the same as loneliness. But isolation is a risk factor for loneliness. Loneliness serves as a signal to attend to human connections. 

Loneliness is the shofar sounding, “Awake!”

A wake up call— to reach out to others, to lean into community. Dr. Murthy teaches, when we share ourselves, we aren’t sacrificing; we are strengthening ourselves. He submits: We are wired, to deepen our sense of belonging with the sharing of stories, feelings, concerns. Bill Wilson, co-founder of Alcoholics Anonymous, wrote: Almost without exception, alcoholics are tortured by loneliness. That understanding was his basis for the notion of sponsorship—trusted mentors whose own sobriety is strengthened through relationship.  

It takes a lot of energy to connect, but I believe it is what sustains us. When we hear the shofar call of loneliness, it is time to check in with ourselves, and reach out to others, for a dinner over Zoom or a masked meet-up in the park.

Ultimately, Dr. Murthy teaches: To be home— to feel at home— is to be known. Loved for who you are. It is to share a sense of common pursuits and values with others who care about you. 

No matter the news headlines, no matter the current crisis, this wisdom of Dr. Murthy, this truth in Judaism, remains eternal. To be home is to be known.  The shofar that awakens us to our loneliness, returns us to the connections that sustain us.

In congregational life, it has been so moving to see the way you have sustained community-building in virtual gatherings, deepening our closeness and shared purpose. 

Over 100 years ago, the 1918 Flu epidemic caused Rodeph Shalom services to be suspended for a month. They may not have had Zoom, but old-school, they connected. The Sisterhood helped needy families obtain coal and transport family members to hospitals. So in a way, we’ve been here before.  

Today, too, congregants reach out, especially to our most isolated members. You make mitzvah calls; you provide Mitzvah Zoom tech-support.  

Your Rodeph Shalom Do it Yourself kit for these Ten Days of Repentance suggests for today, Day One, you reach out and call someone you think might be lonely.  

So much interaction used to take place in large group gatherings. Yet, truth is, even before pandemic restricted our large events, the extraordinary power of small group gatherings had become clear. And so, we are creating a network of small groups within the congregation—smaller than our wonderful connection groups—where we will gather regularly. There, we will nurture relationships where we are truly known. 

For me, a high point of “virtuality,” has been those moments on Zoom each Friday evening, just before and just after our Shabbat service. During the business day, Zoom may be another four letter word; but what a blessing it has been for our congregation. As one newer member recently said in the chat, “I never knew I could be comforted on a computer by 200 people I barely know.”

The expressions of warmth from one congregant to the next reflect genuine care and uplift me.  In fact, when we engaged our High Holy Day film crew, they were touched by our answer, when they asked: what was our highest priority for virtual services? A chat feature, and breakout rooms!  

As much as I want your soul to soar in awesome words of prayer, glorious music, and deep contemplation, the relationships we nurture in precious virtual moments, the way we ensure that others are seen and known, the way we plant seeds for further conversation, the way, even for just a moment, we can fill each other with joy and gratitude, the way we lift each other out of the separateness, to a place of home…these connections have become an essential part of what Rodeph Shalom is—our identity, our values, our purpose.  It is undeniable: we are a part of something greater than ourselves.

Amid uncertainty, and on ground that has always been shaky, tradition’s eternal wisdom was written for just this moment:

A great shofar will cry and a still small voice will be heard! 

As the shofar awakens us to sacred community, 

Deep in our souls, may we know:

We are not alone in this world. 

We are a part of something greater than ourselves.

A Commentary on Gen. 22:1-19 by Carl Schneider

The Bible tells us Abe and Ike
To Mount Moriah took a hike,
To do the sacrificial bit.
Who was the victim?  Ike was it!

This was no simple weekend frolic.
The whole event was quite symbolic.
Abe was the subject of a test.
Did he love God or offspring best?

Ike asked a question on the way:
“Where’s the lamb we plan to slay?”
He saw the firestone and the knife.
Abe did not say:  “God wants your life.”

Abe chose the Lord, his son was bound.
Abe built an  alter on the ground.
He raised the knife for fatal stroke.
Ike soon would go to God as smoke!

A voice yelled “Abe” from in the sky.
He answered it with: “Here am I.”
At hour eleven, an angel called.
He said: “I want this slaughter stalled!”

“You passed the test, Ike need not die.”
The angel made a ram stand by.
So Ike was taken off the pyre,
And in his place, the ram set fire.

For showing God his boundless love,
Abe got a promise from above.
To pass God’s test brought great reward —
A covenant, a grand accord.

Abe’s seed was blessed through generations,
To be a light for other nations.
But Ike’s reward was less exotic.
It’s said he grew up quite neurotic.

FROM PSALM 11 – A SUKKOT PRAYER FOR BREAKING BREAD ON BROAD FAMILIES
INSPIRED BY RABBI ELI FREEDMAN’S SUKKOT SERMON FOR 2020

There is a catastrophe happening.

The foundations have crumbled and lie like broken bricks on the sidewalk.

Every Wednesday morning, a line of families straggles from the door of Rodeph Shalom to Green Street.  They arrive on foot, pushing empty carts.

Parents with babies and young children, grandmothers and grandfathers, patiently waiting for food, diapers, and menstrual pads. The occasional toy.

We ask them to please wait longer, we are still filling bags, loading the tables with bags of food.  Please don’t sit on the curb we tell them because cars are coming through.

Children in line for a bag of food.

A single mother of a disabled child says she is about to lose her apartment and has no money.

A smile stretches wide on a young girl’s face in delight at receiving a toy, but there are no toys for next week.

Where fathers hold up fingers, one through six, to tell us what size diapers they need for their children, because we don’t understand the languages they speak.

When we choose on Tuesday how much food to put in the bags they receive on Wednesday.

Where no one in line speaks English.

When the people leave their carts to mark their places in line and come to help us unload the food from the truck.

A mother and daughter have driven from Delaware to Philadelphia to deliver menstrual products from their small non-profit and stay to help pass out food.

Each precious one created in Your image, those in need and those who help.  HaShem, may I see that sometimes those in need are passing out the food and those who help are in the line. Hosha na.

HaShem, please give me the spine to stand with our guests, the vision to see the divine spark shining in each one, the words to speak with them, or to find someone who can. Give me the heart of a repairer of the breach. Hosha na.

May Rodeph Shalom be a place of shelter. Hosha na.

May the foundations be rebuilt, may no one experience food insecurity, and may light break forth as the dawn. Hosha na.

From Psalm 11 – a Sukkot Prayer for Breaking Bread on Broad Families
Inspired by Rabbi Eli Freedman’s Sukkot sermon for 2020

There is a catastrophe happening.    

The foundations have crumbled and lie like broken bricks on the sidewalk.

Every Wednesday morning, a line of families straggles from the door of Rodeph Shalom to Green Street.  They arrive on foot, pushing empty carts.

Parents with babies and young children, grandmothers and grandfathers, patiently waiting for food, diapers, and menstrual pads. The occasional toy.

We ask them to please wait longer, we are still filling bags, loading the tables with bags of food.  Please don’t sit on the curb we tell them because cars are coming through.

Children in line for a bag of food.

A single mother of a disabled child says she is about to lose her apartment and has no money.

A smile stretches wide on a young girl’s face in delight at receiving a toy, but there are no toys for next week.

Where fathers hold up fingers, one through six, to tell us what size diapers they need for their children, because we don’t understand the languages they speak.    

When we choose on Tuesday how much food to put in the bags they receive on Wednesday.

Where no one in line speaks English.

When the people leave their carts to mark their places in line and come to help us unload the food from the truck.

A mother and daughter have driven from Delaware to Philadelphia to deliver menstrual products from their small non-profit and stay to help pass out food.

Each precious one created in Your image, those in need and those who help.  HaShem, may I see that sometimes those in need are passing out the food and those who help are in the line. Hosha na.

HaShem, please give me the spine to stand with our guests, the vision to see the divine spark shining in each one, the words to speak with them, or to find someone who can. Give me the heart of a repairer of the breach. Hosha na.

May Rodeph Shalom be a place of shelter. Hosha na.

May the foundations be rebuilt, may no one experience food insecurity, and may light break forth as the dawn. Hosha na.

—

For information on Breaking Bread on Broad, click here. 

Elisha ben Abuyah is the main character in Milton Steinberg’s famous novel, As a Driven Leaf. Elisha is born in second century Palestine, under Roman rule and Hellenistic influence. His mother dies in childbirth. He is raised by his father who is sympathetic to Greek culture and philosophy, but he dies when Elisha is ten. His uncle now raises him in a traditional Jewish environment. He is brilliant, becomes a rabbi and a member of the Sanhedrin. He increasingly grows disillusioned by strict Orthodox law. He moves to Antioch, leaves his family, adopts the philosophy of stoicism, is expelled from the Jewish community and lives his life searching – a life that ends in despair, loneliness and poverty.

The title of the book, As a Driven Leaf, is taken from the Book of Job, who also spends his life questioning and challenging the wisdom and goodness of a faith that can cause such human suffering. He protests to the god in whom he wants to believe – “Why do you hide your face, and treat me like an enemy? Will you harass a driven leaf?”

Both Job and Elisha ben Abuyah are trying to make sense of a life where they feel helpless in the face of injustice and human suffering over which they have little or no control. When i asked a former student and friend how he and his family were doing, he responded that they were doing fine, but then he observed that is a common response, but that “fine” is not good enough. They needed to have some hope, a vision that life would be better, that they and their young children would know a future where life would not seem so unsafe, where they could feel more secure and unafraid, a future in which they felt in control of their lives.

We may be feeling like a driven leaf in the face of this pandemic. At the same time, the events of the recent past, in which hundreds of thousands of people the world over have marched to bring justice and humanity to our societies, point to a different virus that has plagued our planet. Millions of people have been willing to risk their health and their lives because they know that racial injustice also is an epidemic, and that conquering it is within our control. The disease of COVID-19 descended upon us from life forms below us on the Darwinian scale and we hope will be defeated by the science of medicine. The disease of racism has been endemic in our human life form for centuries and will only be defeated by our moral consciousness. Perhaps this moment has taught us the difference between what we can control and what we cannot. A virus from without is very different from a sickness from within. If we have learned from this pandemic that nature does not distinguish among Black or white, Asian or Arab, young or old, straight or gay, that we all are equally vulnerable and therefore, we understand that we all are equally human, then perhaps hundreds of thousands of   us will not have died in vain.

In this week’s Torah portion, titled Pinchas, from the Book of Numbers, Moses is instructed to go to the top of Mount Abiram, in other sections called Mount Nebo, and look over the land which he will not be allowed to enter.  He will die, not stepping foot onto the promised land with the people he led for forty years, because, according to the text, he disobeyed instructions when giving the Israelites water from a rock.  Moses asks the god whom he worships to appoint a new leader. Rashi, in his commentary on the text, makes the point that Moses understands that the virtues of the righteous are that they disregard their own needs and occupy themselves with the needs of the community.  Moses lobbies for his own son to inherit his position. It is not to be. Rather, it is Joshua. Again, according to Rashi, Joshua’s great strength is that as a leader he will tolerate each person according to his individual character.

Milton Steinberg, the leaders of Black Lives Matter and Civil Rights movements of any name, the authors of this Torah portion— all bring us to this critical moment in our lives and in the life of our country. We are on this earth as visitors, all inheriting a divine image. We are equally vulnerable to natural forces beyond our control, but we are in charge of our own lives and who we are as human beings. The tzadikim, in the words of Rashi, the righteous, will always occupy themselves, not with their own needs, but with the needs of the community and will tolerate each person according to his individual character.  We seek those qualities in ourselves, and we must insist on those qualities in those who will lead us to a better future. 

In his search for meaning, Elisha ben Abuyah sets forth this philosophy:

“A man has happiness if he possesses three things–those whom he loves and who love him in turn, confidence in the worth and continued existence of the group of which he is a part, and last of all, a truth by which he may order his being.”

Those are values we must hold dear through these trying times. We seek to love and be loved. Each one of us is a small part of human life on this planet. Its healthy continued existence must be our primary goal – one nation, one world, with liberty and justice for all. That is the truth by which we must order our being.

The march of science and the march of people says there is hope. There is a future. There will be an end to the flood and the dove will find a resting place, and with our determination and because of our innate goodness, a rainbow will appear in the sky.

Shabbat Shalom

D’var Torah delivered July 10, 2020.

Rabbi Maderer delivered this sermon on June 5, 2020. 

Our congregation mourns the brutal killings of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and countless others whose stories we see in the news and whose stories we do not see in the news, such as Tony McDade.

Tony McDade was a Black transgender man killed in Tallahassee, Florida, on May 27. His death is believed to be the at least 12th violent death of a transgender or gender non-conforming person this year in the U.S.  A toxic mix of transphobia, racism and misogyny put black people, LGBTQ people, and especially LGBTQ people of color at greater risk for violence every day. 

The original Gay Pride—the uprising at the Stonewall Inn police raid, June 28, 1969 in Greenwich Village that launched the gay rights movement—the original Gay Pride, was not a parade. Stonewall was a riot.  And Tony McDade’s story reminds us: Stonewall was led by trans women of color. The most vulnerable; the most powerless. As the Human Rights Campaign stated this week in response to racial injustice, “We understand what it means to… push back against a culture that tells us that our lives don’t matter.”

This Shabbat, as we launch Pride month, and this season as we are shaken out of our of pandemic hibernation perspective to see more clearly the systemic racism that was always present, let us recommit to dismantle white supremacy and all of its parts: homophobia, racism, transphobia, antisemitism and sexism.

Rabbi Freedman and I have been in conversation with colleagues of color, listening, learning, both physically and metaphorically standing with them and taking a knee with them, seeking to more deeply understand how to transform ourselves and our world. 

The destruction and looting in our city bring yet another layer of loss and fear to an already challenging time of pandemic in our lives. I am thinking of all of you in our Rodeph Shalom family, with love, and prayers for safety.  And I want to be careful, that the focus on looting, does not eclipse the focus on the injustices of white supremacy.

To begin with our Rodeph Shalom family, this week, I spoke with one of our congregants who is African American, who gave me permission to share. She expressed her sadness at the destruction, especially for a neighborhood grocery and small businesses — including black-owned businesses– targeted by looters. She shared her pain in witnessing how differently disobedience is treated, depending on race.  When white men armed with guns in Michigan, or white men armed with baseball bats in Fishtown protest, there’s no tear gas. And then she added, Jews have been there too, facing discrimination. And Jews are always there with others, advocating for civil rights.  Stay with us, she said. She believes in her Jewish community’s commitment to stand with her.  And so do I.

This week’s Torah portion, Naso, is the origin of the beloved words of Birkat ha-cohanim/the three-fold priestly benediction:

Yivarechecha Adonai v’yishmerecha/ May God bless you and keep you.

Ya-er Adonai panav elecha vichuneka/ May God’s light shine upon you and be good to you.

Yisa Adonai panav elecha, y’yasem l’cha shalom / May God’s presence be with you, and bring you peace.

Consider with me: what is the meaning of those words?

Line 1: Yivarechecha Adonai v’yishmerecha/ May God bless you and keep you.

What does it mean for God to bless us?  Traditional commentary teaches the word “bless” indicates basic material needs. Each of us should have what we need. Simply put, it is not fair if I have what I need and you do not, for I am no more deserving than you.

In this moment, it is critical that we hear: we do not all have what we need.  In our nation’s history, we never have.  

Most of us identify with groups that are targeted by white supremacy—when my grandfather built his business, he had to physically stay there all night to protect his property from local anti-semitic vandals; some of us identify with groups that benefit from white supremacy—that same grandfather returned from World War II to the GI Bill—a mortgage black men could not access; my grandfather built his business, and his wealth, and I had a college fund, before I learned how to spell my name. Some of us identify with groups that are targeted by white supremacy; some of us identify with groups that on the surface, benefit from white supremacy. Many of us identify with both at the same time. 

But are financial or other gains that rely on white supremacy, really a benefit? If I am entitled to a college fund, in a society originally built on the enslavement of human beings, does that really benefit me? If, as was my experience 19 years ago, I can get job interviews knowing my colleague was rejected because she was queer, does that really benefit me?  Is that the world I wish to inhabit? What does that do to my soul? To our soul? How can we be whole, in our privilege, how can we be whole knowing others are not?

To put King’s words “injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere” into religious, Parashat Naso terms: Only when all of us have access to the blessing, can any of us really be blessed.

Line 2: Ya-er Adonai panav elecha vichuneka/ May God’s light shine upon you and be good to you.

What does it mean for God’s light to shine upon us? Torah commentary suggests God’s light indicates divine purpose.  What is God’s purpose for you, for me?  Our circumstance – our privilege– helps to determine: for what are we responsible?

Privilege. Some of us have white privilege; some male privilege; middle or upper class privilege, ability privilege, or straight privilege. Most of us have privilege in one area but lack it in another.  Privilege is not about guilt, or shame; it’s about responsibility. When sixteen years ago I wedded my beloved, in a time before marriage equality, I was no more deserving of marriage than my queer friends were. That didn’t mean I was guilty, but I was responsible. Understanding privilege is about acknowledging that some groups have unfair, unearned advantages, and I ought to take responsibility to help to repair this world in which some other groups have unfair, unearned disadvantages.

First step: I need to listen to people with less privilege, especially to voices that stretch my thinking. Riots and vandalism are not the kind of activism I support. Still, I need to work to understand. 

Kareem Abdul-Jabbar wrote a challenging piece for the LA Times this week, and I’d like to share passages. 

“The black community is used to the institutional racism inherent in education, the justice system and jobs. And even though we do all the conventional things to raise public and political awareness, the needle hardly budges. I don’t want to see stores looted or even buildings burn. But African Americans have been living in a burning building for many years. What you should see when you see black protesters… is people pushed to the edge, not because they want bars and nail salons open, but because they want to live. To breathe.  So what you see when you see black protesters, depends on whether you’re living in that burning building or watching it on TV.”

In the metaphor, I am watching the burning building on TV.  That’s me.  That privilege – the power it affords me in our society — sheds light on my divine purpose.

Every one of us can consider: what is my privilege, how can I listen to others who do not share my privilege, and what do I have the power to do. Here are two ways to join me this week:

To stand in solidarity with Philadelphia’s multi-faith, multi-race community, join me on a Virtual Call of Lament and Active Hope, this Saturday, 3:00pm, info in the chat and on our website.

To join an RS Anti-Racism Journey Group that will begin with learning and work on ourselves, and that I hope will help to inform our congregational Equity, Inclusion Diversity work, join me this Tuesday, June 9, 6:00pm, info in the chat and on our website.

Each of us can rediscover our divine light—our purpose in dismantling white supremacy.

Line 3: Yisa Adonai panav elecha, y’yasem l’cha shalom / May God’s presence be with you, and bring you peace.

What does it mean for God’s presence to be with us? Our spirituality is a critical part of who we are, as souls and as Jews. We stop and pray, we pause for Shabbat, so that we can re-center ourselves, deepen our understanding of Jewish teachings, ground ourselves in community and intention, and affirm the holiness of humanity in all that we do.

Our society is sick, and that sickness infects us all. White supremacy is the virus that, long before COVID-19, has infected not only the races, genders, religions and sexual orientations that it targets, but it infects all of us who are made to exist in a society, that does not treat all humanity with equal dignity.  Only when we heal, will God’s presence be with us, in all of its wholeness, and all of its holiness. 

Yivarechecha Adonai v’yishmerecha

May we do the work, that all of us, will have access to the blessing.

Ya-er Adonai panav elecha vichuneka

May we discover our divine purpose.

Yisa Adonai panav elecha, y’yasem l’cha shalom

May we see the divine, in the eyes of every human being.

Amen.

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In one of Michael Hauptman’s Yom Kippur speeches, he recalled the story of the building that was made without light fixtures, so that each member of the community would feel compelled to bring their own lamp. Mike, thank you for bringing your contributions—your lamp.

Your gift to our congregation is the way you have led by example, bringing your extraordinary talents—your vision for sacred space, membership, connection groups, and financial sustainability.

Your gift to our leadership is the once-in-a-generation change through which you thoughtfully led our governance. You shaped a structure that has transformed our lay leadership, and most recently, has allowed them to act nimbly in the unprecedented challenges we face.

Your gift to me is the sacred partnership we share. Built on extraordinary time, intention, and trust, not to mention good humor, I cherish our relationship. Mazel tov on your three years of distinguished service as president of Congregation Rodeph Shalom.

Our congregation is blessed to welcome our next president, Hank Bernstein. Hank—I treasure your wisdom and our relationship. We have been studying Torah together for a many years, and I look forward to bringing that Torah into our new partnership.

Your message from your Bar Mitzvah Torah portion, Beshalach, feels as though it is meant just for us, just for this day.

For when the Israelites feel lost as they face the wilderness, and they cry out with worry, Moses says to the people—he says to us all—push through your fear, and witness the deliverance the Eternal will work for you today. Go forward!

Along with the world, our congregation faces loss, fear, and uncertainty. The message of Torah calls out to us as we today go forward. Our congregation’s path forward is unmarked; our health, our finances, and our capacity to create profound connections in this season of pandemic, uncertain.

Even still, our vision—immersed in Jewish time, guided by enduring values, compelled to moral action, we create profound connections—our vision, and our responsibility to the future of the Jewish people, remains steadfast.

On our congregation’s path forward, we are immersed in Jewish time. How powerful it has been to join together virtually for Shabbat and Pesach, soon Shavuot, even for weddings, funerals, and starting this Shabbat, B’nai Mitzvah.

Looking forward to the High Holy Days, it is not likely that we will be able to gather in person, and this is a great loss. The insights of our High Holy Days workgroup, a new partnership of the board of directors and clergy, have deepened our understanding about what is most sacred about our High Holy Days for our congregants, and will serve as a foundation for the adaptation we create.* I have faith that, in the creative adaption demanded, Jewish time will continue to bring us together in ways that transcend distance.

On our congregation’s path forward, we are guided by enduring values, from virtual Torah study to Days of Learning. Our Director of Youth Education, Jennifer James, brilliantly re-trained her faculty and transformed the entire Berkman Mercaz Limud to Zoom. And she established methodology for all of our congregational online adaptations—that is: Connection, Continuity, Content.

Enduring values remain the foundation for consideration to phase-in future in-person experiences. Our values demand that, even through the heartbreak of distance, we lift up our highest mitzvah; pekuach nefesh/preservation of life. Committed to protecting ourselves, our community, and our world, our benchmarking workgroup, a partnership of the board of directors and senior staff, is our thought leader for scenario-planning for all different aspects of congregational life.

On our congregation’s path forward, we are compelled to moral action. Through tzedakah, our moral work has already been sustained. Rabbi Freedman is leading the path towards deeper justice work with adapted versions of Breaking Bread on Broad, and Get Out the Vote civic engagement.

On our congregation’s path forward, we create profound connections. Connections groups have gone virtual and tech angels have helped members participate. Cantor Frankel partnered with Fran Martin to create a weekly check-in with clergy. I’ve spoken to so many of you in these past months, and more importantly, so many of you have spoken with each other as we have discovered new paths for connection.

As it turns out, discovering new paths is an approach for this entire pandemic. Our leveraging disruption workgroup, a partnership of the Board of Directors and senior staff, is ensuring that we not only manage crisis, we also move on a path into the future that is vision-driven, risk-facing, and clear that there is no going backwards, only forward.

The wilderness is hard. And so, it is all the more important that we get to travel this path forward, together. I am grateful for my co-clergy, senior staff, and rabbis emeriti, and for Jeff Katz’s enormously heavy lift in planning scenarios that will sustain us. I am uplifted by the tremendous work of our entire professional staff, who has reinvented with care and with pride. I am inspired by the devotion of our congregants, reaching out to each other with compassion and supporting this congregation in every way possible, even during extraordinarily difficult times. And I am grateful for the dedication of our lay-leaders and their partnership in establishing a financial path forward rooted in our vision. Board of Directors: I have faith in our partnership with one another, and with God, for our next steps on this path forward.

*As we create an adapted High Holy Day experience for the likelihood that we will not be in person, it is so helpful for the clergy to have a deep understanding of your spiritual needs. To share the perspectives, messages, and experiences that make the High Holy Days feel sacred, please contact us at Clergyoffice@rodephshalom.org.

(Annual Meeting remarks delivered May 27, 2020, adapted)

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