By Carl W. Schneider*

God’s first words to Abram (whose name had not yet changed to Abraham) in their initial communication were “Go forth…to a land that I will show you. I will make of you a great nation.”  (Gen 12:1-3)  God never identified himself as a deity, as He did in other important messages (Gen. 17:1, Ex. 3:6)  At the time Abram was 75 and childless.  According to the record, Abram did not ask the obvious questions such as:  Who am I listening to – you have not identified yourself? How can a childless couple consisting of a 75 year old man with an elderly barren wife create a family of many offspring?  In fact the record indicates that Abram did not utter a single word in the entire encounter.  Without any due diligence and without any further communication with God, Abram simply followed the instruction and went forth with his family heading for the Promised Land.  (Gen. 12-4)  Here is my alternative narrative.                

Abram said to God.  I am overwhelmingly grateful at your generous and unexpected offer. I am thrilled at the prospect You and my family will enter a covenantal relationship.  Please indulge me if I request some clarification.

My counsel taught me that if an offer seems too good to be true, it probably is too good to be true. As I understood your proposal, all I must do is go forth to the place you designate to receive land, progeny and all of the other wonderful benefits you described.  As presented, there are no strings attached.  You have not stated any material expectations for performance on my part, beyond going forth to claim the prizes.  Tell me what consequences are likely to follow.  Will anything be expected of me or my descendants —  any quid pro quo — if I relocate in the Promised Land?

After a moment of hesitation, God replied.  Well, I mention that your descendants will be subjected to 400 years of hard slavery in Egypt.  But rest assured that I will use a series of miracles to deliver them from the yoke of slavery at the end of that period, and they will leave with great wealth.  (Gen. 15:14)

In lieu of the yoke of slavery, your descendants will accept the yoke of Torah.  They will receive a set of 613 rules to follow.  The rules will cover how they run their business and farms, employee relations, the food they eat, the clothes they wear, what they do when rising in the morning, retiring at night, or leaving their homes.  The rules specify fast and feast days as well as other holidays to observe during the year.  In fact most of life’s activities are covered by the rules.  Some of the rules control what they must do, others what they may not do.  The reasons for some rules will be obvious.  Others may seem totally arbitrary, with no apparent rationale.

Many of the rules will require ritualized burning of items such as animals, birds, grain or oil.  Some items are to be incinerated to smoke and some are simply well grilled.  A particular branch of your family will be designated to perform these rituals, and they will be entitled to eat some of the choicer items that are to be burned, such as grilled meats.

All rules must be followed.  I am slow to anger.  But I will become seriously vexed if I detect significant violations by leaders or widespread violation by the masses.  The offenders will be subject to chastisements of My choosing.  For example, if I specify the fire pan design for the burning rituals, and an official uses alien fire, he might be consumed by flames on the spot.  (Lev. 10:1-2)  If a group becomes rebellious, the earth may swallow them up.  (Num. 16:31-34)  If a legitimate leader is challenged inappropriately, the challenger may suffer a debilitating skin rash.  (Num. 12:10)  It is my policy to impose punishments not only on wrongdoers but also to the fourth generation of their families.  (Ex. 20:5).

There may be some controversy within your descendants about how the rules are followed.  Early on, many in your family will get involved with a golden calf.  The details are unimportant.  Suffice it to say, 3,000 from the calf party will be slaughtered by the group that knows how to do the right thing. (Ex. 32:28).

You should know that on the way from slavery to the Promised Land, one generation will be forced to wander for 40 years, and eventually die, in the dessert.  They will face food insecurity and other hardships.  The people will complain endlessly about their leadership and their harsh conditions while on the move.

When you get to the Promised Land, you will find it occupied by several other nations.  Ten of your 12 scouts will tell you that the natives look like giants and your tribe will look like grasshoppers in their eyes.  Their cities will be well fortified.  (Num. 13:31-33)  But have confidence.  I will once again use my superior powers to deliver you a victory. You will conquer the Promised Land and occupy it with My help.

Although we are making the covenant now, when you area 75, you will be 100 when I announce Sarah’s forthcoming initial pregnancy.  (Gen. 17:1, 18:10)

I will expect you to change your name from Abram to Abraham and your wife will change hers from Sarai to Sarah.  (Gen. 17:5, 17:15)

You and Sarah will have a son, but it will not occur 25 more years, when you are 100.  (Gen. 17:1-2, 21:5).

As a mark of our covenant, you and all your male descendants will have to be circumcised.  (Gen. 17:10-14)  Abram replied, etymologically I know that the word means to “cut around,” but I am not familiar with this ritual.  What is to be cut around?  God explained.

Abram said to God, you have given me much to ponder.  I will consult my counsel and give you my response tomorrow.

Abram rose early the next morning and called out to God, saying here I am.  Reluctantly I must decline Your gracious offer.  But I remain very anxious to enter into a covenant with You.  Permit me to share my concerns.

My family is well established here in Haran.  We have adequate land for our farms and for grazing our herds and flocks.  My elderly father has a high end idol shop in Haran, Terah & Son, which will some day be mine if I remain here.  I have promised my father that I would run the shop as long as he lives and I would I not feel right in leaving Haran at this time. I love the idea of having children of my own, but I already have a nephew, Lot, who is now like a son to me.

Submitting my descendants to 400 year of slavery is a non-starter.  It is something I could not consider.

Frankly, I am very troubled that the Promised Land is currently occupied by other nations and we must take possession of the land by conquest.  I anticipate that those nations will want to retake what was once their ancestral homelands and we will be subjected to an endless series of wars.  Even if You can assure us victory with Your superior powers (after all, who is like You among all the other gods. Ex. 15:11)), , we would not want to live under a perpetual threat of attack if not actual warfare.  No matter how often we win, if we lose one war we can be expelled from the Promised Land or pushed into the sea .

(Although Abraham did not say so, he felt there was a bait and switch element from the land offer in the initial conversation.  He expected the desert wandering to lead to a vacant territory his descendants could simply enter peaceably and claim as their own.  In fact it would lead to the border of a area settled by others which would have to be occupied by force of arms.) 

Besides, moving is a complicated and expensive proposition.  I noticed that Your proposal that I go forth did not include any reimbursement for moving and relocation expenses.  If our final arrangement does involve my relocation, I will expect such reimbursement.

In summary, Your proposal is very tempting, but Sarai and I are very well and comfortably established here in Haran.  We feel that we cannot accept Your proposed covenant in exactly the terms offered.  Permit me, with respect, to suggest a few changes and I believe we could then enter a covenant on mutually agreeable terms.

First, drop the relocation provision, which will also eliminate the need for a generation doomed to dessert wandering.  I agree that our descendants will need more land as our family grows.  The area around Haran is thinly populated.  Secure additional space for us that will be needed for our growing tribe within 300 miles of Haran.  The precise number of square miles can be determined in further discussion.

Second, the slavery condition is out of the question under any circumstances.  In passing I note that the value of the labor pool represented by the slaves for 400 years is far out of proportion to the benefits we would receive from the covenant.

Here is my alternative suggestion on the point of a labor pool.  For five generations, each male in our tribe will agree to five years of indentured servitude starting at age 13.  They will work on building fixed or portable tabernacles or temples, as well as other infrastructure projects for the good of the community that You designate.  All labor-related provisions of the 613 rules will apply to the indentured servants.

Third, I suggest two changes in your punishment policy.  I feel it is unfair for anyone to be punished for wrongdoing of an ancestor.  Only wrongdoers should be punished, but not their children or later generations of their families.  Also, when you design punishments, we would like assurance that you access Your attribute of mercy as well as Your attribute of justice.

Fourth, I am feeling very queasy about circumcision, especially in my age. Adult circumcision can cause serious disability. (Gen. 24:38).   Let us substitute a distinctive tattoo on the thigh, say a six pointed star, instead of cutting.

Fifth, I don’t make us wait until I am 100 to have our first child.  Sarah will be post menopausal by then and who knows about our fertility.  (Gen. 18:11)  Arrange for us to have our son here in Haran as soon as practical.

One other point I consider non-substantive but important.  I are very pleased that my descendants will be Your Chosen People, Your personal possession, a kingdom of priests, a blessing to the world and a light to the nations.  However, I fear that if these special relationships become widely known, they will cause hostility, jealousy and resentment among our neighbors.  Our special positions may cause us more detriments than benefits, by subjecting us to prejudice, discrimination and possibly even expulsion.  Therefore, I suggest that any information regarding our special status or relationship be kept strictly confidential between You and my family elders and not made known to any third parties.  On my side, our special status will be disclosed only to senior leaders on a need-to-know basis.

God, if You will agree to these changes, I, on behalf of myself, Sarai and all of our descendants, will accept You as our one and only God and you shall be our One.   Our covenantal relationship will be in accordance with the terms You stated, subject to these changes.

God said to Abram, I knew you were smart, cautious and well represented by counsel.  Indeed, that is one of the reasons I selected you for the proposed covenant.  I am not surprised that you have made a counterproposal, but I am frankly surprised by the scope of the modifications you suggest.  My answer is …

Epilogue

After several rounds of counterproposals from each side and some tense negotiation, the God and Abraham agreed as follows:  The Promised Land would remain in Canaan.  Abraham would relocate at his own expense.  The period of slavery was reduced to 20 years with the possibility of reduced time for good behavior.  The tribe would be permitted to travel through the dessert at whatever pace it set for itself.  It was estimated that the trip to the Promised Land would take six to 12 months.  God agreed to punish only wrongdoers, but not their offspring.  God rejected Abram’s proposal that Sarah become pregnant as soon as possible.  Both parties agreed it was not be ideal to travel while Sarah was pregnant or when the family included a newborn.  So, it was agreed that Abraham and Sarah’s son would be born as soon practical after their arrival at the Promised Land.  All the other terms proposed by God were agreed upon.

Because the covenant was to last in perpetuity, God agreed with Abraham’s suggestion that it be reduced writing.  As adopted, it confirmed God’s authority to adopt statutes, ordinances, rules and regulations, without limitation as to subject matter.  However, God agreed to publish proposals and allow 60 days for public comments,  which He would consider, before adopting any definitive versions.

Lot agreed to take over the management of Terah’s idol shop, which was very satisfactory to Terah.  Terah felt that Abram had tried his best but was not an effective salesman, probably because Abram was never convinced that idols could really accomplish anything.

Abraham’s counsel breathed a sigh of relief when the final covenant was concluded.  He realized in hindsight that there was a very delicate balance between negotiating the best possible deal and being overly aggressive to the point where no agreement can be reached.  Abraham had no bargaining leverage. By requesting multiple changes, he had gambled that God would not simply select another available candidate for His favors.  At times it seemed likely that negotiations would fall apart, and that Abraham would miss what would turn out to be a very favorable arrangement.

The covenant itself changed with time.  Before Jacob would accept God as a deity, Jacob insisted on several significant conditions that God would have to fulfill first. (Gen. 28:20-22)  By the time of Sinai, the momentum reversed.  God imposed a whole Torah full of commandments on the Abraham’s descendants that were never mentioned to Abraham before he left Haran.

Author’s Note

The formal record of the covenant raises another question worth considering: Why did God select Abraham as His covenant partner in the first place?  With the goal of starting a large tribe, it was odd for God to pick an elderly childless couple with the spouses questioning their own fertility.  (Gen. 18:10-11)  Why not start with a younger couple that had already borne children and proven their fertility?

It is easy to surmise why God picked some key figures.  The record tells us that Noah was selected to save humankind the and the animals from the Flood because he was a righteous man, blameless in a lawless age.  (Gen. 6:9)  When God picked Moses to lead the Exodus, He selected the only Hebrew in all of Egypt who was raised as a family member of the royal court.  He was familiar with its ways.  Who was better suited to negotiate with Pharaoh?

What does the record tell us about Abraham?  He was simply a generic upper middle class rancher and businessman.  He was successful but not a self-made man.  Rather, he was born into a wealthy and prominent family.  Abraham was fairly worldly and could act as a mensch.  He knew the conventions in buying property, a burial cave, from a neighbor.  It was inappropriate to accept a purported gift of the property when everyone knew he was expected to decline the gift and pay full price.  (Gen. 23:10-16)  He knew the hospitality one was expected to extend to strangers in the dessert.  (Gen. 18:2-8)  When it became necessary to part from Lot, Abraham gave his nephew the first choice of locations.  (Gen. 13:9-12)  He would stand up to God and plead for justice in the case of Sodom and Gomorrah (Gen. 18:23-32), although not when God demanded the sacrifice of Isaac. (Gen 22)

But Abraham could also act in a shameful and caddish way.  For his own safety, he twice passed off his beautiful wife Sarah as his sister, and he caused her to participate in the deception.  He resorted to this reprehensible scheme to fool local leaders, who might have killed her perceived husband in order that that they could consort with Sarah.  However, these leaders would not feel the need to harm her perceived brother in order to consort with her.  (Gen. 12:10-16, 20:1-16)  What a trauma to inflict on Sarah!

I find little in the record suggesting that he had any special qualifications to be God’s covenant partner.  In passing, we are told that God selected Abraham to pass the law on to his children (Gen. 18:19), but there is no indication that he had any special talent as an instructor.  Like most of the patriarchal family, he was an imperfect person with character flaws.  Indeed, God may have picked Abraham not because he was especially qualified but precisely because he was so typical — an everyman if you will.

If Abraham had over-negotiated the covenant and caused the discussions to abort, no doubt God could have found many other covenant candidates, even in the small town of Haran, whose credentials were equal, if not superior, to Abraham’s.   In hindsight, it was probably quite prudent of Abraham to accept God’s terms, no questions asked.

*  Mr. Schneider, a retired Philadelphia lawyer, is a member of Philadelphia’s Congregation Rodeph Shalom, and participates regularly in Torah Study led by the Congregation’s renowned Clergy.

Rabbi Jill Maderer wrote this article for the December Bulletin.

I can picture, as a young child, sitting at my family’s Shabbat table on an evening when our Rabbi was there as our guest. I remember he and my parents were engaged in a conversation about the importance of the Reform Movement. Rabbi Kroloff spoke about the Movement’s thought leadership and resources such as the youth movement and summer camps. He spoke about the social justice voice of about 1,000 North American congregations and the network of leaders who support each other. He spoke about responsibility to the whole— to think not only of our own Jewish lives and synagogues but about the Jewish people. And most of all, Rabbi Kroloff spoke about how powerful it is to be a part of something greater than ourselves.

The Reform Movement shaped me— summer programs such as Mitzvah Corps, National Federation of Temple Youth (NFTY) in Israel, and Camp Kutz; youth groups, NFTY, and the Religious Action Center conferences; Reform Judaism on campus, Hebrew Union College, the new Reform prayer books, and social justice leadership; voices throughout the movement who teach me Torah, Mussar, Jewish values— all have taught me how to bring progressive Jewish values to the most complex questions of our time.

Today, still, I am moved by these experiences of Reform Judaism. My theology and my approach to Jewish community is grounded in the same idea: we are a part of something greater than ourselves. For me, this is the power of the Union for Reform Judaism (URJ) Biennial conference of 5,000 leaders. It is helpful to network with congregational

leaders all over the continent, and most of all, it is inspiring to learn and celebrate with people who do what we do— who build intentional, visionary congregational communities.

The URJ Biennial takes place this month and I am grateful to have been invited to co-lead (with a cantor from another congregation, Central Synagogue) the Friday evening Shabbat service. I will be at Biennial with (as of the time I write this) 22 of our Rodeph Shalom leaders who will be in attendance! If you won’t be there at the conference, you can access the service livestream at urjbiennial.org.

For the majority of our congregation, who of course can’t be there in Chicago at the Biennial in person, I’d like to take you in spirit! Please view this video and then, in order to help me prepare, email me or comment on the Facebook post with your responses to the questions posed:

1) What gives you strength?

2) How do we uncover the songs that are hidden in our lives?

3) What helps you feel a sense of liberation?

Rabbi Jill Maderer wrote this article for the November RS Bulletin.

I recently had the joy of co-leading a discussion in our 6th grade, along with Rabbi Freedman, during Berkman Mercaz Limud. Our topic was theology and the students raised a common question: is God good? I was struck by the nuance of the conversation that followed. The students opined that God could not be good because what’s good to one person or side, is not good to the next person or side. Inherent in their understanding of God’s role in our lives was the notion that our lives are different. Our perspectives are different.

I left that conversation with faith that the world will be a better place because these kids are in it and that they have much to teach us all.

I believe the framework of much of the conversation about Israel is hindered by an imposed need to take sides and to see only one perspective. As if one side is right, the other wrong. Is there a place where we can see the truth in more than one side? I don’t mean to say we should be centrist, although that is one legitimate approach to thinking. I mean can we feel strongly, passionately, about truths that exist in more than one camp?

I feel strongly, passionately about Israel as the homeland of the Jewish people, its spiritual center, its historical center, and its center as a modern expression of Jewish life. I believe Israel’s existence and security are critical to the survival of the Jewish people. I feel proud of Israel’s accomplishments in technology, agriculture, medicine, and bridge-building for people from all religions and backgrounds. And I feel proud of Israel’s exceptional approach to medical ethics as the nation that medically treats its enemy and travels to areas of the globe in crisis to provide relief. As a Jew, Israel is my people, my place, my roots.

I feel strongly, passionately, about the dignity, opportunity, education, and needs of the Palestinian people and other Arab neighbors. I believe a Two-State solution, that is, two states for two peoples, is the way to ensure self-determination for both nations. I oppose the Occupied Territories and long to see Israeli and Palestinian leadership find a way to end the occupation and ensure security and statehood for both. Our Jewish values mandate that a civilization centered in Judaism must also care for others.

Much of our public rhetoric hardly allows for both camps to be rooted in truth. But really, I only trust a voice about the Middle East if that person can speak of the anti-Semitism of the Holocaust AND the alienation of the Palestinians. I only trust a teacher if that person can recognize that Israel is called out by the United Nations for human rights violations in a way that is disproportionate to any other nation that is reprimanded AND the unjust life of the Palestinian who lives in poverty and insecurity. I only trust a thinker who understands that BDS is not about the methodology of Boycott, Divestment, Sanctions as it does not protest a policy of Israel; it protests the existence of Israel AND who understands that Israel’s technological advances mean little if it remains an occupier.

There is truth in both camps. And there are a few places I am finding the education I can trust that brings me the complex, multi-voiced truths. My teacher, Rabbi Eric Yoffie, former president of the Union for Reform Judaism, is my trusted teacher. Deeply committed both to Israel and to justice, he does not sacrifice the message of one side for the argument of the other; his position is whole. For me, this is Reform Zionism.

Our congregation is privileged to be welcoming Rabbi Yoffie as our Scholar-in-Residence on November 15-17, sponsored by the Joseph W. Rosenbluth Fund. With us, Rabbi Yoffie will explore commitment, political struggle, and challenging questions about our loyalties, our relationship, the Jewish people, and Jewish values.

Rabbi Eli Freedman delivered this sermon during the Yom Kippur morning services.

According to the Torah, who were the first Jews? I heard some Adam and Eves, I heard some Abraham and Sarahs, I think I heard someone say “my grandmother!” The correct answer is Abraham and Sarah, but it is a common misnomer to think that Adam and Eve were actually the first Jews. They are the first people, but it is not until twelve chapters into Genesis that we are introduced to Abraham and Sarah, the patriarch and matriarch of Judaism. If the Torah is the story of the Jewish people, why not start with Abraham and Sarah?

The authors and editors of the Torah were making an important point by telling a series of pre-stories before our progenitors arrive on the scene. The first four stories in the Torah all end poorly. Adam and Eve get expelled from the Garden, Cain kills his brother Abel, God destroys the entire world with a flood, and, in the Tower of Babel, God confounds our languages and scatters us across the world.

So why begin the Torah with so many negative stories of failure? In his book, A Lifetime of Genesis: An Exploration of and Personal Journey Through the Covenant of Abraham in Genesis, my teacher and Rodeph Shalom confirmand, Rabbi Henry Zoob, argues that the unifying theme of Genesis (and much of the Torah) is the Covenant of Abraham and Sarah. And for that precise reason, the editors of the Torah made a point to include stories of the pre-Covenant world.

According to Rabbi Zoob, these first four stories of Genesis teach us that the pre-Abraham and Sarah world could not function properly because it was missing the covenantal relationship between God and people. Although God spoke to Adam and Eve, and even walked with Noah, the world was not complete because it lacked brit – covenant.

The Hebrew word brit refers to something that binds, a contract, a pact that brings two parties together. We are most familiar with this word in the context of brit milah or bris, when we welcome a male child into the covenant using the ritual of circumcision. Of course for female children, we also welcome them into the exact same covenant using the same prayers. We are welcoming these children into the same covenant that was made with Abraham and Sarah in Genesis 12, when God commanded: “Go forth from your native land and from your ancestral house to the land that I will show you. I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you. I will make your name great, and you will be a blessing.”

It’s a pretty basic covenant; Abraham and Sarah are asked to do two things – leave their native land for Israel and to be a blessing. In return, they will be blessed and prosperous.

So why is the world so much better with this covenant than without? This is best illustrated with the story of Sodom and Gomorrah; the first test of the covenant. We read in Genesis 18:17-19: “Now Adonai had said, “Shall I hide from Abraham what I am about to do, since Abraham is to become a great and populous nation and all the nations of the earth are to bless themselves by him? For I have singled him out, that he may instruct his children and his posterity to keep the way of Adonai by doing what is just and right (tzedek u’mishpat)…” God tells Abraham about the impending destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. And what does Abraham do? He stands up to God and says, “Not cool, God. You can’t just sweep the innocent away with the guilty.” Abraham then proceeds to bargain with God; asking God to spare the city if there are fifty, or forty-five, or forty… all the way down to two innocent people.

Now, compare this with Noah. God tells Noah the entire world is going to be destroyed by a flood. Does Noah put up a fight? Argue with God? Say, “Whoa God, you can’t just destroy the whole world?” No, Noah blindly follows God’s instructions, accepting his fate. Noah is not in true relationship with God.

In a pre-covenant world, God runs the show and humankind is simply along for the ride without any responsibility or obligation. Being in covenant with God and our world requires that we, like Abraham and Sarah, are a blessing. To be a blessing is to stand up for what is tzedek u’mishpat, just and right.

The covenant of Abraham and Sarah was then renewed by Moses and the Israelites in the desert. We read from Parashat Nitzavim (Deuteronomy 29:9-14) this morning: “You stand this day, all of you, before Adonai your God…to enter into the covenant of Adonai your God… I make this covenant…not with you alone; but…[also] with those who are not with us here this day.”

We are all a part of the covenant. Those who were there that day with Moses and those who weren’t — traditionally understood to mean the future generations, all of us.

We stand this day, all of us, before Adonai our God, to take our place in the covenant. To be a blessing. This covenantal relationship is what drives me to work for justice in this world. This is why I chose the words on my tallit, from Rabbi Tarfon — “Lo aleicha… It is not up to you to complete the work, but neither are you free to desist from it.” We are partners with God in the creation of our world. To uphold our end of the covenant, we are not free to desist from the work. Rabbi Tarfon’s words also remind us that we do not have to do this work alone. No single person is responsible for fulfilling our human part of the covenant; each of us, doing our small part, together, fulfills our end of the deal.

On Tuesday, September 17, I received an email from a partner organization of ours, The New Sanctuary Movement: “We need your help. The nephew of one of our staff members has been detained for the last six months. He was issued a bond and has until Friday, September 20 to raise the money or else he will remain in detention for six more months before given another chance to apply for a bond. This individual identifies as LBGTQIA. As such, this individual is significantly more vulnerable to abuse, violence, and isolation within an environment already rife with human rights violations. NSM has already secured a sponsor in Philadelphia for this individual. His family here is ready to receive him with love and support. All that we need now is your help.”

I wasn’t sure if there was anything we could do, but I figured I could at least forward the message along to the chairs of our LGBTQIA Justice Task Force. Within minutes, I heard back from our lay leaders that wheels were in motion.

Over the next 24 hours, congregants sent emails and made phone calls to friends, other synagogues, and interfaith partners. The former leadership of Beth Ahavah, the LBGTQIA synagogue that merged with Rodeph Shalom, held an emergency meeting to allocate money from their Heritage Fund as part of our efforts. By Wednesday night, we had raised the money.

Our administrative staff then stepped up to expedite the check request. One of our lay-leaders then made a special trip to the synagogue to sign the check. And another RS member came to pick up the check up and deliver it personally. This was truly a congregational effort. It is not up to any single one of us to do the work, together we did not desist from fulfilling our part of the covenant.

Relationships are core to this work. One model for viewing our covenantal relationship is through the lense of marriage. Rabbi Rachel Adler, a professor at Hebrew Union College, writes about the idea of marriage to illustrate her overarching approach to covenant within Judaism.

Adler takes issue with the “traditional,” Orthodox, ketubah; specifically that a woman is acquired by her husband. Besides the obvious misogyny and heteronormativity, this text is problematic for Adler because it fails to express the “reciprocity and mutuality that characterize the bonds between two people who wish to sanctify their devotion to one another as permanent partners.”

Adler therefore turns to the notion of covenant, an ideal which provides a more fitting metaphor for the love that exists between two people. Drawing upon diverse examples of covenantal commitment and care found throughout our tradition, Adler composed a document she entitled a Brit Ahuvim, a Lovers’ Covenant, that could be used by any two people in a commitment ceremony.

For Adler, the “acquisition” approach to marriage is akin to the pre-covenant world; an unbalanced relationship with one partner calling all the shots. By contrast, Adler’s Brit Ahuvim, to quote from its own text, is: “…a holy covenant like the ancient covenants of our people, made in faithfulness and peace to stand forever. It is a covenant of distinction, like the covenant God made with Israel, saying, ‘You shall be My people, and I shall be your God’ (Jer. 30:22). It is a covenant of mutual lovingkindness like the wedding covenant between God and Zion.”

Guided by the principles of Adler’s Brit Ahuvim, our congregation is ready to take a new look at what it means to be in relationship with God and our world. The Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism, our movement’s social justice arm, recently introduced the Brit Olam, our covenant to create a world in which all people experience wholeness, justice, and compassion.

After months of listening to the concerns and stories of members of Reform communities throughout North America, Brit Olam, our covenant with the world, is an effort to support congregations working together, learning from one another, and effecting change on the local, state, and federal levels. Over 220 congregations have already signed on — imagine what we can accomplish together.

Let me give you an example from New York State where they piloted this model. Congregants in New York City were increasingly frustrated with their lack of influence in Albany. Specifically, they were working on passing legislation to more easily provide emergency contraception in hospitals and pharmacies, but kept coming up against roadblocks from legislators in upstate New York. Under the banner of Brit Olam, Reform congregations in Rochester, Buffalo, Syracuse, and across New York State successfully lobbied their elected representatives to support reproductive rights legislation that is in line with our Reform Jewish values.

This is just one of many examples of how congregations are fulfilling their part of the covenant. God called our ancestors to be a blessing, to stand up for what is just and right. To challenge the status quo. This is what is means to be in covenantal relationship with God and our world.

We stand up and fulfill our part of the covenant when we feed and educate neighborhood kids every summer at our Breaking Bread on Broad program, doing our part to alleviate hunger and raise up the next generation.

We stand up and fulfill our part of the covenant when we meet with city representative as part of the national “Do Not Stand Idly By” Campaign to reduce gun violence.

We stand up and fulfill our part of the covenant when we initiate an environmental task force to look at our own congregation’s consumption and use of disposables.

And we will stand up and fulfill our part of the covenant on Tuesday, December 17 when we welcome Rabbi Andrea L.Weiss and Lisa Weinberger, along with a multi-faith panel to speak about their book, American Values, Religious Voices. The book is a collection of letters from a wide range of scholars and religious leaders that were sent to the president, his administration, and congress during their first hundred days in office. In the introduction to the book, Rabbi Weiss writes: “Individually, it is hard to feel that one can have an impact on events unfolding around us. Collectively, we have the potential to speak truthfully and powerfully to those making critical decisions about our nation’s future.” Rabbi Weiss reminds us again, when we stand together, we fulfill our part of the covenant.

Following the panel, we will officially enter into the Brit Olam. In the spirit of Rabbi Adler’s Brit Ahuvim, we will have a ceremonial signing. Together as a congregation, we will sign our ketubah, our Brit Olam, and hang this beautiful document in our building as a constant reminder of our commitments.

As it says in our Torah portion this morning, “Atem nitzavim, all of you stand here today…” We stand together today to enter as a congregation into a new covenantal relationship, a Brit Olam, with other Jewish communities, with our world, and with God. It is incumbent upon us to take the lead in our relationship with this world because if we do not, no one else will. As it says in the midrash (Ecclesiasties Rabbah 7:13): “When God created the first human beings, God led them around the Garden of Eden and said: “Look at My works! See how beautiful they are—how excellent! For your sake, I created them all. See to it that you do not spoil and destroy My world; for if you do, there will be no one else to repair it.”

May we stand up and take our place in the covenant and help repair our world, together. Ken y’hi ratzon, May this be God’s will. Amen.

Delivered by Rabbi Jill Maderer, Kol Nidre 5780

Simon Wiesenthal, the Holocaust survivor and Nazi hunter, would tell this story. Shortly after Wiesenthal is liberated, a man asks if he can borrow $10.  Week after week, the man comes to say he cannot pay it back. Excuse after excuse. Weeks turn into months, and finally the man comes to Wiesenthal to say “Here’s the $10, my visa came through, I am going to Canada.”  Wiesenthal looks at the man and says “Nevermind.  Keep the money.  For $10, it’s not worth changing my opinion of you.”

A grudge can feel so good.  One commentator jokes “revenge is sweeter than honey” (Rabbi Moshe Cham Luzzato).  The entitlement, the righteous indignation– that power can serve, as a source of confidence.

And yet, according to the prophet Jeremiah, God proclaims “I will not look upon you in anger, for I am compassionate; I do not bear a grudge for all time.”  Striving to emulate God, tomorrow afternoon we will read from the Torah in the Holiness Code: Do not bear a grudge.

This Yom Kippur, what would it mean to heed the message of Leviticus– to release a grudge? Would you even want to relinquish that power?

Israeli-American Jewish filmmaker Hanan Harchol, imagines this very conversation with his own father.  In a story called “Landlord,” Hanan tells his father he just got a text from his friend David.  He and David had not spoken in two years.

Hanan says to his dad, “Remember that animation job I applied to when I moved to New York?”

“The one you did not get?  That was years ago! Who cares about that now?”

“After I got the rejection letter, I found out that David got the position.”

“So?” his father asks.

“He didn’t know about the position until I told him about it.  I had asked him to be one of my references.  Somehow his reference letter ended up getting lost in the mail.  And he applied for the job, himself.”

His father gasps at the betrayal: “Unbelievable!  What a shmendrick!”

“Every time I think about it, I get angry.  So, what do you think I should do?”

“Forgive him.”

“Why are you defending what he did?”

“I would never defend what David did.  It was terrible!  But I’m not talking about what he did.  I’m talking about what you can do.”

“Why would I ever want to forgive him… I’ll lose all self-respect.”

“I just hope he’s paying his rent.”

“Paying me?? He stole from me. What are you talking about??”

“He’s living inside your head.  He’s obviously taking up a lot of room. I mean, when did this happen?  Two years ago?  And you’re still talking about him? ”

“Living in my head.  Rent free.  I never thought about it that way.”

“Listen, Hanan, when someone does something that hurts us, it’s natural to get angry.  I got angry when I heard about it too.  But how long you hang on to the anger, that’s your choice.”

“But if I forgive, he gets away with it.  I want revenge.  I want him to suffer.  I want justice”

“But how does that help you?  Does it improve your life?  We have a finite amount of time. You can choose if the person you want to be in this world, is one who resents, or one who forgives.”

“It’s really hard to be forgiving.”

(excerpts from https://www.hananharchol.com/watch-landlord)

I agree with Hanan: It’s really hard to be forgiving.  And as if it weren’t hard enough we often distort the meaning of forgiveness, making it even harder. Hanan Harchol’s story, “Landlord,” chips away at three misconceptions and offers Jewish corrections: first misconception- forgiveness requires justice; second misconception- forgiveness indicates condoning and reconciliation; and third misconception- there’s always tomorrow.

When it comes to a grudge, is the wrongdoer’s suffering really “sweeter than honey?”  It’s an understandable inclination, to yearn for justice.  Yet, our tradition proposes a challenging principle about forgiveness: this is the one time, justice does not matter.

In a surprising teaching, the Talmud imagines that when God sees us repent for our wrongs, it makes God want to repent.  It’s a beautiful notion, but why does God need to apologize? God feels remorse for creating evil—so our problems started with God.  But wait a minute, Torah scholar Dena Weiss argues, then shouldn’t the process be the other way around?  If, in this metaphor, God permitted us to travel the wrong path in the first place, shouldn’t God be the one to step up and apologize first!?  Yes, Weiss teaches, that would be more fair.  But fairness is not the point.  When we enter a “but she did it first” mindset, we become stuck. If we cannot move beyond justice, we cannot move towards letting go.  Jewish wisdom is clear: the expectation of fairness is a misconception—an obstacle that can hold us back.  And forgiveness is already hard enough.

Perhaps not for all of us, but for most, at least somewhere under the surface, lies resentment — the shmendrick living in our head, rent-free. The landlord image, comes from a teaching of Rabbi Abraham Twerski, a psychiatrist who devotes much of his work to 12 Step/ Recovery counseling.  Rabbi Twerski learned the landlord image in an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting and realized it matches perfectly to Judaism’s understanding of resentment.  Because when we’re talking about forgiveness, the issue is not the offender, and the issue is not even the offense.  To forgive is not to condone.  To forgive is not to declare: you were not wounded.  And to forgive is not to reconcile.  

Sometimes reconciliation follows, sometimes not. Sometimes it’s healthier for certain people to no longer be a regular part of our lives.  Sometimes a resolution that allows us to simply send a birthday card, or to be in the same room without strife at a family Bar Mitzvah is a goal.  But pure forgiveness only involves letting go.

The Hebrew root for the word grudge means “to keep guard.”  The English word resentment means to “feel again.”  (And again!)  The energy we devote to guarding our resentment, and to feeling anger again and again, does not repair the injury or hurt the offender.  The very grudge that initially feels powerful, comes to weigh us down, keeping us captive in its bitterness.  Resentment might be directed toward another person, against God for life’s profound disappointments, or even against ourselves, for our own past decisions.  Holding its power over us, the anger becomes our burden to bear.  The burden may show up in the form of frustration, or a physical ailment, or in the form of rage that leaks into other relationships. The Talmud teaches: Whoever bears a grudge acts like one who, having cut one hand, while slicing with a knife, avenges himself, by stabbing the other hand.  When we harbor resentment, we hurt ourselves.

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel calls, forgiveness pekuach neshamah/ saving a spirit.  Whose spirit are we saving? Not the offender’s—we are not redeeming the person with whom we are in conflict — we are saving our own spirit.

I chose to speak tonight, about resentment, because I believe it is a common challenge.  I am not focused on the rare tragic circumstance—the parent who forgives his child’s murderer.  We are more likely to find need for forgiveness efforts in difficult but common fractures— workplace conflict, family abuse, marital infidelity, relationship betrayal.

I have been struck by the tremendous number of family estrangements to which I have exposure in my role as your rabbi.  Family members devote significant effort to keep the ruptures quiet—we do not know that this pain exists in the lives of our friends.  Then, when there is a death and the mourners should be able to devote energy to their grief, instead there is only enough energy available to fortify the walls and prepare: what if so-and-so shows up.

A widow granted me permission to share her story.  An elderly man is in hospice care, and does not want his son to visit.  They had a business-related falling out years ago, and the father does not let it go.  He draws his last breath, still clinging to the anger.

After his death, the widow’s attention focuses on the questions: Will the son attend?  Where will he sit? What will we say?

The day of the funeral arrives and the son shows up.  The widow attempts to maintain the grudge, with the intention of honoring the deceased’s wishes.  And the son does not want to cause trouble, so he sits in the very back row.  I am with the widow who is in the front row, and we are about to begin kriya—the tearing of the ribbon— when the she says “Wait.  Can we invite him to join us?”   After together tearing the ribbon, the widow somehow determines she can help the family tear away its divisions as well.  She asks the son to stay.  He joins her in the front row.  Each able to let go, at least for this moment.  It does not require condoning.  It does not require denying wounds.  It does not require reconciling.  Only letting go, enough to move forward.

Jewish wisdom is clear: the expectation of reconciliation, is a misconception, that can hold us back; in order to pekuach neshamah,/save a spirit, we need to let go.

And we do not have forever.  We have a finite number of days, and we do not know, when our last will come.

Matthew O’Reilly is a paramedic.  As a first responder, O’Reilly encounters people in their last moments of life.  Some, he concedes, experience terror; but many, he insists, express a sense of inner-peace and acceptance.  At the end of our lives, what makes the difference, between terror and inner-peace? O’Reilly says, it’s whether or not we have undone business.  It’s forgiveness—have I forgiven, and have I been forgiven.  Ask hospice workers; they say the same.  Unresolved conflicts bring terror and unrest. To help someone towards peace, facilitate forgiveness.

The depth of Jewish ritual tradition includes a deathbed vidui – a deathbed confession – a final chance to confess our wrongs, and to find peace.  That deathbed confession – death itself— is what we imitate on Yom Kippur.  In the fasting –we imitate death today.  With white–the color of the burial shroud –adorning our Torah scrolls, we imitate death today.  The fragility in the Unetane Tokef prayer, the desperation in the Confession, the emptiness of the ark, moments ago, reminding us of our own coffin, propels us to confront the truth: none of us is guaranteed tomorrow.  As we plead with God to forgive us, the ritual pleads with us, to forgive others. The only thing we know for sure is that we are mortal.  If you have wrongs you need to right, if you have people –-or yourself or God– you need to forgive, do not wait!

Jewish wisdom is clear: the illusion that we live forever, can mask the urgency, and hold us back from pekuach neshamah/ saving our spirit.

Make the most of this sacred season. Permit our tradition to drive your teshuvah, as if everything were at stake, because it is.  Hear the words of our text, take in the depths of our ritual.  With an open heart, see your casket, feel your hunger, speak your confession, offer your forgiveness.  All, as if it were for the last time.  With forgiveness: may we pekuach neshamah/ save a spirit.  Save our own spirit.

 

 

 

Erev Rosh Hashanahsermon delivered by Rabbi Eli Freedman

In his new Netflix movie, Between Two Ferns, Zach Galifianakis asks Paul Rudd if he is a ‘practicing Jew.’ Without missing a beat, Rudd responds, “I’m not a practicing Jew… I perfected it!”

Funny, but not true. None of us have perfected it. This is the central message of the High Holy Days – none of us are perfect and we all have the opportunity to discover our best selves.

I got an early start to this soul searching while working at our Union for Reform Judaism’s Camp Harlam. There, they use unique mindfulness tools rooted in the teachings of mussar to help each camper and staff find the path to their best selves.

Mussar is a concrete practice that gives instructions on how to live a meaningful and ethical life that arose under the leadership of Rabbi Israel Salanter in 19th-century Lithuania. Salanter believed that through prayer and meditation, study, journaling, and group conversations, we all hold the power to better ourselves. Using these traditional teachings and updated practices, Rabbi Maderer will be leading a mussarcohort this year.

At camp, they practice mussar by giving out tikkun middot bracelets. Tikkun, which many know from the phrase Tikkun Olam, means repair. And middot, are character traits. Tikkun middot is the spiritual practice of inward turning and intentionality in order to better ourselves.

Using classic positive reinforcement pedagogy, staff and counselors give out bracelets to the campers when they see them exhibiting a positive character trait, a middah. The whole community is transformed by these bracelets. Campers are excited to be their best selves and get bracelets. At the same time, counselors are pushed to be more mindful – they have to look for and notice when campers are living out the middot.

The camp leadership chose specific middotfor the staff and campers to focus on over the course of summer. The seven middot at Camp Harlam are: Simchah/Finding Joy, Acharayut/Thinking About Others, Nitzachon/Perseverance, Rachamim/Compassion, Bitachon/Confidence, Tiferet/Finding Inner Beauty, and Binah/Seeking Meaning.

Tonight I want to focus on three of these middot: rachamim, nitzachon, and binah. 

It was the 9th inning. The Lehigh Valley IronPigs were getting absolutely pummelled by the visiting Pawtucket Red Sox. The only people still at the game were a handful of loyal fans and about 150 kids from camp.

A foul ball came flying into the campers section and they all ran to try to catch it. A young man reached up and plucked the ball out of the air with little effort. It happened to be one of our campers birthday that day, and the campers made this known. They began chanting for the man to give the ball to the birthday boy:

IT’S HIS BIRTHDAY! GIVE HIM THE BALL! IT’S HIS BIRTHDAY! GIVE HIM THE BALL!

And so, with little fanfare, that’s what the young man did. He gave the boy the ball. And then, only a few minutes later, another foul came careening into the section. And as easily as before, the young man caught this one as well. Of course, a whole crew of kids ran over again, with puppy dog eyes, and the man didn’t hesitate, unprompted by any chanting, to give away his second caught foul ball.

My colleague, Rabbi Keren Gorban, saw all of this and within earshot of our campers, approached the man. She said, “At camp, we have a tradition of giving away these special bracelets when we see people acting with intention. You showed a lot of compassion just now and so I’d like to give you this ‘rachamim’ bracelet.”

The man smiled and thanked her and everyone went on their way. As the campers were leaving the ballpark, they noticed the young man, and they were overjoyed to see that he was wearing his bracelet!

This first middah, rachamim, which our foul ball catching mentsch exhibited so perfectly, is often translated as compassion. Like many of the middot, rachamim, is also a middah of God. On the High Holy Days, when we take the Torah from the ark, we sing the words, “Adonai, Adonai, El Rachum, v’Chanun…” El Rachum– God of Compassion. As we are created in the image of God,b’tzelem Elohim, we seek to emulate God’s rachamim, God’s compassion.

One of my favorite texts in the Talmud posits the hypothetical question, “What does God pray on Yom Kippur?”  The sages answer, that God says, “May it be My will that my attribute of rachamim/compassion outweigh My attribute of din/justice.” In this beautiful metaphor, the rabbis of the Talmud understood the power of compassion, and prayed for the hope that we, like God, could be merciful towards ourselves and others.Rachamimis giving people the benefit of the doubt. It is choosing compassion over being right.

How can we be like God and live with more rachamim this next year? We all want to be better. We all want to be compassionate like the guy from the baseball game. But in our busy, hectic lives, we sometimes forget. At camp, this is why they have the bracelets. They are a mindfulness tool to help us be more intentional in our actions.

Mindfulness, intentionality, or kavana as we call it in Hebrew is at the core of our Jewish tradition. Throughout our High Holy Day liturgy, we come across the word, “zochreinu,” remember us, be mindful of us. In a special insertion in the amidah tonight, we asked God to remember us for a life of blessing. In this New Year, zochreinu, may we be mindful of ourselves and work to show more rachamim.

Our next middahis nitzachon/perseverance. I’ll begin with another story from camp. Shabbat is a big deal at camp. Each unit at camp is responsible for helping to lead services throughout the summer. Some campers make decorations for the chapel. Others write introductions to the prayers, while some read Torah.

One camper, Rachel, decided that she wanted to help lead some of the prayers on her guitar. I will be blunt; she was not very good at guitar. It took her a few minutes to find each chord and to change between them. The counselors working with her were incredibly patient but she was getting increasingly frustrated. Rachel couldn’t keep up with the tempo of the prayer and was ready to quit. I could see it in her face, she was flustered, angry, and exhausted. She threw down the guitar and said, “I can’t do it!” But then, to my surprise, she took a moment to herself, picked the guitar back up, and said, “OK, let’s try that Oseh Shalomagain!”

I went up to her after the session and gave her a nitzachon/perseverance bracelet. Rachel’s face lit up – I could see her confidence growing.

We find role models of nitzachon throughout our tradition. Abraham and Sarah persevered through years of infertility before having a child, the Israelites persevered through 400 years of Egyptian slavery before returning to the Promised Land, and the Jewish people have persevered in the face of anti-Semitism for the past 2,000 years.

We read in the Talmud (Menahot 53B), “Just as the olive yields oil only when it is pounded, so too our greatest potentials are yielded only under the pressure of adversity.” Or put more simply by Albert Einstein, “It’s not that I’m so smart, it’s just that I stay with problems longer.”

Living a life of nitzachon means staying with our problems longer. It means pushing through until we reach the finish line. In our frenetic, highly distracting world, it is so easy to quickly move on to the next task without seeing something through. Nitzachon means being truly present in the moment and focusing on the task at hand until we reach the conclusion.

Looking back on your year, when did you exhibit nitzachon? Try to think about a specific time when you pushed through a challenge. How did you feel at that moment?

And now, look forward. How can we be better at nitzachon this next year? We all know the joy and satisfaction that comes with having accomplished something, we just need to be mindful, to zochreinu– remember for ourselves, in that moment of frustration or distraction that perseverance is worth it. In this New Year, zochreinu, may we be mindful of ourselves and work to show more nitzachon.

Our final middah is binah – seeking meaning. In the rabbinic book Pirkei Avot (4:1), Rabbi Ben Zoma writes, “Aizeh Hu Chacham? Who is wise? Halomed micol adam. One who learns from all people.”

In today’s highly polarized, social-media bubble world, it is so easy to write someone off because of their political beliefs, assuming that they have nothing to offer. However, Ben Zoma reminds us that quest for binah requires that we learn from all people and seek to understand all sides of a particular debate.

There is a story in the Talmud (Baba Metziah 84a) of two rabbis, Reish Lakish and Rabbi Yochanan who were chevurta, study partners. Sadly, Reish Lakish passes away and Rabbi Yochanan is left with a new study partner, Rabbi Elazar. Whenever Rabbi Yochanan presented a point, Rabbi Elazar would agree, saying here are 24 reasons why you are correct. Rabbi Yochanan became enraged and stormed off. Running after him, perplexed, Rabbi Elazar asked, “What did I do wrong?” Rabbi Yochana responds, “I don’t need you to tell me why I’m correct. What I loved about Reish Lakish was that for every point I raised, he would tell me 24 reasons why I’m wrong.”

The rabbis of the Talmud are the perfect example of binah.They challenge one another to see different perspectives. In this New Year, zochreinu, may we be mindful of ourselves and work to show more binah.

I’ll end with one last story. I was leading a session at camp on Israel. At the end of the program, I asked for feedback. Brendan, who normally did not speak up much, immediately raised his hand. He said, “I don’t normally pay much attention but I did today and I learned a lot.”

I gave Brendan a binah/seeking meaning, bracelet. His response was priceless; as I was walking away, I heard him say to his friend, in excitement, “this is the hardest one to get!”

I thought to myself, “I guess that really depends, Brendan.” For some, showing compassion, rachamin, may be the hardest bracelet to get. For others, nitzachon, perseverance, may be their stumbling block. Clearly for Brendan, a lively 13 year old, who has a hard time paying attention during formal instruction, binah – seeking meaning, was his greatest challenge.

Take a moment and think to yourself; if you had to choose from these three middot: rachamim (compassion), nitzachon (perseverance), or binah (seeking meaning), which would be your greatest challenge? Which middah needs the most attention, the most improvement in your life? If you choose to work one of these in the coming year, which would it be?

So here’s my New Years challenge to all of us. In the camp model, the bracelets are given out in a form of positive reinforcement. For our purposes, I want us to think about these middotas aspirational challenges. Tonight, Erev Rosh Hashanah makes the beginning of the Yamim Noraim– the Ten Days of Awe – a period to look inward, reflect on the past year, and contemplate how we want to improve in the coming year.  I want all of us to choose one of these middot– rachamim (compassion), nitzachon (perseverance), or binah (seeking meaning) – to work on over the next ten days and beyond.

As Rabbi Maderer likes to joke when teaching mussar, it’s much more fun figuring out which one of these middot your friends need to work on, but this work is personal and introspective – how do you want to be a better person in this coming year?

We have a gift for each of you to help with this inner soul work.  So I totally wanted to pull an Oprah joke and be like:

EVERYONE LOOK UNDER YOUR SEATS!

YOU GET A BRACELET! YOU GET A BRACELET!

But then I realized that as fun as that would be, there is a major flaw in the Oprah method. We shouldn’t all get the same bracelets because we each need to decide for ourselves which middah we need to work on; that’s half the work. So instead, as you leave the sanctuary tonight, you will see bins filled with bracelets for you take with you. There are three bracelets for you to choose from: rachamim (compassion), nitzachon (perseverance), or binah (seeking meaning).

The choice is up to you. Although there are various middot we can all work on every day of the year, commit to working on one of these middot over the next 10 days. We can all, always, strive to be better people. What are you going to work on this year?

My hope is that these bracelets act like a string tied around your finger; a little reminder over the next ten days and beyond to seek meaning, to persevere, or to show compassion.

In a few moments when we rise for Avinu Malkeinu, we will once again ask God tozochreinu– remember us, be mindful of us. Just as God is mindful of us, so too, zochreinu, may we be mindful of ourselves in this New Year.

Ken Y’hi Ratzon/May this be God’s Will. Shanah Tovah.

Delivered by Rabbi Jill Maderer, Rosh Hashanah morning. 

Why are we here?  Why are we here as individuals and as a community?  Generations ago, one of our prophets, Elijah, is called to answer that question.

Immersed in a spiritual quest, and frightened by a broken world, Elijah crawls into a cave where he spends the night.  That’s when the word of God comes to him:  God asks: “Why are you here, Elijah?”  Trembling with fear, Elijah replies:

“I despair that we have forsaken Your covenant, And torn down Your altars. I am alone.”

Rings true today. This Rosh Hashanah, we too, stand at the mouth of the cave, saying in our own words:
“I despair that we have forgotten to listen, to live, to love.
That we have torn down human dignity.
I yearn to commit to something greater than myself, something sacred.”

We too tremble in fear.  Frightened by the many things that make ourselves, and our world, broken.

I am frightened by the personal challenges that so many of us encounter: isolation, addiction, bullying, mental illness. …By abundant daily tasks, but scarce time to reflect, to express thanks, to grieve for loss and disappointment, to connect, to understand different perspectives.

I am frightened by anti-Semitism, still in the year of mourning for our Jewish brothers and sisters in Pittsburgh.  And I am frightened by anti-Zionist advocates for BDS against Israel, because I support the rights of Jews, and the rights of Palestinians to a Two-State Solution.

I am frightened by school shooters, and by the role of guns in domestic violence, in suicide, and in under-served communities.   I am frightened by white supremacy, homophobia, immigration injustice.  I am frightened by abuses of power.  And I am frightened by lawmakers, who seek to restrict my reproductive rights.  I am frightened by my own habits—as I daily contribute to climate change.  And I am frightened by the gap between my values and my actions.

Yet, I know I am not alone.  Because I am here with you.  When we face despair, we may be tempted to crawl into the cave.

But what does God say to Elijah?

“Come out, and stand on the mountain before the Eternal One.”  God says it to Elijah, and I believe, in our own understanding of God or consciousness or inner-life, we hear it too– God calls to us:  “Come out, and stand on the mountain before the Eternal One.” 

With courage, bring your fullest self – your love and your doubt, your vulnerability and your hope. Come out, and stand on the mountain before the Eternal One.

With resilience, never give up on returning to your best self — Come out, and stand on the mountain before the Eternal One.

With love, discover the possibility of human connection — Come out, and stand on the mountain before the Eternal One.

The cave is not an option.  Stand with each other. Stand in My presence.

That is why we are here.  As the sound of the shofarcalls us, at this holy time of the new year, that is why the synagogue is here.  And all year long, that is why our congregation is here: To stand together—amid brokenness—to stand together on the mountain before the Eternal One.

Elijah is frightened.  But the Hebrew word for frightened can also mean “to see.”  Elijah is frightened.  Or Elijah sees.  We are frightened.  Or, we see.

This community is where we shine a light, and help each other see what we need to see.  Where we illuminate something of the wholeness and holiness, that resides in each of us.  Where we catch each other when we stumble, and join hands to walk the path towards renewal.  Where we grapple with the meaning of tradition, and its relevance for our lives.  Where we deepen our journeys, listen to others’ stories, and we draw strength from sharing them with one another. Where we make sacred sense of our world, and of our place in it. We need each other, in order to come out of the cave, and stand on the mountain before the Eternal One.  That’s why we are here.

Elijah says: “I am alone.” Some days, you may feel it too.  But no—we are not alone. This year, our leadership chose to see, that our reality calls for an expanded vision for our congregation. Our new vision statement, declares that we are not alone, and inspires us to commit to each other, in these 4 core principles: Immersed in Jewish time, guided by enduring values, compelled to moral action, we create profound connections.

We are here, to together, be immersed in Jewish time.  Sustained by the sacred rhythms of the Jewish year, living in the framework of Jewish ritual, teaches us to gather as a community, to bring our authentic selves, as we walk with each other, through the joys and sorrows of our lives.

I recently officiated at a funeral here in this sanctuary.  There, I saw a congregant who I did not realize was connected to the woman we were mourning.  So I asked him: how do you know her or the bereaved family? He replied, “I did not know her well, but for every High Holy Day service we sat in the same neighborhood of pews.  So year after year as we gathered for the holidays, we became acquainted.  When I learned of her death I wanted to be present for her family.”

I was so touched by his choice to be there, and by his reason—this is what we do for one another in our Jewish community. The congregational condolence emails have become important, because they help us to strip away barriers and to care for each other.

Jewish ritual unites us for moments of comfort, and also of joy—moments of the lifecycle, and also of the Jewish calendar.  Every person who shows up, to dance on Simchat Torah, or to pray and sing and breathe on Shabbatwhen our community gathers weekly—every person there elevates the joy for the next person.

In order to fully celebrate our tradition’s holy moments—to be immersed in Jewish time— we commit to something greater than ourselves, something sacred.

We are not alone.

We are here, too, together. Be guided by enduring values.  The timeless wisdom of our tradition inspires our intentional quest for truth, and helps us to narrow the gap between our values and our actions.

Many of you have shared a concern with me.  When someone asks how you are doing, you respond: “Busy. Crazy. The very pace of my day spirals out of control.”  You are not alone.

Maybe we aren’t over-committed.  We’re under-committed, but to so many things.  Constantly fragmented, our attention is not whole.  Do you ever enter your password on the microwave?  A few weeks ago, I took my daughter to the doctor and when we arrived, I realized I had forgotten my cell phone!  How could I sit in a waiting room without my phone?  Before my child was called in, she advised me: do what you tell meto do with waiting time – meditate.  (I guess she listens).  She was right—Sometimes I need someone to say:  Just be in one place.

Tradition has much wisdom to teach us about consciousness.  At Mt. Sinai, God says to Moses: “Come up to the mountain and be there.”  Sounds redundant.  If he ascends the mountain, where else would he be?  But maybe the Torahunderstands the extra effort it takes, just to be present.  Moses: Be where you are.  Maderer: Be where you are.  You, too?  Not easy, but when we strive together, to be present, we have a better chance of living that value. When in Jewish community we study Torah, struggle with its message and with competing priorities, when we carve out space for contemplation, we nourish each other’s pathways to enduring values—like intention, loving-kindness, human dignity.

In order to be guided by our enduring values — we commit to something greater than ourselves, something sacred.

We are not alone.

We are here, too, together. Be compelled to moral action.  In a broken world, we commit to be a voice of conscience and to engage in the work of social justice.

In 1790, President George Washington responded to a letter from the Hebrew Congregation in Newport, Rhode Island.  In his response, Washington writes: “All possess alike liberty of conscience and immunities of citizenship… For happily the Government of the United States…gives to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance…”

On display at the National Museum of American Jewish History, his letter’s mandate does not come easy.

Picture yourself standing on Independence Mall, just south of Market Street.  The museum with the letter, to your left.  What is just across the grass, from the place where Washington’s “bigotry no sanction” letter lives?  The excavated slave quarters of the very same George Washington.  That grass on which you stand—that space in between, is the struggle—the complex tension between inclusion and degradation, within one man. The ideals are not achieved easily, even for him.

And the principles are not achieved easily, when it comes to us.

For me, that space, where some of us stood last month on Tisha B’Av, rallying for immigration justice, that space between “to bigotry no sanction” and, the slave quarters, that is holy ground because it tells the story of the truth of our nation and the truth of our humanity— that any one of us can fall into the trap of demonizing the other, that we are on a spiritual quest to determine who we seek to be, that we have always struggled for righteousness—in our country, in our community, in our very self.

We turn to the people we trust – those we trust for their challenging honesty, for their common values, and for their shared commitment to repair this world. That struggle for moral clarity happens together.

In order to pursue moral action— we commit to something greater than ourselves, something sacred.

We are not alone.

We are here to together create profound connections.  With vulnerability and trust, courage and hope, we see one another and we feel seen. We enter the synagogue to lift each other on our journeys—to celebrate, to learn, to laugh, to heal, to challenge ourselves, and to connect with others about the deepest questions of our lives.

To create profound connections we commit to something greater than ourselves, something sacred.

All of those generations ago at the mouth of the cave, Elijah says: “I am alone.” Some days, we feel it too.  But no—you are not alone. Immersed in Jewish time, guided by enduring values, compelled to moral action, we create profound connections.

Like Elijah, trembling we say: “I despair that we have forgotten to listen, to live, to love, That we have torn down human dignity. I yearn to commit to something greater than myself, something sacred.”

And God’s calling is clear: The cave is not an option.  Stand with each other. Stand in My presence.

“Come out,” God calls, “and stand on the mountain before the Eternal One.”

Make we make it so.

L’shanah tovah.

 

(Attribution: “Do you ever enter your password on the microwave?” from Homiletics Online, reprinted in Rabbi Edwin Goldberg’s Saying No and Letting Go.)

 

 

We all know the old expression, “Two Jews, three opinions!” A cute, funny line, but rooted in a fundamental philosophy that is paramount to our tradition. From our very beginnings, Judaism has been a religion that encourages dialogue and debates l’shem shamayim(for the sake of heaven).Jacob wrestled with a divine being and was renamed Israel – one who struggles with the Divine.In our Yom Kippur morning Torahportion, Nitzavim, we are taught, “the Torahis not in Heaven… it is in our hearts,”for us to interpret and disagree over! And the rabbis of the Talmud provide one of the greatest examples of discourse, constantly pushing each other and questioning.

In this spirit, we are excited to engage with Israel this fall in three distinct learning opportunities, beginning with two very different perspectives.

On Sunday morning, September 22, Asaf Romirowsky, PhD, a fellow at the Middle East Forum, will present the topic, BDS and Antisemitism: What’s Happening in Academia & on American College Campuses? (Boycott, Divestment, Sanctions).

OnTuesday evening, Nov 5, Rabbi Emeritus Bill Kuhn will lead our book club, ReadRS, in a discussion of acclaimed American-Israeli author Daniel Gordis’ book, We Stand Divided.

Then, on Wednesday evening, November 6, we will hear from Rebecca Strober, the daughter of one of our past presidents, and new congregant, Nathan Hersh. Both Becca and Nathan are IDF (Israeli Defence Force) veterans and part of a group called Breaking the Silence, which records testimonies from the perspectives of the soldiers about the reality of everyday life in the Occupied Territories.

Finally, we will have the opportunity, to dig deepon various views of Israel during a scholar-in-residence weekend with Reform Zionism thought leader, and a past president of the URJ, Rabbi Eric Yoffie on November 15-17. In three distinct sessions, Rabbi Yoffie will explore our commitment to Israel, help us understand the issues around religious freedom, and lift up some of the political challenges Israel faces as well.

We look forward to engaging with you in these important conversations.
________________

1 See Pirkei Avot 5:17
2 Genesis 32:22–32
3 Deuteronomy 30:12

 

 

 

Rabbi Eli Freedman’s sermon from Friday, September 6

Tzedek, Tzedek, Tirdof– Justice, Justice, You Shall Pursue. This week’s Torah portion, Shoftim, literally meaning “judges” is filled with talk of justice.

Justice in our judicial system. We read in our Torah, “You shall not judge unfairly: you shall show no partiality; you shall not take bribes, for bribes blind the eyes of the discerning and upset the plea of the just.” We are also taught that at least two witnesses are needed to convict someone – one witness is not enough.

Justice for our rulers. Kings are commanded to always have the Torah by their side as they rule as a constant moral reminder. They are commanded not to amass wealth and there is even an emoluments clause in this week’s portion!

Justice for those accused of manslaughter. The Israelites are commanded to create sanctuary cities where someone accused of accidental murder can flee to escape potential revenge

Justice in warfare. Understanding that war was a reality, the people are commanded to act ethically when engaging in combat with an enemy.

And lastly, we find in this week’s portion environmental justice:

When you besiege a city a long time, you shall not destroy the fruit trees thereof by wielding an ax against them. You may eat of them but you shall not cut them down; for is the tree of the field a person that it can run from you? Only the trees of which you know that they are not trees for food, them you may destroy and cut down that you may build bulwarks against the city that makes war with you until it falls. (Deut. 20:19-20)

These verses, which command us not to cut down fruit trees while besieging a city, are the basis for a rabbinic statute called, bal tashchit– the prohibition against waste and unnecessary destruction. The rabbis expanded the ruling from not unnecessarily destroying fruit trees to so much more.

The 12th century sage, Rambam writes, “Whoever breaks vessels, or tears garments, or destroys a building, or clogs a well, or does away with food in a destructive manner violates the negative mitzvah of bal tashchit.”

Rambam also gives specific examples like not burying a person in expensive clothing or wasting oil in lamps on shabbat. My personal favorite is the ruling that one should not drink wine when beer is available. The reasoning behind this commandment stems from the fact that beer requires much less resources (labor, water, land, time) than wine to produce.

Bal tashchitis also at the heart of our environmental crisis today; the fires raging in the Amazon, more frequent and intense hurricanes, and polluted drinking water. All of these catastrophes are the product of humans failing to follow the commandment of bal tashchit, unnecessarily wasting our natural resources.

No single one of us is going to solve our climate crisis but we can all make a difference. As it says in Pirkei Avot (and on my tallit), “Lo alecha hamlacha ligmor, v’lo atah ben chorin l’hivatel mimena– It is not incumbent upon you to complete the work, but neither are you free to desist from it.”

By following some of the same basic laws of bal tashchit that our ancient rabbis laid out, we can each do our part to combat global climate change. In this month of Elul, as we approach the New Year, a time of reflection, renewal, turning, I encourage all of us to try to become better at bal tashchit. A few ideas:

1. Eat less meat (especially red meat)
2. Don’t waste food
3. Consider getting solar panels on your home
4. Buy less stuff
5. Bike/carpool/take public transportation

The congregation has also initiated some work in this area. Beginning with an internal audit of our own waste and environmental impact, we hope to embody the values of bal tashchitin all aspects of our building and community.

This week’s Torah portion,Shoftim,and much of the book of Deuteronomy speak about justice. Often, justice is written about in conditional terms. If you follow the commandments, then good things will happen to you and if you don’t, well… good luck!

This conditional theology has always been difficult for me and I imagine many of you, as all too often we see the righteous suffer while the wicked are rewarded. But, if we read the conditional justice of Deuteronomy in communal terms, the theology becomes less problematic. If we as a society continue to overuse our natural resources, pollute our planet, and show no regard for future generations, then we, the human race, will suffer.

However, if we follow the commandments of bal tashchit, if we each find small ways to reduce our waste, consumption, and carbon footprint, we have the collective power to bring true justice to our planet and all of creation.

Ken Y’hi Ratzon. May This Be God’s Will

Shabbat Shalom.