Sixty nine years ago, in 1954, I was elected by my high school class to give the address for the class at our graduation ceremony. That was a mere nine years after the end of World War 2. We all were well aware that the war had ended because of our use of the atomic bomb. The beginning of the cold war with Russia might be traced to the Berlin Blockade in 1948.  We knew that the United States and the USSR lived with the constant threat of mutual destruction. The Korean War was raging during our high school years. This was the world we faced when we graduated high school.

I no longer have a copy of my graduation speech. However, I have never forgotten my opening line, delivered to a class, looking to an unknown future, but having been born and raised in a world of terrible destruction and constant threat. These were my words, “someday, far into the future, a worldly gracious sun will rise over a world already bathed in the light of peace.” I wanted to give my classmates hope that what lay ahead for them would be better than the lives their parents had to survive of depression and war., or their present world of war and the threat of nuclear disaster.

In 1963, Martin Luther King delivered his famous “I Have a Dream” speech from the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C. “I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. I have a dream today.”

This is my sixtieth observance of Yom Kippur since being ordained as a rabbi, six decades of delivering sermons and of leading or participating in worship. Every Yom Kippur, I stand before an open ark and listen to the painful and emotional sound and words of Avinu Malkeinu. I pray – halt the onslaught of sickness, violence and hunger; halt the reign of those who cause pain and terror.  Every Yom Kippur, I repeat over and over, al cheit shechatanu – for the sin we have committed. We are guilty of dozens of sins – each year, every year – we return, we plead for help and we find that the sin never seems to be resolved. Once again, this year, as every year, – Avinu Malkeinu, our father, our king, al cheit shechetanu – for the sin we have committed.

We are about to enter the Yizkor service. Yizkor is a time of memory, a time of reflection. I reflect on the meaning of those words I have been saying for sixty years and more. We confess we attempt to climb steps to holiness. We seek forgiveness. And then I remember – I remember my graduation speech and I remember the words of Martin Luther King. For me, the greatest sin we have committed is that the hope of my graduation speech and the dream of Martin Luther King are still just that – hopes and dreams.  We have failed to bring about a world in which we can be at peace, and the children of every black person in this country are still judged by the color of their skin. Al cheit shechatanu – for the sins we have committed.

So I speak to my grandchildren who are not with me today. They are building their own lives, in marriage, in work, in college. I want to hold them and cry with them and tell them I am sorry I am not leaving a better world for them. That will not do. That will not guarantee to them a life that is filled with meaning and love and safety and unlimited opportunity and peace. Beating my breast and pleading for help to a god that may or may not be there to listen will not give them the world and the life they deserve – or even give them life at all.  No – that will not do.

So I share with you my sense of despair, but I want them to know that I do not surrender, that I will not allow what I see as the threats to their lives and their future to go unanswered.  We seem to live in two worlds. One is a world in which human life is to be manipulated so that some can gain power at whatever the cost. The other is the world which this congregation represents, where our history drives us – a world in which our sacred texts speak to us with a clear message – if  you want to save human life from itself, if you want your children and your grandchildren to not just survive but to thrive, then your task is clear and we will show you the way.

 The first attempt of the destruction of our people was by the Pharaoh of ancient Egypt. He decreed that every first born son of the people of Israel was to be put to death. His goal was genocide. Over the centuries, we have experienced almost every form of human degradation, torture and death. Auschwitz and the Holocaust were the twentieth century’s version of “let us kill the Jews.” It has been a popular cry for centuries and is still heard today. But we are here. We survive. I would like to change the English pronunciation of the name of this sacred day to the day of atonement, the day when we do not just say al cheit, but a day when we pledge to each other that we will join together to bring to this world the values that have kept us alive. During the Unetaneh Tokef prayer is a phrase from the Book of Kings – vekol d’mamah dake yishama – a still small voice is heard. That quotation refers to moment in the life of the prophet Elijah. He was fleeing from King Ahab and he found a cave where he hid. He asked god to take his life in despair. God commanded him to come out of the cave and stand on a mountaintop. A strong wind passed him, then an earthquake, and then a fire. God was in none of these. Then a still small voice. That is the voice of our history. It is the voice to which we must listen.

That voice does not speak to us only of our own survival. The Book of Job struggles with question of human suffering.  Job demands a dialogue with god to know why he and innocent people face terrible tragedy. Job is being tested by a bet that he will continue to believe even in the face of the loss of his family. God refuses to meet him. But he challenges Job with the argument that Job dare blame a universe he cannot fully understand. Implicit in that challenge is the question – why do you think that there is some force beyond yourself that is intentionally causing you the loss of your family and personal pain. Perhaps Job’s friends are correct – look within, job. There you may find the answer. A midrash speaks about the creation. God says to Adam – I have created many worlds and destroyed them because I was not satisfied. I now have created this one. It now is your hands. If you destroy it there will be no more. Yet – even with all of our scientific knowledge, even with our understanding of astronomy and physics and earth science, there are those who believe that there is some force beyond human life that is destroying this earth and that we have little or no control. It is only one of the latest examples of belief without evidence, or rather, belief in spite of evidence.  Dramatic heat, flooding, melting ice, rising water temperatures do not convince. Look within, Job. We have a responsibility to change this dynamic and to save this earth.

This congregation proudly represents the diversity of human life. That diversity is under attack in ways that i have not seen in my lifetime. Women are being denied the right to be responsible for their own bodies and receive necessary medical care. Racial history is being banned, teachers and doctors are being told it is illegal to give assistance to those dealing with issues of sexual orientation, gerrymandering is threatening the voting rights of minorities, immigrants are dying at the border – and all of this is coming from government officials who are claiming to speak in the name of American exceptionalism and biblical morality. We cannot allow this blatant political interference in human rights and human behavior.  We cannot leave unanswered claims about religious values that are absolutely contrary to the sacred texts we hold dear.

Underlying all of this is an attack on the truth that is threatening the very existence of our democracy, freedom in Israel and peace in the world. Millions in this country believe that an overwhelming election somehow was stolen, that our judicial system is corrupt and that minorities are destroying white privilege. An Israeli right wing minority is demeaning the legitimacy of their court and Russians are being told that the Ukrainians are Nazis and terrorists. Joseph Goebbels and Adolf Hitler set the standard – “If you tell a lie big enough and keep repeating it, people eventually will come to believe it.” The prophet Amos lived in the northern kingdom of Israel in the 8th century B.C.E. during the reign of Jereboam. Amos was not happy with the behavior of his people, religiously and morally. He told them that their god was going to punish them, but at the same time, he made this promise: “I will restore my people Israel. They shall rebuild ruined cities and inhabit them. They shall plant vineyards and drink their wine. They shall till gardens and eat their fruit. And I will plant them upon their soil, nevermore to be uprooted from the soil I have given them.” We must not view that soil only as physical. The soil we have been given is moral – it is the soil from which the prophets of Israel spoke. It may be a miracle that we Jews have survived. When the Zionist dream became a reality and the state of Israel was born many saw that moment as final fulfillment of a dream.  We dare not accept that view of our history. It was only the beginning. We are with Moses at the Burning Bush. When called, he responded, here I am. We are there when God tested Abraham, and he answered, hineni – here I am. We are with the prophet Isaiah when he heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send?” And he responded, “here I am, send me.” We are Israel – to fight not with weapons of war, but with instruments of peace and justice and caring – to lift up the widow and the stranger and the orphan and the poor, to care for this Earth, to protect our freedom and promote the truth wherever that may take us.

The fifty-six signers of the declaration of independence showed us the way with these words – “we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes and our sacred honor.” It is a pledge we the people of Israel made at Sinai when we responded, naaseh v’nishma – we will do and we will listen. It is our commitment to our children and our grandchildren and to future generations. In the words the prophet Micah – to act justly, to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God. 

We no longer will stand helpless while our neighbor bleeds. Together we shall challenge amoral and immoral authority. Together we shall challenge injustice. Together we shall right the wrongs that threaten this earth. Together we shall offer hope where there is despair and love where there is hate. Together we shall listen to the voice. Together we shall say to my grandchildren – here we are, send us.

 

 

        

           

 

A story from the Talmud (Shabbat 127b):

There once was a worker who had just completed a very large project for a certain homeowner. On the eve of Yom Kippur, the worker said to the homeowner, “Give me my wages, so I may go and feed my family.”

The homeowner said, “I have no money.” The worker then asked for the wages in the form of land. The homeowner said, “I have none.” Animals? None. Cushions and blankets? None. Exhausted, the worker left empty handed. 

After the festival of Sukkot, the homeowner took the worker’s wages in hand, along with a burden of food and gifts that required three donkeys and went to the worker’s home. After they ate and conversed, the homeowner paid the worker. The homeowner then asked the worker, “When I said that I had no money, weren’t you suspicious that I was trying to avoid paying you?” 

The worker answered, “I thought that perhaps the opportunity to purchase merchandise inexpensively presented itself, and you purchased it with the money that you owed me, and therefore you had no money available.”

The homeowner then asked, “And when I said that I have no land, weren’t you suspicious?” The worker answered, “I thought that perhaps the land is leased to others, and you cannot take the land from the lessees.” Animals? Perhaps the animals are hired to others. Cushions or blankets? Perhaps all your property was consecrated to Heaven and therefore you had nothing available at the moment. 

The homeowner then said to the worker: I swear that is the truth. I had no money available at the time because I vowed and consecrated all my property to the Temple. And when I came to the Sages, they dissolved all my vows and I immediately came here. 

As the homeowner departed, he left the worker with this blessing, “As you judged favorably, so may God judge you favorably.”

In this season of judgment, when we symbolically stand before God, our tradition reminds us to assume the best. We pray that God’s attribute of mercy will outway the attribute of strict judgment and we pray that our mercy will prevail over our own strict judgment. While the worker in our story takes this to an extreme, our sacred texts repeatedly remind us to give others the benefit of the doubt: In Pirkei Avot we read, “Do not judge your fellow until you have reached their place…” and, “judge all people with the scale weighted in their favor.” 

This afternoon, we will read from Leviticus 19, The Holiness Code, which includes our most important moral and ethical guidelines, such as the “Golden Rule”: V’ahavta l’rei’echa camocha/Love your neighbor as yourself.

This commandment is the foundation for judging others favorably. Love your neighbor is about empathy and seeking to see ourselves in the other person. We want to be given the benefit of the doubt, right? We want to be shown mercy, in this hour when our lives are metaphorically in the balance? When we see ourselves in another person, we not only cut them some slack, but we also begin our own cheshbon hanefesh/accounting of our soul.

The Baal Shem Tov (the founder of the chassidic movement) taught, “The world is a mirror; the faults you see in others are your own.” Or to put it in more contemporary language:

“It’s me, hi

I’m the problem, it’s me

At teatime, everybody agrees

I’ll stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror

It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero”

(Taylor Swift, “Anti-Hero”)

(I like Taylor’s version more). The Baal Shem Tov and Taylor Swift are saying essentially the same thing: the first step of teshuva is admitting that the faults we see in others may actually be our own. It can be difficult to see our own shortcomings, but it is essential if we want to grow as individuals.

When we judge others, we are often projecting our own insecurities and fears onto them. We may see in them the things that we dislike about ourselves, but are afraid to admit. When we see something we dislike in another person, it is an opportunity to learn more about ourselves. We can ask ourselves: “Why does this bother me so much? Is it because I have a similar flaw that I am trying to hide from myself?”

Maybe the worker had issues with paying bills as well and had the empathy to not immediately assume the worst of the homeowner. Generally, we give ourselves the benefit of the doubt, but rarely extend that same level of consideration to others.

A car just cut me off? I immediately assume this person is a selfish, unthoughtful jerk who thinks that they are more important than everyone else on the road. 

A friend didn’t text me back? I immediately assume they are not responding because they are offended by something I said. My spouse didn’t do the dishes after they said they would. I immediately assume they are lazy and not sharing in the household responsibilities. 

When we fail to look in the mirror, when we fail to see our own faults in others, when we assume the best of ourselves but the worst of others, we fail to love our neighbor as ourselves. To love my neighbor as myself I need to cut my neighbor some slack like I do for myself.

Rabbi Elka Abrahamson, in a keynote address on “The Art of Civil Discourse”, talks about the concept of motive asymmetry, “the phenomenon of assuming that your ideology, your position, is based in love, but your opponents’ ideology is based in hate.” So often, we paint ourselves as the “hero” and others as the “villain,” assuming their motives are nefarious while ours are pure and just. 

But we can never fully know what another person is thinking or feeling. To truly love your neighbor and disavow motive asymmetry requires humility. It requires us to begin from a position of curiosity rather than certainty. Loving your neighbor means having the humility to stand in another person’s shoes. Loving your neighbor is believing that there is another perspective unknown to us. 

What would happen if we all could be a little more like the worker in the Talmud story; giving others the same benefit of the doubt that we give ourselves? What would we need to do in order to reach this level of judging positively? If we could stop, take a moment of humility, and assume others are trying their best and bringing the same positive intentions as us, we might be able to look in the mirror and see the situation differently.

A car just cut me off? Assume the best; they didn’t notice me in their blind spot. And then look in the mirror; “I’ve probably done that a bunch before, maybe I should be more mindful when I drive (which is really hard with screaming children in the backseat).”

A friend didn’t text me back? Assume the best; they have a lot going on right now. Look in the mirror; “I’ve definitely forgotten to get back to people and it doesn’t feel great. I want to be more mindful this year when others reach out to me.”

My spouse didn’t do the dishes after they said they would. Assume the best; they must have forgotten or just been exhausted after spending hours putting the kids to bed. Look in the mirror; “I’m the worst at household chores and never get them done why I say I will. I need to make sure I am doing my share as well.”

Imagine if both partners in a relationship assumed that they needed to bring a little more support than they did yesterday? When we lead with humility, we realize that we can’t be perfect in our assessments of others, so we might as well be generous. It’s a more positive way to live; to not walk around huffing at people all the time letting their mistakes bring us down. And then we go a step further and look in that mirror and acknowledge that the faults we see in others may be our own; only then can we begin to grow. Only then can we break free of motive asymmetry. Only then can we love our neighbor as ourselves. 

As with most Jewish teachings, we also need balance in our approach to judging others. The 11th century sage, Maimonides, writes that “judge every person favorably” only applies to those who we know to be righteous or to people whose character is unknown to us. If, however, we know that someone is wicked, then Maimonides gives us permission to protect ourselves.

In the case of the abuser, we do not need to assume the best. Yes, there is always room for teshuva in Judaism, but our tradition makes clear that we do not need to search for the good in someone who intentionally and repeatedly hurts us. In that case, it’s the abuser’s responsibility to right the wrongs.

Shortly after the start of the #MeToo movement, in response to society repeatedly insisting that abusers who have contributed to society get a pass, Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg wrote:

“Society can’t make the determination about when a perpetrator has done sufficient t’shuvah, and the people who stand to earn money from enabling their “redemption” can’t make that determination, either. No matter what, we don’t need to reward men who have done harm with more opportunities for wealth, prestige, power and celebrity. Part of repenting is accepting the consequences of your actions; in this case, those consequences might come from the criminal justice system or from professional censure.”

We do not need to give them the benefit of the doubt; they have lost that privilege as a consequence of their actions.

We reserve that generosity of spirit for others. For someone who hasn’t yet proven themselves, or the people in our lives that are closest to us; those who have shown us their righteous character… but… really get on our nerves sometimes with their faults, we need to give them the benefit of the doubt, assume the best, and judge them favorably. 

When we shift our attention towards their strengths and away from their faults, they will also focus on their strengths. Rabbi Nachman of Breslov says, “Focus on the good… it is not incidental to your spiritual quest. It is vital.” 

We spend most of this season of introspection focusing on mistakes. Rabbi Nachman reminds us, we also need to search for the good in others and ourselves. 

The Hebrew phrase for gratitude, hakarat hatov, literally means to to recognize the good; to see the best in someone or in a situation; to assume the best. 

When we take time to cultivate gratitude for our loved ones, tell them what we love and appreciate about them, we cultivate those same qualities in ourselves. A mirror reflects both the good and bad. Just as we see the faults in others because they are often our own, when we focus on the good in others, we find the good in ourselves.

Stare into the mirror

Love your neighbor as yourself

Judge them favorably

On this Day of Judgement, and throughout our lives…

As you judged favorably, so may God judge you favorably.

Gmar Hatimah Tovah/May We Be Sealed for Good in the Book of Life

In the Talmud – the text of our ancient sages’ interpretation of Torah—Rabbi Gamliel tells a story: “Picture it. I am traveling on a ship. In stormy waters, from a distance, I see another ship, that has shattered and become submerged. I believe my friend Rabbi Akiva is on board, so I grieve over his apparent death. But when I disembark onto dry land, there is Rabbi Akiva approaching me!  Having survived, he invites me to study some Torah on the beach! I say to him: How are you here?! He responds: “A plank from the boat drifted to me.  I clung to it and I bowed my head, accepting each and every wave that drew near.”

Stormy waters, that cannot be denied?  A reality, that demands acceptance? This text originates from long ago, yet tells an eternal story.  Our tradition does not propose that we deny the reality or the uncertainty of the storm. Indeed, it understands that our days are filled with uncertainty, even anxiety about what is to come.  Rather than claim certainty, Jewish wisdom leans into the reality of the unknown and guides us to face it with courage and with our enduring Jewish values. Tomorrow morning in the Unetane Tokef prayer we will ask: Who will rest and who will wander, who will be humbled and who exalted…because we just don’t know! But through the discomfort, tradition guides us to cling to Jewish wisdom to rededicate ourselves to teshuvah, tefilah, tzedakah – repentance, prayer, and righteousness.

In the unknown, we turn to the essence of our tradition.

Our acceptance of reality is essential not only in our personal lives, but also in the life of our institutions and in our commitment to sustain them.  The season of Yom Kippur demands we transform; this era of American Judaism demands our institution transforms, as well.  The American Jewish community finds ourselves in an uncertain time of transition. Researchers report, and I can confirm: the pandemic disruption accelerated what was already in motion: there are more Jews outside of synagogues than within them. I trust you see this reality in the choices of your friends or family. Rodeph Shalom’s newly adopted Strategic Plan responds in two ways: First, the Plan commits to deepening engagement with our members.  And knowing that first step will not be sufficient, second: the Plan compels us to learn, about how we are going to transform in order to better serve this moment of American Jewish history.  Because as robust as our congregational life is, we are missing too many Jews and seekers to fulfill our vision. Our congregations’ membership structures that were created decades ago and served me and many of you well, cannot alone be the structures expected to serve the present and the future. We have exercised the muscles of transformation in our Rodeph Shalom past – that’s why we are still here! …And throughout Jewish history – that’s why we are still here! In our age, societal shifts compel us to think differently –that’s how we will still be here, thriving, through the generations / l’dor vador.  Judaism is not what needs to change; it is the human structures that define people’s relationship to Judaism that are incomplete.  It is the package in which we deliver Judaism – that needs new ideas. 

Here is how contemporary scholar Rabbi Benay Lappe characterizes the current era of Jewish life: She tells the story of a sociologist who when compiling the data of the 1990 National Jewish Population Study said to a friend: “There’s good news and there’s bad news. The good news is, Judaism will exist in 100 years; the bad news is it will be unrecognizable to us.” Rabbi Lappe’s take?  A reinvented Judaism need not be bad news. In her work called “An Unrecognizable Jewish Future: A Queer Talmudic Take,” Rabbi Lappe goes beyond honoring space for queer Jews in the Jewish community; she uses the term queer to think of any outsider, or once outsider, voice.  It’s those outsider voices that in so many eras of Jewish history, have brought the perspective critical to sustaining Judaism, from generation to generation/l’dor vador!

Why is such a diversity of voices essential? Rabbi Lisa Edwards imagines: If donkeys read Torah, all the donkey stories would jump out at them; every time they’d see a donkey in the text they’d say ––there’s me, there I am again!  All of those donkey stories that we completely miss.* Because it’s just not our experience.  

Well, what are we missing? The stories of the majority of Jews –that is, those on the fringes of our congregations.  They can help the Jewish community create something that may feel unrecognizable to our ancestors as Jews, especially Reform Jews, have done throughout the generations.

What stories in Philadelphia Jewish life, are we missing? How are people both within and beyond Rodeph Shalom bringing Jewish light to the big enduring questions of our lives: who am I, how should I live my life, what is my purpose? How can I close the gap between my values and my actions?  What parts of my heritage are eternal? The ways we wrestle with these questions have so much to teach us about the Jewish path for the coming generations.

It is ours to discover: what might be the shape of the future, and who will be molding it? In part, the answer is us—you–the heart of this congregation. The traditions, longings, uncertainties, connections, and questions in your hearts. But only some of the answer lies within our walls. Part of our understanding needs to expand by learning from Jews and seekers beyond. Not only welcoming them –which we already do –but listening to them for all the stories, we would otherwise completely miss. 

Torah asserts that not all listening is the same.  Sometimes the purpose of listening is just to consume information; other times the purpose goes deeper and listening can even transform us. Consider Judaism’s central prayer – these words from Torah: “Shma Yisrael Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad /Listen O Israel, the Eternal is our God the Eternal is one.

Contemporary Rabbi Deborah Silver interprets the Shma, as the highest form of listening.  She explores the listening that connects us with the divine.  An encounter with God—or with any of God’s creatures—has the potential to bring us closer to a sense of oneness, to open us to hearts and minds different from our own, to emerge from the conversation, different from the way we went in. An encounter with the Holy One or with holiness changes us, if we let it. Here, Torah reveals transformative listening.  Transformative listening inspires us to understand insights far beyond our own, to seek growth that alters us, sparks new thinking, and shapes our future.

This highest form of listening is not easy.  Pulling us out of our comfort zones, it forces us to face reality today.  Transformative listening ensures that even as we return to our roots we untangle them from nostalgia.  Only then, can we become good ancestors for the generations to come.

As our Rodeph Shalom Boards lead this work of transformative listening and determine the path of our Strategic Plan, please look out for invitations in RS communications to get involved.  I hope all of us will bring our voices to this conversation and help shape the future.  And, understanding we are responsible for nothing less than the future of the Jewish People, we won’t stop there.  So, to whom else might we listen? Whom beyond our walls might seek Jewish life and bring insights about how to shape it?  As it turns out, lots of people.

Understandably, there’s been lament about the national decline in synagogue affiliation rates. Yet, the Union for Reform Judaism Vice President, Amy Asin, draws a different conclusion, one that rejects anyone’s temptation to throw up our hands in defeat or abdicate responsibility.  Amy Asin points to the recent Pew Study’s report that a high number of people identify as Jews, and care about Judaism,

but do not affiliate with a synagogue or Jewish organization. Amy Asin insists and convinces me this is not a reason for lament; this is good news. Opportunity! People might not be compelled by the package we decades ago designed for delivering Judaism, but they care about Judaism. Perhaps then, our congregation might become open to a new kind of relationship… to thinking differently about the possibilities of relationship to Jewish life at Rodeph Shalom and beyond.

A newer organization called Atra just completed a study of 18-44 year olds who identify with Judaism in some way.  The study finds this population is not rejecting Judaism or Jewish community; rather, they want more connection.  So many people, beyond our walls to whom we will listen.  In ways we cannot yet know, transformative listening with them, will change us. Supporting them, will transform us.  Trusting them, will shape the future.

Indeed, there is hope in the fact that the Jews and seekers outside of our walls, are many.  The institutional structure that was created in the 1950’s, worked for me.  I was raised in it.  I am here.  And you are here. We ought not abandon what already thrives–the heart of the Jewish community and this congregation.  And. To bring it forward means accepting that reality evolves through history. To move forward means encountering the future; and true encounter will change us.

Daunting as the notion of unknown future change may be, Jewish wisdom lights our path. Remember that shipwrecked Rabbi Akiva, who in stormy waters clings to the plank of wood as he bows his head before each wave that draws near? The Hebrew word for plank—that piece of shattered boat that appears –is “daf.”  When Rabbi Akiva grabs hold of the daf and navigates the waters instead of fighting the daunting waves he nods his head as each wave approaches maintaining calm, clarity, and acceptance. 

Contemporary Rabbi Laura Geller, telling the story, imagines him saying “yes” to each wave –riding it, even welcoming it. But here’s the secret sauce: she imagines that he is also strengthened, by his understanding of the wordplay.  For in Hebrew the word “daf,” that plank he hangs onto, also means a page of Talmud. What keeps Rabbi Akiva–himself, a timeless symbol of Torah study—what keeps Rabbi Akiva centered, ready to be present and respond to the world as it is? He is holding on to Torah.

Amid stormy waters, what keeps Rodeph Shalom centered, ready to be present, to respond to the world as it is?  We hold onto Torah. We welcome each wave and nod yes, ready to respond to uncertainty and unease with meaning and holiness.  None of us unchanged, all of us knowing there is no going back, we shall nod to greet each wave of the future.

G’mar Chatimah tovah – may this congregation and its future be sealed for goodness.

 

 

 

 

 

*As told by Rabbi Benay Lappe

In an email, from me to Rabbi Freedman: “Hi Eli – Can you roll the Torah scroll to the correct spot for tomorrow?  Thanks—Jill”

In an email response, from Rabbi Freedman to me: “Will do.”

Have you ever heard Eli Freedman, respond “Will do?”  Maybe “Sure.” Or “No Prob.”  The Rabbi Freedman you and I know and love would not inflate formality. If anything, he makes interactions more warm and friendly, not less. I know him well enough to know: that was not Rabbi Freedman.  It was Rabbi Freedman, clicking on the suggested response, from Google-mail. That already-composed reply was authored by Artificial Intelligence. And the email shortcut got the job done.

The role of Artificial Intelligence, known by its initials AI, is growing, raising society-transforming questions about AI possibilities, dangers, and ethics.

However, the question that most interests me?  Not, what is AI, but: how does the presence of Artificial Intelligence help us to understand what it means to not be Artificial, that is, how does the presence of AI, reveal what it means to be human?

Do you remember the Turing Test? Named for mathematician Alan Turing in 1950, the Turing test determines: Can a computer successfully pretend to be a human being in a text-based conversation?  For decades now, it’s achieved every day.

So here’s the question: If I can relate to a texting robot as well as I can relate to you, does that say something impressive about the robot…or something concerning about OUR connection?  Indeed, Rabbi Erica Asch, president of the Central Conference of American Rabbis, teaches: It is not that robots have passed the Turing test; but rather, that we humans, have failed to expect deeper connection in human interactions! And research demonstrates, we keep getting worse at distinguishing the difference.

The Turing Test might challenge us: Let’s build human relationships, that we could not confuse with artificial relationships. In Rabbi Asch’s words: Say something that a computer can’t say.

In spiritual life, we have, not a Turing test; we have what I would call, a Buber test. The 20^th century Jewish philosopher, Martin Buber, taught that real living is human encounter. Buber introduced the notion of the I-Thou Relationship.  I-Thou connections are the wholly present, deeper moments, where many of us find the Divine. I-Thou teaches: human encounter is a spiritual opportunity.

In order for the I-Thou connection to happen, we cannot erase into each other, or into the moment; each of us is fully present in our individuality. For the I-Thou, we need each other.

When it comes to the connecting, critical to living a fully human life, Jewish wisdom offers a profound, joyful strategy, in the form of Shabbat.

On this day of Rosh Hashanah, also called HaYom HaRat Olam / the day of the world’s birth, we mark creation. We just read the Creation Story. God creates. And it is good. And then God rests. Contemporary author Judith Shulevitz notes, the sages ask: If God ceases from creating on the 7^th day, then how does God create Shabbat?  And, in our attempt to imitate God, how can we follow the commandment “to make Shabbat,” if the idea is, on Shabbat we do not make—anything? Within the paradox Shulevitz finds the logic: On the 7^th day God creates not a thing, but a system of meaning.  On Shabbat we do not make things; on Shabbat we make meaning.

The sabbath is one of the first things given to the human family and is part of what makes us human. Later, the Torah compels the Jewish family to make Shabbat holy, with these words recited last night in V’shamru: The people of Israel shall keep the sabbath, throughout the ages, as a covenant for all generations. For in 6 days God made heaven and earth, and on the 7^th day God ceased from work and was refreshed / Vayinafash.  Vayinafash, coming from the Hebrew word nefesh, soul.  On Shabbat, together we re-soul.

Artificial Intelligence cannot celebrate Shabbat, and make it holy; computers cannot pray, hug, create a weekly community of singing and learning about the values we aspire to shape our lives.  For all of these, we need each other. And as we rebuild post-pandemic community, household by household, soul by soul, these wholly human acts are among the things this congregation does with vitality, joy, belonging and meaning on Friday evenings, at the service where our community gathers every week. 

Here’s what Shabbat looks like in our sanctuary: When I look out at the pews, about a third of the people on Friday evening are the ringers.  They attend more often than not. They know the prayers, the tunes, and the service flow.  They laugh at our jokes during the sermon, they bring a prayer book, or a greeting to a new-comer. After services they fill their homes, or restaurant reservations, with other congregants and seekers for Shabbat dinner. There is no robust Shabbat community without them. 

Roughly another third of the people in the pews are congregants who attend often, sometimes for an occasion such as saying Kaddish, sometimes when there are timely issues challenging the world and they know we will wrestle with them through a Jewish lens, other times just because it is Shabbat, and they feel at home when re-embraced into the sanctuary.  About another third of the people in the pews are guests.  They are Jews and seekers from the area, they are people with marginalized identities drawn in by our commitment to equity-inclusion-diversity, they are people considering conversion to Judaism, or who just took a 23-and-Me genetic test and are curious about newly discovered Jewish ancestry, they are comparative religion students from Temple University, they are folks who just started addiction recovery, on a quest for a spiritual path, they are recent tourists thinking of moving to Philadelphia. Some feel so welcomed by the regulars they end up becoming regulars, others are just passing through, but now moving through the world, with a deeper appreciation for the Jews.

Every Friday night, from the very first notes in Cantor Hyman’s voice inviting us to sing, together, we are transformed. Shabbat at Rodeph Shalom, is the time our family comes together, to be… human…to take a collective breath – Six days a week we do what needs to be done.  We pretend this world makes sense, just to function in it. On Shabbat, together, we affirm the uncertainty, honor the mystery; make it holy, and we call it a joy.

Or, better put, in the words of these Rodeph Shalom voices:

From one congregant: “Shabbat is my time, like a regular, mini-Rosh Hashanah– to encounter my community as I reflect on who I want to be and what I want to contribute to this world.”

Indeed, this congregant’s perspective is echoed by our tradition.  The sages imagine that on Rosh Hashanah, God says to us: “My children, I look upon you as if today I had created a new creature.” If Rosh Hashanah marks HaYom HaRat Olam / the day the world is born anew, by inspiring our renewal, Shabbat brings this celebration of renewal into our every week.

From another congregant: “I take seriously the teaching that Shabbat does not exist for the purpose of recharging us for the week ahead. It’s just the opposite; Shabbat is the destination. We accomplish all that we do during the week in order to arrive, to look into the eyes of the other, and together to take in the joy, the ritual, the message, music, and community of Shabbat.”

I share this congregant’s passion – On Shabbat we are not here to re-charge for the work ahead.  We are here to re-soul for the present moment. Our world demands toil and repair; our souls demand a sacred pause.  

From a congregant: “Just to share space regularly and intentionally – to dance at L’cha Dodi, to hear congregants’ harmonies whether on or off key, the cry of a baby, someone sneezing, or to see someone fidgeting out of the corner of my eye – that physical presence matters.  As someone who did not grow up Jewish, Shabbat has been a way to release myself from producing, to be a little less caffeinated, and to immerse in Jewish time with a community joining in an effort to slow down.”

This congregant would appreciate the way Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel puts it: “The meaning of the Sabbath is to celebrate time rather than space…to turn from the results of creation to the mystery of creation; from the world of creation to the creation of the world.” We are typically judged by what we produce. And the world needs us to produce. But our souls need us to connect, beyond a transaction. Shabbat won’t get us ahead or earn points from society. It’s not an accomplishment. That’s why Shabbat is so countercultural. A countercultural practice, demands prioritizing–society will not schedule around my non-conformist practice. And a divergent practice as a part of a minority identity will always be outside the norm – that’s one of the things that makes Jewish life special, even an act of resistance.

From a congregant: “During a time of scary illness for our family I remember going to Shabbat services. When we got to the part of the service when we pray for healing, I remember the comfort of saying my mom’s name aloud and feeling the whole RS community behind me.”

Our congregant might relate to the ancient sage, Rabbi Shimon ben Yochai, who taught: “if all the Jewish people observed the same 2 sabbaths/shabbatot in a row, they would be immediately redeemed.”  Yes- I can see this truth, not as a reward for celebrating Shabbat but as a natural outcome. There must be an impact to singing together, releasing into prayer, leaning on, supporting, lifting each other, grappling with our teachings, affirming our values, honoring the sanctity of creation, and the possibility of the divine. Connection in holy time, is so powerful, it changes our lives. 

Each week, our congregation gathers in vibrant Shabbat community.  We say things that a computer can’t’ say. Together, in a sacred pause, vayinafash, we take a collective breath.  On the day we are to make nothing, we make meaning. For this vitality we need each other. On the 7^th day, Vayinafash, God was renewed.

With a glimpse of Rodeph Shalom Shabbat community now on Rosh Hashanah, the day the world is born anew…I pray that you experience a taste of Shabbat holiness—kedushah—that fills your cup, and at the same time leaves you wanting more, week after week – more of the I-Thou, real living of human encounter. So that this year, when you come face to face with life’s joys and with life’s unpredictability, when you need to connect, and live a more fully human life, you gather with your community on Shabbat, as together, we affirm the uncertainty; honor the mystery; make it holy, and we call it a joy. 

Shabbat shalom.

Ein Li Eretz Acheret/I Have No Other Country. These words were emblazoned on the side of a building as we drove up the Ayalon Freeway in Tel Aviv on our way from Ben Gurion Airport to our friends in Herzliya. This past June, my family had the chance to spend almost a month in Israel; visiting friends, traveling, exploring, eating, meeting new people, and bearing witness to both the beauty and the pain of a country that for so many is their only country. 

Ein Li Eretz Acheret/I Have No Other Country is the title and first line of a well known Israeli song, written by Ehud Manor and Corine Alal. This song is a timeless reflection on both the complexity of living in Israel and a single, essential truth for so many: They have no other country.

Ein Li Eretz Acheret
I have no other country
even if my land is aflame
Just a word in Hebrew
pierces my veins and my soul –
With a painful body, with a hungry heart,
Here is my home.

I will not stay silent
because my country changed her face

I will not give up reminding her
And sing in her ears
until she will open her eyes

This is how I feel; Ein Li Eretz Acheret/I Have No Other Country. While I have the privilege of American citizenship, Israel holds a unique place in my heart, like no other country. And because of that, I will not stay silent when my country changes her face. I will not give up reminding her and sing in her ears until she opens her eyes.

Here’s how Israel is changing her face. For the past 9 months, every week, hundreds of thousands of Israelis have taken to the streets in pro-Democracy protests; marching, carrying signs, and singing songs of dissent, like Ein Li Eretz Acheret. Israelis of all walks of life are protesting the unprecedented moves by the current ruling coalition to decimate the power of the Israeli Supreme Court, in order to make sweeping reforms without any opposition. 

In the United States, we have three branches of government – executive, legislative, and judiciary – that all have checks and balances on each other. And we have a Constitution that guarantees such. 

In Israel, they only have two branches of government, like a Parliament in Europe, and no Constitution but instead a set of Basic Laws. The executive and legislative branches are combined; the “speaker of the house” so-to-speak becomes Prime Minister. Therefore, the only check on the Prime Minister and his party, who control the Knesset is the Israeli Supreme Court. 

The current coalition was elected by the slimmest majority (after four failed elections in four years) and is composed of the most radical right-wing Israelis, like Finance Minister Betzalel Smotrich and Minister of National Security Itamar Ben Gvir, who until recently had a picture of Jewish terrorist Baruch Goldstein on his wall, glorifying the murder of innocent Palestinians. Despite pressure from America and their own citizens, they recently passed a law severely weakening the Supreme Court’s check on their power. 

Without checks and balances, the current government has made clear the type of agenda that they hope to pass; an agenda, anathema to our values as Reform Jews, which includes:

• Limiting aliyah to only those deemed Jewish by the Haredi/Ultra-Orthodox.
• Demolishing LGBTQ+ rights, like same sex couple adoption.
• And supporting illegal settlements and vigilante violence against Palestinians.

During our trip to Israel, while in Jerusalem for Shabbat, our friend, Rabbi Tamir Nir, from our partner congregation Achva BaKerem, took our family on a hike. As we were driving through a historically secular neighborhood, I was surprised to see Haredi/Ultra Orthodox men walking in the middle of the street, cursing at drivers, yelling, “Shabbos Shabbos,” as if to rebuke us for driving on Shabbat. Josephine asked me, what they were saying, I said, “Oh, I think they are just wishing us a Shabbat Shalom.” And, being as friendly as they are, my kids rolled down their windows and yelled back, “Shabbat Shalom!”

While this is a cute story, the very real threat of religious coercion by the Haredi is frightening. After waiting decades, a new light rail recently opened in Tel Aviv… only one problem, it is not open on Shabbat. The vast majority of residents of Tel Aviv are secular and would happily use public transportation on Shabbat. However, the Haredi have a disproportionate amount of power in the current government and are slowly turning Israel into a theocracy. 

Haredi politicians have signaled their desire to remove protections for women, the queer community, and so many more that do not fit the strict definition of Jewish according to fundamentalist interpretation.

We spent time on this trip with my wife’s cousin, who lives a happy life as an out gay man in Tel Aviv. When I asked him if he was worried about the judicial overhaul, he said, “Don’t worry Eli, I live in Tel Aviv, they will never change Tel Aviv…” I only wish that were true. 

For all the secular and progressive Jews in Israel. For Israeli women, for the queer community; they have no other land – Ein Li Eretz Acheret

On one of our last days in Jerusalem, Rabbi Nir took us on a tiyul/hike, in the Ein Gedi nature preserve. On the way there, he had a little surprise for us – camels! The simplest route to Ein Gedi from Jerualem passes right through the West Bank. As we descended towards the Dead Sea, Rabbi Nir pulled off the road where an impoverished Palestinian family had set up a small makeshift camel riding operation. By small operation, I mean there was a camel, some shade, and a few souvenirs to buy. After a little bit of obligatory negotiating, we settled on a price for a quick five minute ride. I asked Rabbi Nir if I could pay and he said he already took care of it and was happy to pay. “This is their livelihood, this is all they have,” he said.

Israel’s fanatical national security minister, Itamar Ben-Gvir, recently said in an interview, “my right, the right of my wife and my children to move around Judea and Samaria is more important than freedom of movement for the Arabs.”

These words do not represent the majority of Israelis. These words do not represent Judaism. These are the words of a Jewish supremacist who believes that Jewish lives are more important than Arab lives. We will read in the Torah tomorrow morning that all humanity was created b’tzelem elohim/in the Divine image. And the Talmud goes on to comment that the first human was created alone so that the families would not quarrel with each other, boasting of the superior heritage of their ancestors. (Sanhedrin 38a)

Our Jewish tradition is clear: this family of camel entrepreneurs deserves the same dignity as anyone else. They would much rather have stable jobs working in Israel’s thriving tech or healthcare sectors, and yet, they are confined by laws that limit their movement and prevent them from seeking work in a country whose policies already play a part in restricting Palestinian self-determination.

I am not naive, this family has also been failed by their own Palestinian leadership and security concerns are real. However, we can not use that as an excuse to continue the status quo and allow extremists to further punish the Palestinian people. 

For the camel owners and all Palestinians; they have no other land – Ein Li Eretz Acheret.

At the new Anu Museum gift shop (there was always a stop at the gift shop. You name the random museum, historical site, etc…, my kids made sure we stopped at the gift shop!). At the gift shop, my 5 year old found a music box. She cranked the little handle and a tiny melody began. [hum Hatikvah, la la la la la] Nora asked, “What’s that melody?” “HaTikvah,” I said, “It means hope.”

In addition to seeing the pain that so many Israelis are facing, in seeing their country change her face, we also saw so much hope on our trip. 

One of the simchas/joyous events that brought us to Israel was our friend’s daughter, Ma’ayan’s bat mitzvah ceremony, which took place on the Israeli campus of Hebrew Union College, a pillar of progressive Judaism in the heart of Jerusalem. Seeing this young, progressive, Jewish woman take her place in the chain of tradition, gave me hope for the future of Israel. The service was led by Rabbi Stacey Blank. Rabbi Blank is a leader in the Israeli Reform Movement, working for justice on behalf of all people in Israel. When asked what she wants the Jewish-American community to know about the current situation, she wrote: 

Do not despair. Continue to educate yourselves and your communities about the issues. Be leaders in dialogue. Delve into the truism that, “Kol Yisrael Aravin Zeh L’Zeh/All of Israel is Responsible for One Another. Talk about the dangers of Sinat Chinam/Baseless Hatred. And remember how important every single person is to the success of Israel, both those of us who live here and those who live elsewhere. 

Rabbi Blank ended her message with the words from HaTikvah: 

… עוד לא אבדה תקוותנו

Our hope is not lost…

For the bat mitzvah, Ma’ayan, for Rabbi Blank; they have no other land – Ein Li Eretz Acheret.

As the song reminds us, even when Israel is aflame, it is home. When our country changes her face, we will not give up, we will sing in her ears until she opens her eyes. We will engage more than ever:

• We are traveling to Israel as a congregation in May. Our Israel ConnectRS group is bringing amazing speakers like Yotam Polizer, CEO of IsraAID, and Sigal Kanotopsky, who was born in a small village in Ethiopia’s rural north, before walking three months to make aliya at the age of five, and now runs the Jewish Agency in our region. 
• We are continuing our dynamic relationship with our partner congregation, Achva BaKerem, and there is an opportunity to help them build a new prayer space in their community garden. 
• We are doubling down our support of ARZA, The Association of Reform Zionists of America, the Israel arm of the Reform Movement. 

We are supporting the organizations and individuals in Israel that represent our values. When our country changes her face, we will not give up, we will sing in her ears until she opens her eyes. 

Because…

For hundreds of thousands of pro-democracy protesters – they have no other land – Ein Li Eretz Acheret.

For the tens of thousands of Ukrainians fleeing Russian aggression and seeking asylum in Israel – Ein Li Eretz Acheret.

For my wife’s grandparents, Savta Dina who escaped Polish pogrom as a child and Saba Joe, who found refuge in Israel from Nazi persecution – Ein Li Eretz Acheret.

For Rabbi Tamir Nir and Rabbi Stacey Blank and all Reform communities in Israel – Ein Li Eretz Acheret.

For the five million Palestinian people – Ein Li Eretz Acheret.

And for us, the entire Jewish community in the diaspora – who cling to Israel as the heart that beats life into our global jewish community – Ein Li Eretz Acheret.