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This week, we read about the last three plagues to strike Egypt before our ancestors escaped the tyranny of Pharaoh. The ninth plague, was the plague of darkness.  ”There was thick darkness over the entire land of Egypt for three days. No man could see his brother, nor could any person even rise from his place for three days.” (Exodus 10:22-22)

We are taught that the darkness was not simply the result of lack of light, but also the presence of a thick fog that got worse with time. When the plague of darkness fell upon Egypt, people could not see. Within a few days, we are taught that the darkness was so thick that they could not even move. However, in the Jewish homes, the Torah teaches us that “there was light”.

I believe that the darkness of the ninth plague still persists in our world today. So many people walk around incapable of seeing the incredible world around them, incapable of moving forward and reaching their dreams. This is why Ramat Shalom is so important. Our community emanates light. It cuts through the darkness and the fog and breathes life and energy into each of us. I am so proud of the work we do here and so grateful to each and every single one of you who supports us and makes it possible to keep the lights burning brightly.

Sorry for the delay in posting!  Busy beginning to a new secular year!!!

I admit it – I have a bad habit of destroying the Chanukah story for folks this time of year – telling them that the miraculous oil story is just a legend.  This legend was developed by the rabbis in an attempt to downplay the real story of Chanukah that centers around the war the Maccabbees waged against the Greeks.  The Maccabbees were victorious, regaining the Temple that was captured and defiled by the Greeks.  In an attempt to purify the Temple, the Maccabbees “rededicated” (Chanukah means dedication) the holy structure by burning the Menorah (the seven branched candelabra) for eight days.  Why eight days?  It has nothing to do with oil.  It has to do with the fact that the Maccabees, having been forbidden to practice their Judaism while under control of the Greeks, decided to rededicate the Temple for eight days in honor of the last Jewish holiday that they were forbidden to celebrate: Sukkot, which lasts eight days.  Complicated, I know.  And very war-centered.  Can you blame the rabbis for coming up with the oil story!?

 

If this is all new information for you, I know the look on your face.  I have seen it many times.  Sorry!  But all is not lost!

 

Now that you know the “truth”, I want to point out that even without the oil, .Chanukah is still a miraculous story.

 

The Maccabees were a tiny group of Jews who should not have been able to defeat the powerful Greeks.  But they did!  And because of this miracle, Judaism survived and did not become consumed by Greek culture.   This story of miraculous survival repeats itself many times throughout Jewish history.  Despite tremendous powers that have raged against us, nothing has stopped the Jewish people.  This is a miracle.

 

As we light the eight lights of Chanukah, I encourage us all to think about the incredible strength, courage and faith of our ancestors who lived through extremely dark times – but did whatever was necessary to keep the flame of Judaism alive.  At this the darkest time of year, may the lights of Chanukah not only make our homes brighter, may they also remind us of the true miracle of the Jewish people: darkness cannot extinguish our flame.

 

This Chanukah – celebrate the real miracle of these eight days – the strength of our people!

 

May it be a wonderfully bright Chanukah for us all

Podcast of my sermon given on 12/9/11.  Whereas Muslims are obligated to submit to Allah and Christians must have faith in Jesus, Jews are expected to wrestle with G-d. This both challenging and extremely rewarding.  Listen here: Jews Wrestle With G-d

Have you ever heard something about someone and believed it – only later to realize that what you were led to believe was totally wrong?  Certainly all of us have been in this situation.  This is why Judaism vehemently prohibits all forms of gossip and what we call l’shon hara (evil speech).  “Gossiping” in Judaism includes sharing any information about someone else even if it is complimentary, even if it is true, even if the person being talked about would volunteer the information on her own and even if the intention of the “gossiper” is good.  Sharing information that appears to be harmless is equivalent to what the Torah calls “talebearing”, something forbidden in Judaism.

 

Most of us are guilty of “talebearing” on a regular basis.  And really, what is wrong with sharing non-secretive, complimentary facts about someone else?  This week’s Torah portion explains….

 

Jacob and his brother Esau have been estranged ever since Jacob tricked his brother out of the birthright – basically stealing what was rightfully Esau’s.  This week, Jacob decides it is time to make things good with Esau.  Jacob sends messengers to Esau instructing them to tell his brother that he hopes to reconcile with him.  The messengers return, saying: “we came to your brother Esau; he himself is coming to meet you and there are four hundred men with him.”  Jacob assumes that this means that Esau is coming to wage war against him.  The Torah tells us that Jacob is “greatly frightened”.  He prepares for the worst.  However, when Esau and his four hundred men arrive to meet Jacob, the Torah tells us that “Esau ran to greet Jacob.  Esau embraced him and, falling on his neck, he kissed him and the two of them wept.”  Jacob quickly realizes that the messengers had led him to believe something that was not true: his brother was not out to harm him.  On the contrary, Esau was also seeking reconciliation.

 

This story teaches us the dangers of “talebearing”.  When we share information about someone else that appears to be harmless, we can mislead people into believing something false about the individual being discussed.  Esau was coming to Jacob.  He was accompanied by four hundred men.  But, he was not coming to attack his brother.  “Talebearing” is wrong because, as we learn from the story above, even “facts” can be misinterpreted.

 

We must work hard not be “talebearers”.  It is not easy.  On top of this, today we must pay close attention to the dangers that e-mail and texting present us with – mainly the fact that our quick one-liners that are electronically transmitted from our smart phones or computers are easily misunderstood and can send messages about ourselves that we don’t intend to send.  How many times have you gotten a text or e-mail and incorrectly assumed from the message that the sender was upset with you?  While not “talebearing”, the perils of e-mail and texting remind us how powerful our words, both spoken and written, can be and how carefully we must use them.  If used well, our words can be holy.  When used without thought, our words can be weapons.

 

Unfortunately, our culture encourages us to use our words as weapons.  “Talebearing,” gossiping, making assumptions about others – these are part and parcel of our society.  But this does not mean we can’t rise above this negativity.  We can watch our words.  We can think before we speak/type.  We can refuse to listen to gossip.  We can get to know people instead of making assumptions about them.  And we can learn that there are times when it is just not necessary to speak.  “A knowledgeable person is sparing with her words.”  (Proverbs 17:27)

Last night’s sermon in podcast form.  Enjoy and get some sleep!

The Power of Sleep

A Good Old Age

In this week’s Torah portion, we read about the deaths of Abraham and Sarah.

“Abraham was old, well advanced in years, and God had blessed Abraham with everything…Then Abraham breathed his last and died at a good old age, an old man and full of years; and he was gathered to his people”

“Sarah lived to be 127 years old: [These were] the years of Sarah’s life.” Rashi, the great medieval commentator, says that the latter part of this verse was intended to teach that each of Sarah’s 127 was equally good.

But we have been reading the story. We know that Sarah had some very bad years. She wrestled with infertility. She made the mistake of permitting her husband to have a child with Hagar, the housekeeper. And let’s not overlook what must have been an extremely arduous journey from her homeland in southern Iraq after her husband received a “call” from G-d to travel to Canaan (Israel).

We know that Abraham too had his challenges and struggles. Just last week G-d tested Abraham, asking him to slaughter his son, Isaac. Abraham had to banish his son Ishmael, wrestle with his nephew Lot and struggle with G-d over the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. G-d blessed him with everything?

As Sarah dies this week, we read how Abraham owned no land to bury her. He doesn’t have everything! He has to prostrate himself before the Hittite people before he is able to purchase a cave that will serve as a burial place for Sarah.

Why does the Torah make it seem like Abraham and Sarah’s lives were filled with only good years? Why are we taught that they had everything? Because, despite challenges, Abraham and Sarah did have everything and, in their entirety, their lives were good.

How can we say this?

Because our matriarch and patriarch spend their lives developing a relationship, a holy covenant with G-d who promises both of them that their special bond with G-d will be passed on to their offspring forever. Abraham and Sarah’s lives are spent securing the future of their family. Thus, it is not a coincidence that as we read about the death of Abraham and Sarah this week, we also read about Abraham purchasing his first plot of land in Israel (the burial cave) and securing a wife for his son Isaac. As Abraham and Sarah pass away, the stage is set for the next generation to continue living in the holy land with G-d. What a gift Abraham and Sarah give to Isaac and his children.

I say it is time for us to go back to the biblical definition of a good, meaningful life, a life in which we have everything. A “good old age” should not be measured by material possessions, net worth and professional accomplishments. A good old age should be measured by the wellbeing of our children and grandchildren.

This week, we learned important moral lessons from national and international leaders.  Unfortunately, we learned these lessons because of mistakes made by these leaders.  Nonetheless, the lssons are ones we must all take to heart.

A private conversation between President Obama and French President Sarkozy in which the two leaders made disparaging comments about Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu was captured on a live microphone (certainly not the first time important people have found themselves in such a situation!). Abe Foxman, the National Director of the ADL expressed concern over these comments, stating: ” we now have to worry to what extent these private views inform foreign policy decisions of the U.S. and France ˆ two singularly important players in the peace process.” The lesson we learn from this exchange is a lesson that lies at the core of Judaism: our words are like arrows – once they leave our mouths, like an arrow, they can’t be pulled back; the damage they do can’t be stopped; the harm they do can’t always be predicted because, like arrows, words go astray. The lesson: live our lives as if all of our words will be broadcast on the front page of the newspaper.

A much more disturbing lesson has been taught by what appears to be the shameful inaction of the administration of Penn State’s football team. As a result of this inaction, children were sexually abused. Responsible, respected, well-known adults ˆ leaders ˆ knew what was going on ˆ and, according to reports, they did nothing to stop it. Again, the lesson we learn from this tragedy is one that lies at the core of Judaism: Jews don’t simply believe, we act. It is not enough to know that something is wrong; when something is wrong, we must act to stop it. There is no alternative.

In Pirke Avot, we are taught “Who is wise? He who learns from every man.” We don’t ever want others to stumble. But, it happens. Just as we must learn from our own mistakes, we must learn from the mistakes of others. Theodor Herzl, the founder of Zionism, once said that: “We shall learn from the historic mistakes of others in the same way as we learn from our own; for we are a modern nation and wish to be the most modern in the world.” In the same way, to become the best people we can be, we must learn from our own failures and the failures of others. This week, we have unfortunately had the opportunity to learn a lot. Hopefully, we have all incorporated these lessons into our lives and grown because of them.


I share with you the latest article by Dr. Daniel Gordis, a powerful peace about what he discovered as a result of Gilad Shalit’s release.

A Rediscovered Abundance of Goodness
Daniel Gordis

Mr. Prime Minister,

Before the Shalit deal fades entirely from view, many of us are hoping that you have noticed what you unwittingly unleashed. I don’t mean the next wave of terror or the terrible decisions that Israel must make before the next kidnapping. We knew about those even before last week. But last Tuesday, all of us ˆ those opposed as well as those in favor (and there were persuasive arguments on both sides) ˆ rediscovered something magnificent about this country. It would be tragic if we returned to business as usual without pausing to take note.

In addition to Gilad Shalit, we got one more thing in return that few of us could have expected; we got a reminder of the abundant goodness that still resides at the very core of this society. You could see it everywhere. Compare the speeches on our side, celebrating life and freedom, to the blood-thirsty Palestinian harangues calling for renewed terror and additional kidnappings. Compare the respectful restraint of our press to Shahira Amin’s immoral and abusive interview in Egypt. But more than anything, we saw this reservoir of goodness in the streets ˆ in the people so moved that they could hide neither the tears in their eyes nor the lumps in their throats. We saw it in the throngs along the roads, people who wanted Shalit to know that they, too, celebrated his long overdue freedom. And we saw it in the hundreds of people in Mitzpe Hila who continued dancing long after he’d entered his house and closed the door.

We all felt it ˆ it was innocent, pure and thoroughly decent. We were witness that day to an entire country believing in something again. Those young people outside the Shalit home were singing not only about Shalit, but about this land, this people, and about a future in which they still believe. Did you see them? Women and men, religious and secular, dancing with abandon in celebration of freedom? Did you hear them singing anachnu ma’aminim benei ma’aminim ∑. “We’re believers, the children of believes, and we have no one on whom to depend, other than our Father in heaven”? You didn’t miss it, did you? Hundreds of people of all walks of Israeli life, proclaiming without hesitation their belief in something bigger than themselves?

The reason that the trade was wildly popular, Mr. Prime Minister, wasn’t ultimately about Gilad Shalit. It was about Israel. About a country desperate to transcend the cynicism, that still wants to believe that it’s worth believing in. Shouldn’t we ˆ and you ˆ therefore ask ourselves what can we do next to justify people’s belief in this place? What will it take to make this a country that its citizens can love even when we’re not freeing a captive?

How about if we start by eradicating evil? Take but one example and deal with it. There’s a small but vicious group of kids living over the Green Line who bring inestimable shame on the Jewish people. They burn mosques, tear down olive trees and sow fear everywhere ˆ all with the implicit support of their rabbis. And they make many young Israelis deeply ashamed of this entire enterprise. Last week, you showed us that you do know how to take decisive action. So do it again. Rein them in. Arrest them. Cut off funding to their yeshivot. If you show this generation of Israelis that your government stands for goodness even when that means making tough domestic decisions, you’ll unleash a wave of Zionist passion like we haven’t felt here for a generation. It wouldn’t be any harder to do than what you just did, and it would actually do even more good for Israel than getting one soldier back.

And beyond goodness, there’s also Jewishness. No, we shouldn’t make too much of that anachnu ma’aminim benei ma’aminim song, but admit ˆ it’s not what you expect to see lots of secular people singing. Yet they did. Because this is a strange and wondrous country; not so deep down, even “non-religious” people aren’t “non-religious.” Just like their observant counterparts, they’re searching, struggling, yearning and at moments like that, they know that the well from which they hope to draw their nourishment is a Jewish well.

That’s why it was wonderful that you quoted from Isaiah (the Haftarah for Parashat Bereishit) in your speech. It was your suggestion, I hope, that at its core, this society must be decent, but it must also be Jewish. You know what the main problem with the summer’s Social Justice protests was? It wasn’t the naïve embrace of high school socialism, or the utter incoherence of the demands. It was the fact that there was simply nothing Jewish about their vision for Israel. Dafni Leef and her comrades could have given the same vacuous speeches at Occupy Wall Street. Or in Sweden, for that matter. Those inane speeches were testimony to the failure of our educational systems and of Israel’s religious leadership. The Yoram Kaniuk affair and the court’s willingness to let him declare himself “without religion” is a reflection not on him, but on the appallingly uninteresting variety of Judaism that the State has come to represent. Can you ˆ or anyone else ˆ name eve! n one single powerful idea that’s come from any of Israel’s Chief Rabbis in the past decade or two? Me, neither.

But lo and behold, it turns out that Israel’s young people still want to believe in something. We haven’t given them the tools to articulate it, but they still intuit that whatever we become, it’s got to be Jewish. So ride that wave, too, Mr. Prime Minister. What would it take to shape a country where the profundity at the core of Jewish tradition became once again the subject of discourse in our public square? Does Judaism in the twenty-first century suddenly have to become dull and backward, or can we restore the intellectual and moral excellence that once characterized it? Can you take this on, too? Appoint the right people? Build the right schools? Can you help make this a country encourages those young people now searching for Jewish moral moorings?

For or against, hardly a single one of us is not thrilled that Gilad Shalit is home. He deserved his life back. But so, too, does this country. Shalit, hopefully, will now get better and stronger with each passing day. Israel must do the same. It needs to get better ˆ we need to be honest about the evils lurking in our midst, and we must exorcise them. And we must become stronger, which we can do only by engaging with the roots that brought us back home in the first place.

Can you do this? Many of us hope so. Because if this fails, it will in the long run have made no difference that Gilad Shalit came home. But if it succeeds, we might just come to see his liberation as the turning point in our collective return to believing in ourselves.

We have begun reading the Torah all over again, starting with the creation of the world. On the first day of creation, God said “light” and there was light. However, the sun, moon and stars were not yet created. We are left wondering where this first light came from, what was its source? And does it still exist today?

The Torah tells us that the first light was “good”. We also know that it was the antithesis of the darkness that the Torah describes as filling the earth prior to creation – a darkness associated with chaos and emptiness. Therefore, we can believe that the first light was an energy or force associated with peace and wholeness. And this would explain why it was “good”.

So where is this light today? As we light Shabbat candles tonight, we have the ability to see this light. We are not supposed to use the light of Shabbat candles to read, cook or simply fill the darkness. The light of Shabbat candles is supposed to remind us that our day of peace, joy and rest has begun. Our Shabbat candles are supposed to remind us that it is “good”: life is good. As we rush through our week and get stressed out by daily challenges, we easily forget that life is good. The light of the candles brings us back to the light of creation – the good light.

Prior to creating the first light, the Torah tells us that the breath of G-d swept across the surface of the earth: before the light appeared, G-d breathed. As you light your candles tonight and start Shabbat, catch your breath. Breathe. Light your candles. Cover your eyes. Stand in the darkness for a moment. Open your eyes and see the light of creation: the epitome of goodness. Live in that goodness for a day – enjoying the peace of Shabbat.

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