Statements/Sermons from Clergy

This week, a colleague shared a prayer he composed entitled, “A Prayer for When It’s All Too Much.” In truth, "too much" has been the prevailing sentiment for a long time, and I suspect it will continue to be so. The news is overwhelming. The sheer number of issues demanding urgent attention feels insurmountable. The relentless pace of change is dizzying. The anxiety of waiting, of powerlessness, is heavy.

Adding to this sense of feeling overwhelmed, the convergence of this week's Torah portion and our observance of Yom HaShoah poignantly highlighted this week the profound personal and collective grief we carry. Parshat Shemini recounts the sudden and devastating loss of Nadav and Avihu, two of the ancient biblical priests. As our Port Washington community gathered this past Wednesday to remember the six million victims of the Holocaust, we were also acutely aware of the ongoing pain caused by Hamas' horrific attack on October 7, 2023 – the most brutal assault on Jews collectively since that dark time. We lit candles not only for the six million lost but also for those murdered, traumatized, and still held hostage. It is a stark and painful reality to carry such profound sorrow in our collective heart.

Elie Wiesel, of blessed memory, who emerged from the abyss of Auschwitz, reminds us with stark and unwavering truth: “The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it's indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it's indifference (U.S. News and World Report, October 27, 1986).” His words resonated deeply this week, particularly in our time when it all feels like too much, and when the inclination to ignore all that threatens to overwhelm us can be strong.

The darkness we witness – whether it be the sting of division in our communities, the anxieties emanating from Israel, or the haunting echoes of our past – demands our active engagement. Indifference is not an option for us. As Jews, we are called to kindle light, not by ignoring the shadows, but by actively seeking out and nurturing sparks of hope, justice, and compassion.

This Shabbat, as we light the candles, may their gentle glow be a reminder that even the smallest flame can pierce the deepest darkness.

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Rabbi Rothman - Light in the Darkness

Email – April 18, 2025
Pesach (7th Day)

One week ago, we got rid of our chameitz (leavened food) so that it is like the dust of the earth. The ownerless chameitz, just like dust, still remains with us even if we don’t consume it. That’s the thing about chameitz, we may physically remove it but the nullified remnants, rising inside all of us, wait for the moment that the heartless Pharaoh in our life chases us to the edge of freedom. Pesach calls on each of us to ask the right questions, think what we have is enough, but recognizes that there is so much more. In the remaining days of Pesach, let us continue to rid ourselves of the physical and spiritual chameitz that consumes our lives.

This year, we may still feel like slaves but may the year to come inspire us to free ourselves and others from the pharaohs that surround us. Last week we gathered around the table to retell our Exodus from Egypt in our own words. With the bread of affliction on our back baking in the hot desert sun, we left Egypt in a hurry. But tonight as we enter the Seventh Day of Pesach, we dance at the shore of the sea counting our blessings and praising God. For if God had only freed us from bondage, Dayeinu – It would have been enough but God continues to do so much more each and every day.

The miraculous splitting of the sea may seem like the climax of the Exodus story but it’s only the beginning. From enslavement to wandering in the desert, we walked toward the land that God promised us. Our Exodus gave birth to a nation, and our yearning and hope brought us to the Land of Israel. As the sun sets, may we walk towards a true sense of freedom ready to once again take ownership of the chameitz in our life.

As we conclude Pesach and get ready to celebrate Israel, please register to march with us at the Israel Day Parade on Fifth on Sunday, May 18. Click here for more information.

Chag Sameach and Shabbat Shalom!

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Rabbi Z - Light in the Darkness

Email – April 11, 2025
Parashat Tzav - HaGadol

Pesach 5785

The Pesach seder is often misunderstood as simply being a remembrance of what happened long ago. It is not. The seder itself indicates that it is even more a lesson of empathy. We are to experience the re-telling as if we ourselves were slaves, to viscerally feel what it is like to be oppressed. Yes, the salt water and maror give us a taste (literally) of our ancestors suffering, but it is also meant to link our lives to so many who face despair, degraded by powerful leaders who dehumanize, degrade and demonize others.

For wrongs committed by a priest, judge – or even the people – Torah uses the word אם im “if they should sin”. But when referring to sins of the political ruler (the נשיא nasi – in modern Hebrew meaning “president”), the word used is אשר asher “When a leader unintentionally incurs guilt by doing any of the things which by the commandment of his God ought not to be done, and that realizes guilt.” (Leviticus 4:22). In this, Torah shows a deep understanding that those who lead, doing something or not, will hurt others. The key is how a good leader responds.

Playing on the assonance of that Hebrew word אשר asher (i.e. when a leader does wrong) to אשרי ashrei “happy”, the sage Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai – perhaps not so subtly tongue in cheek – says that any generation where leaders are willing to admit their mistakes is “happy” indeed (Tosefta, Bava Kamma 7:5). How much easier, Ben Zakkai alludes, for a leader to refuse to admit a mistake or acknowledge that maybe someone else’s view is correct.

Happy, indeed, are leaders who, at worst, do not blame others, but at best lead or govern with some modesty and a willingness to admit the harm they have caused. To lead takes courage – on the one hand, surely, the strength and vision to take a stand; but on the other hand, to be humble enough to realize when the position they take may have created more harm than good.

When the ancient prophet Nathan challenged King David, the king admitted his wrongdoing. He offers a prayer of contrition, and those words are a model for how a leader can and should step back, change direction and apologize for what was done. David’s prayers are so memorable, in part, because they are so rare – for leaders all too often take a position and refuse to listen to the rebuke of others or take heed of the divisiveness their decisions may be causing that bring more harm than good. What do we do in such a time when a leader refuses to admit guilt, or even worse, obstinately doubles down out of fear of appearing like a “loser” – weak, indecisive, or compromising?

The rabbis of the Talmud make it clear that when there is a wrong before us, if the wrongdoer does not relent or admit their sin, we must act. Thus, we learn, “Whoever can protest to his (or her) household and does not, is accountable [for the sins] in that home. If a person has the power and status to speak out against the wrongdoing in one’s community, one must; and if not, that individual is accountable for the sins in the community. And if we can protest to the whole world, but do not, we are accountable for the whole world” (Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 54b).

Disregard for the legal rights of individuals - in this country, in Israel, and in so many growingly illiberal democracies - is not only antithetical to Jewish values but undermines the hard-fought rights of modern democratic progress. Attacks on the rule of law and freedom of the judiciary to interpret the law, on the free access of the press, on the due process afforded to all (even those, or perhaps especially for those with whom you or I may vehemently disagree) are acts that undermine the security of each one of us.

2500 years ago, the prophet Isaiah warned of those who turn aside from a way God demands – of an ethics that honors the individual, that is compassionate and just: “(They) say to the visionaries, ‘do not see’. To the prophets (they demand): ‘Do not prophesy what is right. Just speak (about) pleasant things, prophesy delusions.” (Isaiah 30:10) In response to such an inversion of what we should know is good and true, he offers us a way to gird our loins, to strengthen our spines, and to speak out: “Learn to do right; seek justice. Defend the oppressed. Take up the cause of the orphan; defend the case of the widow.” (Isaiah 1:17) He denounces those “who call evil good and good evil … who present bitter as sweet and sweet as bitter.” (Isaiah 5:20)

The time for our silence is long past. Torah is clear. If a leader bears guilt, they must turn from it. If not, our traditions demand that we rise to challenge those leading us down a dangerous path. Neither our yearning for the well-being of the State of Israel nor our love for the greatness of the United States can be a shield that beggars any rebuke. We are heirs to the courageous wisdom of our ancient prophet.

When we see wrong, we must not pretend we do not to see.

When we hear of wrongs committed, we can not to feign that we do not apprehend.

When we know wrongs are being done, let us not harden our hearts and turn aside.

Happy, indeed, is a generation whose leaders can turn from their mistakes. But happier, indeed, is a nation whose people can do the same. אם לא עכשיו אימתי im lo achshav eimatai If not now, when?

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Cantor Claire Franco - Light in the Darkness

Email – April 4, 2025
Parashat Vayikra

Last Friday, as Shabbat was approaching, I was walking across the Edmund Pettis bridge in Selma, Alabama. Rabbi Rothman and I were with a group of 14 teenagers on a civil rights journey. We visited memorials, monuments and museums, but more impactfully, we heard from people who lived through the tumultuous times of the civil rights movement. We met Sarah who was the sole surviving child of the 16th street Baptist Church bombing and Barbara who was 15 when she marched with Dr. King. Both women spoke about being called to share their stories many years after their experiences. Sarah felt the call and healing through her faith and Barbara felt the call as an educator.

Sunday, we attended services at the Ebenezer Baptist Church. Martin Luther King Sr. served as the senior Pastor for many years and the current senior Pastor is Reverend (and Senator) Raphael Warnock. If you ever get the opportunity to attend worship services at Ebenezer, do it! It is an experience with all the joy and devotion one would expect from a Southern Baptist church. We heard Dr. Patrice Turner preach. She is the Director of Worship and Arts at Ebenezer. An accomplished musician with 5 degrees in music and music education, she felt called to something more and returned to school at Duke University Divinity School. We witnessed her being licensed to preach in the church as she delivered her inaugural sermon. She spoke of the calling to serve God through her music and through her words.

What does it mean to be called? This week, we begin the book of Leviticus; in Hebrew Vayikra “and he called.” At first, the phrase seems redundant “And He called to Moses and spoke to him out of the Tent of Meeting.” If God is speaking to Moses, then why the need for Vayikra. Rabbinic commentator Rashi states that anytime God speaks to Moses, he calls him first. Rashi says that Vayikra means to be called to a task from a place of love. This single word is the source for our concept of a vocation or a calling-a choice of career or way of life that is rooted in meaning and purpose.

Holocaust survivor and philosopher, Viktor Frankl wrote, “The religious man differs from the apparently irreligious man only by experiencing his existence not simply as a task, but as a mission. He or she is aware of being summoned, called, by a Source. For thousands of years that source has been called God.” Feeling called is a deep sense that you are being drawn toward something greater than yourself—whether it’s a purpose or a mission that aligns with your values and passions. It’s that inner pull that gives your life direction and meaning. It’s a path rooted in empathy, responsibility, and a belief that we all have a part to play in shaping a brighter future for generations to come. All the women we encountered last weekend have used their call to inspire people, young and old, to make the world a better place. In a particularly memorable encounter, Barbara told our teens that it is their responsibility to learn from the past so that they can impact the future. Hearing the call, Vayikra can be challenging. How do we know when we are called and to what purpose? Rabbi Jonathan Sacks (z”l) offers this answer. “Where what we want to do meets what needs to be done, that is where God wants us to be.

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Cantor Ella Gladstone Martin - Light in the Darkness

Email – March 28, 2025
Parashat Pekudei

For the last several weeks, we have read countless instructions in the Torah for building the Mishkan – the portable sanctuary of the ancient Israelites.

At first glance, the design plans may seem tedious, even repetitive. But within their detail lies something profound. Every Israelite, no matter their skill or status, is given a way to contribute, ensuring that all who take part can see themselves reflected in the sacred space.

Not long ago, these same Israelites sinned greatly when they let their fear get the best of them. They melted down their gold to create a false god in the shape of a calf. Now, they are given a second chance. Once again, they bring their gifts, but this time, they do so in service of the one true God. And this time, they are rewarded. Moses makes sure that every element of the Mishkan is completed exactly as God commanded, and when the work is done, he blesses the people for their faith and effort.

Then comes the greatest reward of all: God’s presence fills the Mishkan in the form of a cloud. When the cloud rests over the Mishkan, the Israelites remain in place. When it lifts, they know it is time to pack up and follow.

On Wednesday, I gathered with fellow cantors to rehearse for a concert at Shaaray Tefila in Manhattan. It was one of my favorite feelings–standing alongside colleagues I respect, each of us bringing our unique gifts to create something greater than ourselves.

Our world feels divided, with so many forces pulling us apart. But this past Sunday, in our temple – our own Mishkan – I felt God’s presence. As people of all ages came together for Mitzvah Day, taking part in 20 projects to bring hope to those in need in our community and in Israel, I was reminded that when we build something with intention and heart, when we move together in service of something holy, we create something Divine.

We may not be lucky enough to see God with our own eyes. But we feel God in the spaces we build and the work we do together.

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Rabbi Jade Sank Ross - Light in the Darkness

Email – March 21, 2025
Parashat Vayakhel

In this week’s Torah Portion, Vayakhel, the very first verses teach us of the commandment not to kindle fire on Shabbat. But how do we know when Shabbat begins so as to avoid lighting fires during it? The Talmud describes six blasts of the shofar that would alert the local Jewish community to the start of Shabbat: “Tekiah! All who worked in the fields would cease from their labor. Teruah! All who worked in the city would cease from their labor and all stores would close. Tekiah! All would light the Shabbat lights. Then, after waiting for the amount of time it takes to cook a small fish, tekiah! Teruah! Tekiah! And rest (BT Shabbat 35b).”

It is from here that the rabbis of old decided that kindling Shabbat candles marks the beginning of Shabbat. This is why today there is a precise “candle lighting time” each Friday evening as the sun sets. Tonight, in Eastern Daylight Time, it is at 6:51 PM. However, looking at this passage from the Talmud, lighting the Shabbat candles does not in fact mark the clear beginning of Shabbat. There is still a little bit of time (enough time to cook a small fish) before those final three blasts. The later rabbis who aim to distill the laws of the Talmud for use in everyday Jewish diasporic life conclude that actually, there are a variety of practices. Shabbat can begin when the cantor sings Bar’chu during evening services, or even when the one lighting candles says in her heart, “This is when Shabbat begins” (Shulchan Aruch, Orach Chayim 263:10).

It is clear that it is not the time of day, or the candles themselves or even a prayer that is most important. As poet Ahad Ha’am put it, “More than the Jewish people have kept Shabbat, Shabbat has kept the Jews.” Shabbat is our weekly spark of Jewish hope and faith. It is our weekly connection to God and community. Shabbat is not just a commandment, it is part of the very essence of what it means to be Jewish and to live Jewishly.

In this unfathomably anxious time, Shabbat reminds us that we are connected throughout Jewish time and space. With the celebration of Nowruz, the Persian New Year, as well as the first day of spring just yesterday, we are reminded that even when all feels cold, there is a bud. Even in the darkness, there is a light.

We invite you this Shabbat to ignite that spark as we welcome inspiring, expert Israel educator, Uri Feinberg during Erev Shabbat services at 6:30 PM and at 12 noon on Saturday.

First a Spark by Sandy Eisenberg Sasso

First a spark
then candle glow.

I watched you at sunset time
eyes sparkling in Shabbat light.

Circling above the flames,
my hands pulled
the warmth of Shabbat peace inside.

Praying for a good week and for
blessing.

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Rabbi Rothman - Light in the Darkness

Email – March 14, 2025
Parashat Ki Tisa

I have never been a fan of Marvel or DC superheroes. But ever since October 7, pictures of the Bibas family in Batman pajamas and 4 year old Ariel Bibas running around in a Batman costume have pierced our collective soul. Aside from being heartbreaking, I never really thought about the deeper meaning until now.

Unlike other superheroes, Batman doesn’t have magical superpowers. He relies on his own God-given abilities to make the world better. In truth each of us has the ability to be like Batman by elevating that which is good right in front of us. On Purim our tradition asks us to fulfil four mitzvot (sacred obligations). I believe that when we act on these mitzvot, we don our metaphorical cape.

Read the Megillah
Have a festive Purim Meal (Seudah)
Send Purim Baskets (Shalach Manot)
Give to those in need (Matanot L’evyonim)

Purim is more than carnivals and spiels and is certainly not the “Jewish Halloween.” By reading the story of Purim in the Megillah and by rejoicing over a good meal, we are reminded why we must blot out the hatred of Haman, Hitler, and Hamas. Together we laugh and celebrate, even when others can’t, because no one can take away our collective joy. When we send Purim gift baskets of food to others and give directly to those experiencing poverty, we ensure that everyone has the means to celebrate.

Next Shabbat we will welcome Uri Feinberg as our Scholar-in-Residence. He led a number of our congregational tours and he will be speaking about: "Giving ourselves the strength we need to stand again: When we are called, do we come? We do." He will also be with us on Mitzvah Day - Sunday, March 23. This Purim and in the subsequent days let’s all be like the caped crusader. Let’s stand up, speak out, and help those in need.

I hope to see you tonight for our Purim and Shabbat festivities beginning with our Carnival at 5:00, Spiel at 6:20 followed immediately by Shabbat services.

Chag Purim Sameach and Shabbat Shalom

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Jen Schiffer - Light in the Darkness

Email – March 7, 2025
Parashat Tetzaveh

Today After receiving an email in early fall outlining a trip to Israel entitled “Mishlachot Areyvut,” or “Delegations of Responsibility,” I stopped what I was doing, eager to learn more. Having my own areyvut here at the ECC and in my personal life, I rarely stop to consider engaging in such opportunities. This trip however meant something to me. Not only was it specifically focused on Israel education for young learners, its goal was to help educators reframe Israel education in a post-October 7th world. I didn’t put much thought into applying - I knew the time was now. The last time I traveled to Israel I was 7 years old.

While traveling in Israel last month with an amazing cohort of educators, I was struck by the layers of complexity that define the country and the current situation. I came away with a deep sense of urgency and responsibility to share my experience with others. The challenge I, like many of us face at the present time, is the “how” to do this.

In my role as a school leader and educator, my goal is to help guide and inspire my community . This includes my teachers, their students and the families in our school. I have felt the scope and importance of my role take on even more significance since October 7th. On my recent trip to Israel, we visited schools, spoke with early childhood educators and community members and learned first-hand about how their lives have changed in the 17 months since the first attacks. The overwhelming theme I heard over and over from relatives of fallen soldiers, from parents and siblings of hostages, from teachers working in communities where family members are fighting in Gaza is this – the Jewish people have a history of resiliency and hope. The words “we will dance again,” remain present in my mind in the days since I returned home from my trip. I heard and sensed a feeling of responsibility amongst the people we spoke with that they take care of one another. Strangers become friends and these friends become family. Shabbat continues to come every week, and as a new week begins, life continues to move forward.

I very much realize and understand that returning “home” is a privilege. What many once considered “home” in Israel no longer exists. And yet…Israel and its people continue to act, to share stories, to live. This is what I believe is a thread that connects Israel’s past to its present, and to its future. Israeli history is fraught with conflict and peace, victory and defeat, sadness and fear and so many stories and perspectives.

We need to keep talking, to keep unpacking what we know to be true, and to continue asking questions. Our learners depend on us to show them the way. In early childhood education we have songs and colors and images to share. We can tell stories and share rituals and remind our students that as much as we are different, we are connected. Day after day, the flowers still bloom and Israel continues to exist, with hope for better days to come.

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Rabbi Z - Light in the Darkness

Email – February 28, 2025
Parashat Terumah

No Time to Hide (Light in the Darkness 5785)

Today is the beginning of the Hebrew month of the Adar, in Jewish traditions understood to be a time of simcha (joy). It relates to the holiday of Purim, which, on its surface, seems to be the most lighthearted of Jewish holidays, filled with joke-telling, ribaldry, masquerading and feasting.

In keeping with the masking of reality at the heart of Purim, the book of Esther hides a serious, even dark side. The book opens not with a focus on the title character, but the great king of Persia. In an unusually descriptive passage, we read that this king Ahasuerus ruled over a vast empire. Nothing is mentioned about his qualities of leadership. Rather, the focus is on the way he spends lavishly on himself and all his supporters – “the officials and the courtiers” – and those he placed in leadership. Focus is on the king’s extravagance – “couches of gold and silver on a pavement of marble” – with nothing else worthy of note or admiration beyond his power and wealth.

The story soon takes an ominous turn, as the king calls for and is rebuffed by his queen, Vashti. As happens again and again, the king takes a personal slight and expands it into public policy. Angered by her refusal, and instead of deciding punishment himself, he turns to those “versed in law and precedent”. Could one imagine any subject of such a mercurial ruler being able to give him anything other than legal justification for striking out at one who offends him? More than that, this self-centered king uses a personal affront as the basis for an outright challenge to all women who might offer challenge to their own husbands. The law is then twisted to command that “all wives treat their husbands with respect.” If only, he and his henchmen seem to be saying, things could go back to the days when women knew their place.

No record of dissent to such an unreasonable, if not immoral, edict is offered, and so the stage is set for an attack that soon will turn on the Jews.

How? The king promotes one man, Haman, as his vizier. No reason is offered in the book of Esther as to why, but later, seeking to influence Ahashuerus, Haman offers an immense sum to sway him. Given this, it is reasonable to suppose that he was one of (if not the) wealthiest man in the realm. This book offers a caution that even kings can be corrupted by the influence money and wealth brings, although, as the book of Esther warns later in the story, even that is no shield to the changeable impulses of a self-serving and amoral leader.

Then, the book of Esther takes a chilling turn in how Haman responds to a slight not unlike the king’s earlier in the story, when Mordecai refuses to bow down to him. As Ahasuerus did earlier, Haman expands a personal sense of grievance into an attack on a group as he uses this singular act as an excuse to attack all Jews. With a deceitful dog whistle Haman maligns a “certain people” who do not follow the king and should not be tolerated. Since he never tells Ahasuerus explicitly who these people may be, the king can offer deniability to any moral responsibility. And here lies a key warning of the book of Esther – that those with unconstrained wealth and power can suddenly, even if seemingly innocuous or unconcerned with us at one moment, turn dangerous.

Although the opening chapters of the book of Esther focus on the leaders, as the book unfolds it is the woman who veils her identity – Esther (her Hebrew name is connected to the word “hidden”) who becomes the heroic figure.

Esther’s inner courage takes time to reveal itself and does so only when Mordecai reminds her that she has a unique position. More than this, he warns her, “if you keep silent in this crisis, relief and deliverance will come to the Jews from another quarter”. At this moment, Esther realizes she cannot rely on others, only on her inner moral compass. She cannot stand by as wrong is done. In this is the ultimate message of this book and the holiday of Purim. We can try to hide from the hard choices it takes to make a stand against wrongdoing, but acquiescence will lead to our undoing, or we can stand up for those without power and bring about a change. Better days lie ahead, but it is up to us to create them. Against wrongdoing there can be no illusion that we can hide.

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Cantor Franco - Light in the Darkness

Email – February 21, 2025
Parashat Mishpatim

December 1995. I am 7 months pregnant about to become a first-time mother. I am preparing for my senior recital-one of the requirements for Cantorial ordination from Hebrew Union College. Rachel M’vakah et Baneha is proving to be a challenge. It’s a difficult piece musically, but it is the text that makes it nearly impossible for me to sing. Rachel weeps for her children and refuses to be comforted. Impending motherhood has me emotional and the idea of losing children is impossible for me to bear. Rachel M’vakah et Baneha. The text is based on the passage from Jeremiah 31:15. “Thus said GOD: A cry is heard in Ramah—Wailing, bitter weeping—Rachel weeping for her children. She refuses to be comforted. For her children, who are gone.”

This week, we are all Rachel. Rachel who cries for her children. Rachel who refuses to be comforted. The deep and profound sorrow that comes with unfathomable death is overwhelming and it is impossible to be comforted. Even the words of Jeremiah 31:16 and 17 do not help. “…and they shall come again from the land of the enemy. And there is hope for the future, says Adonai, that your children shall come again to their own border.” We have mourned so much since October 7, 2023. So why then did this news crush us? We are all Rachel. Rachel who cries for her children who are gone. Over the years, I have often wondered why the text of Jeremiah was so difficult for me to sing. Looking back, I realize that as an expectant mother, it was the first time that I had a glimmer of what it would mean to lose a child. I was able to empathize with the pain of a mother whose children are no more. Empathy is a powerful mandate in Torah. In this week’s parsha Mishpatim, we read, “You shall not oppress a stranger, for you know the feelings of the stranger, having yourselves been strangers in the land of Egypt.” It is not enough to not oppress the stranger; we must also empathize with them-remembering that we too were strangers. The religious response to suffering is to use it to enter the mindset of others who suffer. We cannot help but feel the pain. Rabbinic commentator Rashi tells us that “Originally God planned to create the world through the attribute of justice but saw that it could not survive on that basis alone. Therefore, Adonai prefaced it with the attribute of compassion, joined with that of justice.” The Torah reminds us that empathy and compassion are woven deeply into our identity and our understanding of the world. And so, we are crushed by the news of the Bibas family. We are all mourners bound in the collective sadness for the loss of the most innocent lives. We are Rachel-weeping for our children-refusing to be comforted.

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Cantor Gladstone Martin - Light in the Darkness

Email – February 14, 2025
Parashat Yitro

One of the blessings of our modern, globalized world is the ability to connect with people across the globe in an instant. Yet, the constant barrage of information from our 24-hour news cycle can take its toll. Balancing our desire to stay informed, our commitment to making a difference, and the need to protect our mental and emotional well-being is no easy task.

Fortunately, our tradition offers wisdom to guide us.

The great sage Hillel taught: “If I am not for myself, who is for me? And if I am only for myself, what am I? And if not now, when?”

In this week’s Torah portion, Yitro, Moses’ father-in-law sees the weight Moses is carrying on behalf of the Israelites and asks him:

“What is this thing that you are doing to the people? Why do you act alone, while all the people stand about you from morning until evening?”

Moses responds that the people come to him seeking God’s guidance, and he alone serves as teacher, judge and jury. But Yitro cautions him:

“The thing you are doing is not right; you will surely wear yourself out, and these people as well. The task is too heavy for you; you cannot do it alone.”

Similarly, Rabbi Tarfon reminds us: “It is not your responsibility to finish the work, but neither are you free to desist from it.”

None of us are God. We cannot heal the world alone. Yet, as Jews, we cannot turn away from those in need. The challenge is to do both: to engage in tikkun olam while ensuring our own spirits remain nourished.

This Shabbat, if turning off your phone entirely feels out of reach, I encourage you to at least pause your news notifications. Give yourself the gift of rest – something even God needed when creating the world. And when Shabbat ends, return to society with renewed strength, ready to continue the sacred work before us.

Shabbat Shalom.

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Rabbi Sank Ross - Light in the Darkness

Email – February 7, 2025
Parashat Beshalach

My daughter was sick earlier this week. She was miserable. No one slept. We did what felt like one hundred loads of laundry, mopped the floors, disinfected everything. At the same time, my inbox filled with messages of community members facing the same acute illnesses as well as much more life-changing diagnoses. Be it the flu or a virus, a chronic illness or news that surgery is needed, it feels overwhelming to try to stay healthy, to prioritize recovery when we need it, and constantly worry about the health of those we love, all the while continuing with our daily responsibilities.

It would be enough if we only had to worry about our personal lives. But we are part of The Community Synagogue. We are part of the Port Washington community. We are part of the Jewish community. We are human. We feel ourselves responsible, as individuals and as a community, for so much.

We feel responsible for the Jewish people. Our Jewish tradition teaches us that, “Kol Yisrael arevim zeh ba-zeh–all of Israel is responsible for one another.”¹We want to stand up against anti-Semitism in all of its forms. We want Israel to be secure. We want to see news of each and every hostage returning home. We want a world where we and our children can be proudly Jewish.

We feel responsible for helping to end the suffering of others. Our Jewish tradition teaches us, “Leave the edges of your fields for the poor and the stranger.”² We want all people, wherever they may live in the world, to have food and their needs fulfilled. To live with dignity and safety.

We feel responsible for the well-being of our country. Our Jewish tradition teaches us, “tzedek tzedek tirdof–pursue justice”. We want to keep up with the exhausting pace of the news cycle as a new President and administration settles in. We want to understand change and how it will affect us–when we need to take a stand and when we might have a moment to “vayashvu ish tachat gafno–sit beneath our vine…and feel unafraid.”³

We feel responsible for helping to build a better world. Our Jewish tradition teaches us, “Bakesh shalom v’radfeihu–seek peace and pursue it.”⁴ We want to do what is just and what is right. We want to be thoughtful in our deeds and kind in our actions. We want peace. We just want to know what to say, what to do, how to pray, to bring it about.

Sometimes, I struggle to find the right words to express where to find respite when life feels impossibly overwhelming. Fortunately, the wisdom of our Jewish tradition has much to offer.

First, this week’s Torah portion teaches of the miracle of the parting of the Sea of Reeds, allowing the Israelites to reach a safe, yet unknown, place. But before God intercedes, the Israelites stand on the shore, pursued by their oppressors, shouting critiques at their leader, Moses. A midrash, a text that fills in more details, teaches us that it was at this moment that a person named Nachshon went ahead and stepped into the water. In the midst of the overwhelm, Nachshon took one step forward into the water, inspiring others to do the same and God to act.⁵Truly, this message was one I needed this week: just take one step forward. It might bring about clarity for you, for others, or maybe even change the course of history.

Second, as I neared the end of my rabbinic training and I knew I needed to write a thesis, I felt called to do work that would help me and help others find meaning in overwhelm, light in darkness, words when speaking feels impossible. Again and again, I turned to the book of psalms. This week, with shirat ha-yam–the song our ancestors sang as they crossed through the parted sea,⁶I looked to psalm 118 which repeats those words of awe: “Ozi v’zimrat Yah vayehi li lishuah–my strength with God’s song will be my help.”

Life is, at times, overwhelming and yet as we celebrate the release of my book, To You I Call: Psalms Throughout Our Lives, as well as 50 years of women in the cantorate this erev Shabbat Shira (tonight, Friday, February 7 at 6:30pm), we lift each other one step, one song at a time.

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¹Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 39a

²Leviticus 19:9-10

³Micah 4:4

⁴Psalm 34:15

⁵Mekhilta DeRabbi Yishmael, Tractate Vayehi Beshalach 6:4

⁶Exodus 15:2

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Rabbi Rothman - Light in the Darkness

Email – January 31, 2025
Parashat Bo

One of the first prayers we teach our children when they are preparing to become Bar or Bat mitzvah is the v’ahavta. Not only is it traditionally recited twice a day, morning and evening, but the melody we use can help us learn how to chant Torah as well. Though the real lesson of v’ahavta is contained within the words: “Take to heart these instructions with which I charge you this day. Impress them upon your children. Recite them when you stay at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you get up.” V’ahavta really serves as a manual on the importance of educating our children. Educating our children is not a passive act but rather something that, like the proverb teaches, “takes a village” but must start at home.

In addition to sending our children to school so they can have a well rounded education, we have to be able to answer the questions our children ask. Our Torah portion this week, Parashat Bo, details the importance of asking questions and how we should respond to those questions.

What does this ceremony mean to you? (Exodus 12:26)
What does this mean? (Exodus 13:14)

In fact these questions serve as the basis for the four children we speak about in the Haggadah on Pesach: wise, wicked, simple, and the one who does not know how to ask.

One of the lessons we learn from the Four Children on Pesach is that we must embrace each child, even the most rebellious one. Since there are pieces of each child in all of us, it is our responsibility to try and empathize. As Rabbi Jonathan Sacks z’’l taught, “Sitting next to the wise child, the rebel is not fated to remain a rebel. Sitting next to the rebel, the wise child may share his wisdom rather than keep it to himself. The one who cannot ask will, in time, learn how. The simple child will learn complexity. The wise child will learn simplicity. Each draws strength from the others, as we all draw strength from belonging to a people.” Teaching our children to ask questions is perhaps one of the most important Jewish educational acts we can do. The next time you chant v'ahavta, remember that a good education can begin with a simple question.

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Cantor Franco - Light in the Darkness

Email – January 24, 2025
Parashat Vaera

This past Sunday I watched a video of the Red Cross vehicles carrying Emily, Romi and Doron back into Israel. I cried sitting in the parking lot of Stop and Shop. They weren’t happy tears or even tears of relief. I was overcome by an overwhelming sadness that this was our collective reality, and sadness for all who have been robbed of the chance for the same journey home. The enormity of the losses hit me. Tears of joy and relief came later watching the family hold each other after 475 days. We have proof that prayers can be answered. We have proof that that captives can be freed. Baruch atah Adonai matir asurim. Blessed are You, Adonai, who redeems the captive.

In this week’s Torah portion, Vaera, God tells Moses, “…I will deliver you from their
bondage, and I will redeem you with an outstretched arm, and with great judgements.” But the text goes on to say that the children of Israel didn’t believe Moses because their spirits were crushed by slavery. This reaction feels fair. In the darkest of times, under the weight of cruelty, how could the Israelites believe that freedom was coming? They hadn’t seen the proof of God’s power and love yet. They did not yet have the faith to believe. But we know, having read the end of the story, that redemption comes. Baruch atah Adonai matir asurim. Blessed are You, Adonai, who redeems the captive.

We have spent so much time speaking of freedom for the past 475 days. Freedom for our hostages for sure. Freedom from the threats of Hamas, Hezbollah and the Houthis. Freedom for the Israelis to return to a “normal” life. And despite the evil and darkness in our world, we have continued to pray for freedom. More importantly, we have continued to believe that freedom is possible. October 7th taught us that freedom is fragile. Freedom is not an all or nothing phenomenon and believing that it is - that we have it either all the time or none of the time - blinds us to the fact that it can be won and lost in a moment. Freedom is our most precious gift. Baruch atah Adonai matir asurim. Blessed are You, Adonai, who redeems the captive.

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Cantor Gladstone Martin - Light in the Darkness

Email – January 17, 2025
Parashat Shemot

This week’s Torah portion, Sh’mot, brings us the famous story of Moses and the burning bush. A messenger of God appears to Moses within a blazing, emanating from a bush that burns and yet is not consumed.

This week, it feels almost impossible to find God in fire. At the time of writing this, 25 precious lives have been taken and 31 souls have been reported missing. Entire communities have been devastated by this natural disaster, compounded by news of looting and even, unthinkably, arson.

Yet even amidst the destruction, the enduring spark of Godliness shines through. Remarkable gemilut chasadim – acts of loving-kindness – are taking place across the country. Neighbours are risking their lives to check on the vulnerable. First responders, some even incarcerated individuals, are working tirelessly to contain the fires and protect lives. Volunteers are stepping forwards to clean parks, deliver supplies, and rebuild what has been destroyed. The outpouring of generosity has been so overwhelming that some cities have issued lists of what is no longer needed. In an inspiring show of solidarity, over $50 million has been raised through GoFundMe campaigns to support wildfires victims.

Just as God appeared when the Israelites were at their lowest – enslaved and facing extermination – we often witness God’s presence most vividly during moments of despair. The burning bush is a powerful symbol of resilience and hope: it burns, but it is not devoured. Similarly, God’s presence remains steadfast, even in the face of destruction. This enduring light gave Moses the strength to overcome his doubts and lead his people to redemption.

We can also help bring God’s hope to life. This quarter, we are collecting tzedakah for the Jewish Federation of Los Angeles Wildfire Crisis Relief Fund. If you feel moved, please place spare coins or bills in our tzedakah box in the synagogue lobby. Additionally, we are partnering with Kehillat Israel in the Pacific Palisades to provide $25 Target and Visa gift cards to those affected by the LA fires. Donations can be dropped off at the Main Office. Every contribution reminds us of the power we have to bring hope and healing, even in the worst of times.

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Rabbi Sank Ross - Light in the Darkness

Email – January 10, 2025
Parashat Vayechi

As we prepare to welcome Shabbat, our hearts are heavy with the images of the devastating fires raging in Los Angeles. The flames, consuming homes, synagogues and schools, displacing families, cloud our consciousness with fear and uncertainty. As we kindle our Shabbat lights, I am struck that the flames, ordinarily a source of light, hope and peace, seem now so violent and cruel. It's easy to feel overwhelmed by the darkness, to question where God is in the midst of such devastation.

I have thought many times this week of a midrash, a rabbinic story that aims to help us better understand the Torah, that describes God’s apparent absence amidst destruction. We read, “...[A] man was travelling from place to place when he saw a palace in flames. He wondered, “Is it possible that the palace lacks an owner?” The owner of the palace looked out and said, “I am the owner of the palace.” So Abraham our father said, “Is it possible that the world lacks a Ruler?” The Holy One, blessed be God, looked out and said to him, “I am the Ruler, the Sovereign of the Universe (Genesis Rabbah 39:1).”

Is it possible that the Creator of the universe allows creation to burn? Is it possible that God is present yet negligent?

Psalm 29, familiar to us from the Kabbalat Shabbat liturgy, depicts a similar upending of creation. The psalm repeatedly mentions God’s voice. The same voice that uttered, “Let there be light,” in this psalm carves “leaping sheets of flame”. It's a jarring juxtaposition, forcing us to confront the awesome power of the Divine, a power that can both create and destroy.

But the psalm, and our tradition, offer another perspective: The story of Elijah on Mount Horeb. He witnesses a mighty wind, an earthquake, and a fire, but God is not in any of these. Instead, God is revealed in a "still small voice" (1 Kings 19:12). Perhaps, then, God is not in the raging flames themselves, but in the quiet whispers of resilience, in the outpouring of compassion, in the unwavering bonds of community that emerge in the face of tragedy.

As we recite the Gevurot prayer this Shabbat, beseeching God for rain, “ma-shiv ha-ruach u’morid ha-gashem–who causes the winds to blow and rains to fall,” let us pray for the strength to hear that still small voice. May it guide us to know that we are the keepers of the palace and each other. May it inspire us to act with compassion and generosity, to help rebuild and heal, to find hope amidst the ashes. And may it remind us that even when surrounded by darkness, the light of faith, the light of community, and the light of God's presence can never be extinguished.

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Rabbi Rothman - Light in the Darkness

Email – January 3, 2025
Parashat Vayigash

Every year at this time we countdown, watch a ball drop, and make resolutions to live a better and healthier life. But just like on Rosh Hashanah, we quickly realize that our condition alters but little from year to year. We own the same weaknesses, remain limited by our faults, and voice the same regrets. Since we cannot live without hope, we enter the secular New Year striving to live a better version of ourselves.

It’s quite fitting that we read Parashat Vayigash as we enter this time filled with promises to ourselves and others. Joseph the dreamer, comes out of the proverbial closet revealing himself to the brothers; the same brothers that lied to their father about Joseph being dead and then selling him to a band of Ishmaelites. Joseph's brothers came to hate him because of what they saw as his malicious arrogance, his dreams and his need to interpret them. Now, many years later, we learn of the forgiveness that Joseph demonstrated toward those same brothers.

One of the lessons Vayigash teaches is that, with time, reconciliation may be possible. Ultimately Joseph forgives his brothers because what happened in the past is no longer present. It takes a lot of courage for Joseph to reveal himself and for his brothers to accept him for who he is. In the year 2025, may we be like Joseph and his brothers: Fill our emptiness with love, turn our waywardness into purpose, and ultimately transform our weakness into strength.

Happy New Year!

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Cantor Franco - Light in the Darkness

Email – December 27, 2024
Parashat Miketz-Chanukah

I love my daily inspirational desk calendar. Each day has a quote assigned to it that is revealed when I turn the page each morning upon arriving in my office. I received it nearly two years ago and am on my second turn of each page. I looked ahead today and see that January 1st reads, “Every end is a new beginning.” Very well-chosen words for the start of the secular new year. If you are like me (and most people), you face the new year with optimism. Whatever happened in the last year is behind us. Sometimes, the previous year holds great memories of happy times, some years-we can’t wait to flip the page for a do-over. Whatever the previous year held, we turn to the new one with great hopes for what lies ahead. 2024 was not a banner year for me and my family. It felt very much like we could not catch a break and at every turn, something else happened to one of us. Sickness, flood, fire, sickness, death-we experienced it all. I spent a lot of time this past year thinking about fate and what we can (and can’t) control.

In this weeks’ parsha, Mikketz, we pick up the story of Joseph, who has lived a life controlled largely by the actions of other people. His brothers are envious and hate him. His father sends him to see to check on his brothers who are attending the flocks far away. He can’t find them and then relies on a stranger to point him in the right direction. The brothers plot to kill him and sell him as a slave. He is brought to Egypt where is enslaved by Potiphar. Potiphar’s wife finds him attractive, attempts to seduce him, and having failed, falsely accuses him of rape, because of which he is imprisoned. He has finally acted for himself at the end of last week’s parsha when Joseph asks the chief steward to remember him upon his release in the hopes that the Pharoh will release him as well. But his request isn’t answered as the steward forgets him. Joseph isn’t released from prison for two more years when he is able to interpret Pharoh’s dreams. This is where Mikketz opens. Joseph is finally set free. Between Joseph’s attempt to get himself released and the outcome, two years passed, and finally God intervened. What Joseph wanted happened, but not without some divine help. This isn’t so different from our own lives. Often what we want to happen, happens, but not always when we expect, or in the way we expect. And sometimes, we don’t understand what is happening to us at all. Looking back over the year we are leaving behind, we can often discern, dimly through the mist of the past, that a story was taking shape guided by events beyond our control. The secular New Year gives us an opportunity for reflection and resolutions. We resolve to do better-to change our outcome despite knowing that things do not always turn out the way we plan. Judaism teaches that we have free will but that we also experience God’s hand in between fate and controlling our own destiny. Or as Isaac Bashevis Singer says, “We have to believe in free will: we have no choice.” Whether by fate, free will or God’s intervention, I am looking forward to flipping the page on my desk calendar and heading into 2025 with hopes for health, happiness and peace for everyone.

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Cantor Gladstone Martin - Light in the Darkness

Email – December 20, 2024
Parashat Vayeshev

Throughout elementary school, every time I went to my friend Hannah’s house for a playdate, we would watch Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. I was captivated by the singing, dancing, and campy costumes–not to mention the charming Donny Osmonde. Even more impactful was seeing the Torah brought to life and witnessing the unyielding optimism of Joseph, our hero, no matter what hardships came his way.

Through family conflict, slavery, and wrongful imprisonment, Joseph kept his head held high, certain that God’s presence was always with him. This week’s Torah portion, Vayeishev, speaks to his resilience:

“Even while [Joseph] was in prison Adonai was with Joseph–extending kindness to him…The chief jailer put in Joseph’s charge all the prisoners who were in that prison…The chief jailer did not supervise anything that was in Joseph’s charge, because יהוה was with him, and whatever he did God made successful.”
(Genesis 39:20-23)

As I tell my fourth-grade students, we cannot see, touch, (or smell) God. It is up to us to have enough trust to sense God’s presence – something that becomes especially challenging during times of struggle.

I pray that we can find inspiration in Joseph’s steadfast faith and unwavering hope. These qualities sustained him through his darkest moments and can serve as a beacon for us as well. In challenging times, we could all use a little more faith and hope.

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Rabbi Z - Light in the Darkness

Email – December 13, 2024
Parashat Vayishlach

The Dangerous Allure of Revenge

The recent cold-blooded murder of UnitedHealth Care CEO Brian Thompson is not the first time when someone aggrieved gave in to the dark fantasy of revenge. For the one who feels wronged such violence is cloaked in the garb of righteousness, a just response to an even greater sin. Taking the law into one’s own hands is, in fact, at the heart of a story in this week’s פרשה parasha, in a narrative about three of our patriarch Jacob’s children.

In the tale, the only daughter of Jacob, Deena, has a sexual encounter (Torah is ambiguous if it is consensual or not). Two of her brothers, Shimon and Levi, are so angered by this that they engage in an act of deception and betrayal, ultimately murdering not only the man who lay with their sister but everyone in his town.

A first reading of this passage seems to support this act of revenge. Shimon and Levi are exemplars of Jewish power. Unlike their father Jacob, who worries about the reaction of the people around him, Deena’s brothers display bravado. Some commentators see in the contrasting response of father and sons a parallel to different Jewish attitudes to power. Jacob, they say, is the quintessential Diaspora Jew – always worried about how others will respond. Shimon and Levi, in contrast, are paradigms of Jewish assertiveness – echoed in the stereotype of the macho Israeli who, living sovereign in the land, responds to those who would terrorize with strength and, when necessary, guile and an iron fist. In Torah, since the two brothers have the last word over their father’s expression of concern – “should our sister be treated like a whore?” – we may well assume that Torah supports their point of view.

A deeper look at Shimon and Levi, however, reveals that Torah and later Jewish traditions had strong reservations about their actions. At the end of his life, Jacob calls together all his children, giving each a blessing. Turning to Shimon and Levi he utters only condemnation: “Their weapons are tools of lawlessness. Let my person not be included in their council. Let my being not be counted in their assembly. When they are angry, they slay men… Cursed by their fury so fierce, and their wrath so relentless. I will divide them in Jacob, scatter them in Israel.” (Genesis 49:5-7)

Later poems about the tribes of Israel – the blessing of Moses (uttered at the end of his life) and song of Deborah (in the book of Judges) – highlight the judgment of history against Shimon and Levi. Moses speaks of Levi as priests – but elsewhere priestly power is limited when they are prohibited from occupying land and receive God’s blessings of שלום shalom. Thus, a tribe that sought resolution through violence has those tendencies circumscribed, in essence, by their role as teachers of peace. The fate of Shimon is even more telling, for this tribe is never mentioned again, disappearing from history as a separate entity.

In short, for our ancestors history was judgment on the vengeful acts of Shimon and Levi. The response of Deena’s brothers might have, at the time, seemed to be just, but in the end, it was judged as a self-destructive act of vengeance. As our traditions make clear, it is praiseworthy to stand up against wrong, but there is a danger of reacting to aggression with only greater brutality. Revenge may bring short-term satisfaction, but it carries a horrible price, a dangerous escalation of violence and hate that only pushes resolution and peace further away.

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Rabbi Sank Ross – Light in the Darkness

Email – December 6, 2024
Parashat Vayetzei

544 Miles to God

This week’s Torah portion Vayeitzei picks up right where last week’s left off. After impersonating his brother, Esau, we find Jacob fleeing his older brother’s dreams of fratricide. And at the insistence of his mother Rebecca, he departs for Haran, home of Rebecca’s brother Laban. Thus our parasha begins plainly: “And Jacob left Be’er Sheva and went to Haran.”¹ Seems simple enough. Until we think about what is missing here.

Consider for a moment: When Rebecca came from Haran to marry Isaac, she rode camelback with an entourage of Abraham’s servants. When Abraham and Sarah started their sojourn in Canaan, they went forth with Lot and a massive caravan. But in notable contrast, Jacob leaves home with no companions and no mode of transportation other than his own two feet. And he is not just going for a walk around the block. If you look up walking directions from Be’er Sheva to Haran on Google Maps it is 544 miles through the heart of the Middle East. This journey sounds so preposterous that according to one midrash the only way it was possible was if the earth miraculously contracted like an accordion.

But the Torah tells us that Jacob did in fact walk. “Jacob left Be’er Sheva–vayeilech Haranah–and went to Haran. The Hebrew verb “vayeilech”, meaning “went”, can also mean more specifically “to walk”. Which begs the question: What happened to Jacob on those 1.1 million steps? For 181 hours and 20 minutes, just over seven and a half days, Jacob had nothing to do but walk and think and think and walk. Is it any wonder that on a fateful night in the middle of this passage he should dream his famous dream of a ladder between heaven and earth? That he should hear God’s voice invoke Abraham and Isaac, and feel himself fortified by the memory of his ancestors? That he should wake with the epiphany: “Truly Adonai is in this place, and I did not know it.^”2

Returning to the word we began with, “vayeilech–to walk”, we see that it has another meaning in Judaism. It comes from the same root as the word halacha, which is the general term for Jewish law, but which literally means “walking”. As Jewish law, halacha is a lot of things: It is how-to guides for Jewish holidays, it is the rules of kashrut, it is guidelines for basic decency, and so much more. As I learned from Rabbi Shai Held, I like to think of halacha as Judaism’s answer to the question: How do I live a good life? Halacha is the Jewish way to walk in the world revealed through generations upon generations of our ancestors’ wisdom. It is the path of spiritual practices paved by our people. What were our great-grandparents thinking when they lit the Shabbat candles? What were our grandparents thinking when they heard the call of the shofar? What were our parents thinking when they placed the Chanukah menorah in the window? Will our children love their neighbors as themselves? The answer to these questions is simple: What do we think when we do these things?

What is true of walking in general is true of halacha—of walking the Jewish way. The world slows down. We see the things in between. We experience connections across time and space. Hundreds of miles, thousands of years, miraculously contracted in an instant inside of us. And, as we learn in this week’s Torah portion, when we follow the footsteps of those who came before us, whether we are walking through the wilderness or walking in their ways, we may discover God in places we never expected.

___________________________________

¹Genesis 28:10

²Genesis 28:16

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Rabbi Rothman - Light in the Darkness

Email – November 29, 2024
Parashat Toldot

Toldot is the perfect Torah portion to unpack as we are digesting our leftovers after shopping for the perfect deals and steals. The blessing of children is followed by God’s ominous warning that the two nations in Rebecca’s womb will lead to sibling rivalry. The younger Jacob, holding tight to Esau’s heel at birth, is Rebecca’s favorite. The older Esau, Isaac’s favorite, will hunt for his father in his old age when his sight is diminished. The leftover turkey may be dry but our Torah portion is juicy with lies, deception, and even hard truths.

The name Toldot means generations and really details Isaac’s family story as a husband, father, and the result of his near death experience at the hand of his own father Abraham. Isaac brings so much baggage to the family he is creating with Rebecca. For better or worse, Isaac’s children are the beneficiaries of the choices their parents made. But perhaps there is another more positive way to read Isaac’s story.

In the midst of all of the family drama, Isaac reopens the wells that his father Abraham had once dug in order to find safe water to drink. But Isaac doesn’t stop there, he continues to dig his own wells so he can find new sources of water. He names these new wells esek and sitnah, connoting strife and contention, a clear reference to his past struggles.

As we gathered around the Thanksgiving table, we shared stories, we agreed to disagree with family members, and we paused to express gratitude for all that is good and blessed in our lives. Even though we come to Thanksgiving with emotional baggage, we still stop to count our blessings and express gratitude. We reflect on the past while knowing that we, like Isaac our patriarch, can continue to build wells in order to find new sources for rebirth and renewal in challenging times. Thanksgiving weekend is really the best Black Friday deal that you can buy. There is so much to be grateful for.

From our home to yours, Sam and I wish you and your loved ones a very Happy Thanksgiving and Shabbat Shalom.

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Cantor Franco - Light in the Darkness

Email – November 22, 2024
Parashat Chayei Sara

I learned some of my most important life lessons from my friend Jodi while she was dying. Once her diagnosis became terminal, she set off with her sister on a Safari in Africa. She was consistent in sending us daily pics of her adventures with instructions to “live your dream”, “don’t wait until it’s too late”. In August, I made a trip to the theater district to get tickets for her to see Hadestown in January with the agreement that “…if I die before January, you will go see the show!” Her frank and forthright attitude continued throughout her illness, and I found myself in a Chicago Uber with her in November. It was there that she went through the details of her funeral with me. The details-who would speak, who would sing the prayers, what prayers and she went so far as to tell me where the red folder containing the music for the choir of cantors could be found. When I commented on how ridiculously organized, she was being, she told me that the last thing she needed was everyone turning up without their music or the wrong arrangements. I jokingly responded that since she was an amazing baker, maybe she should bake for the shiva. Her eyes lit up as she decided that it was a wonderful idea since baked goods freeze so well. But amidst all the practical, we had amazing conversations about life, about love and about what she hoped she would leave behind as her message. She understood that we can put the details in order, but most important were the feelings and memories that we would all share when she was gone. She was sad for her husband and daughter and for herself that she would miss important moments, but she was content and grateful for the life she had lived and had made peace with the length of her days.

This week’s parsha Chayei Sarah meaning the life of Sarah, is bookended by the deaths of Sarah and Abraham. Immediately following Sarah’s death, Abraham negotiates a burial place for her insisting that he buy it so that it cannot be taken away or desecrated. And then he sets out to find a wife for his son, Isaac. Abraham faces forward, putting his affairs in order and working to insure the future of his descendants. Once his son is settled, Abraham takes another wife, has six more children. We read that he gifts those children while he is alive, but all his inheritance goes to Isaac. And then, Abraham dies arguably the most peaceful death in the Torah. “Abraham breathed his last and died at a good age, old and contented, and he was gathered to his people.” Abraham had been promised that he would be become a great nation, the father of many nations. These promises were not fulfilled while he was alive and yet he was content when he died.

Abraham and Sarah found contentment at the end of their lives despite the challenges they faced and the unfulfilled promise. Perhaps they knew that what makes a full and complete life is not the realizations of all dreams and aspirations but the sense of purpose that these dreams will be brought to completion by those who come after them. My friend Jodi understood and taught us all that it wasn’t about doing everything you wanted to do, although she tried, but that contentment came in the love you leave behind.

When the pandemic began, I got instructions from her to “record my part of the funeral and send it to her immediately” just in case the pandemic lasted. She supervised the video that would be used during her funeral service since she did, in fact, die during covid. In typical Jodi fashion, she surprised us all with a video montage she herself had created with the song “I Will Always Love You” as the soundtrack. She quite literally starred in her own funeral service. Like Abraham, she had put her affairs in order and despite the challenges and unfulfilled promises, she was content. Oh, I still have the red folder-I use it all the time.

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Rabbi Z - Light in the Darkness

Email – November 15, 2024
Parashat Vayera

In this week’s Torah portion, three figures visit Abraham, announcing that he and Sarah will soon have a child. Overhearing this, Sarah laughs to herself, and when their son is finally born, he is named Isaac—Yitzchak, from the Hebrew root litzchok, meaning “to laugh.”

Humor has deep, ancient roots in Judaism. Since the days of Egyptian slavery, the Jewish people have weathered centuries of persecution. Over time, laughter became a means of resilience—a light against darkness.

From Rodney Dangerfield to Tiffany Haddish, Lenny Bruce to Jerry Seinfeld, Jewish comedians have thrived, bringing wit and insight to millions. Behind the scenes, countless Jewish writers contribute to the humor in some of our favorite films, TV shows, and pieces of literature.

As “People of the Book,” reading a chapter of the Torah each week, our people are storytellers who have always found humor in the absurd. The Tanakh is rich with wordplay and comedic elements. The Book of Esther, read on Purim, invites us to embrace absurdity, even commanding us to be nonsensical. And in Psalm 100, we’re told to “serve God with gladness,” while Psalm 126 reassures us that “those who sow in tears will reap in joy.”

The Jewish people, who have indeed shed many tears, continue to reap in joy. But how do we know when to cry and when to laugh? Our tradition encourages us to acknowledge pain and sorrow but ultimately to turn toward gratitude and light.
The Talmud tells a story where a funeral procession and a wedding processing meet in the middle of town. Rashi explains, “When the bride comes from her father’s house to the wedding hall at the same time [as] those accompanying a dead body for burial…we reroute those accompanying the deceased.” Festivity, joy, and new beginnings take precedence.

Sarah could have burst into tears, overwhelmed by the notion of raising a child at her advanced age. Instead, she chose to laugh, becoming the mother of Jewish humor and an eternal reminder to seek joy even in life’s most unexpected moments.

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Rabbi Z - Light in the Darkness

Email – November 7, 2024
Parashat Lech-Lecha

What lies ahead? Is it something to fear or a possibility of something wondrous? After a hard-fought election, with very different visions for the future, it would not be unexpected that there are some who face the future with dread while others are jubilant. Others may have mixed emotions, hope mixed with uncertainty and unease.

In the Torah portion for this week the father of our people, Avram (later changed to Avraham) is told by God – lk lk lech lecha. These words are open to various understandings, as is God’s instruction to go “to the place (ouenv hamakom) I will show you.” (Genesis 12:1)

One interpretation is that lk lk lech lecha simply means “get going.” When Avram is told to leave his land, his birthplace, even his family home, what God seems to be saying is that as hard as it may be to leave aside the past, faith means taking the leap to face tomorrow with a sense of promise and hope, even if one has no idea what lies ahead. Seen in this way, the “place” is the Land of Israel, although getting there takes place slowly, in stages, and though Avram thinks he has arrived and his travels are behind him, he immediately realizes it isn’t all he hoped it would be.

In this view Torah teaches that even when we think we have gotten to whatever Promised Land we hope for (in our career, with our political aspirations, in our family life), the joy is fleeting and the struggle to get what we want continues. As we learn in the book of Proverbs “seven times the righteous person falls and gets up” (24:16). There is no end to the journey – and we must continually seek a better world even when (not if) we do not have all we want.

There is, however, an additional interpretation of the Hebrew words lk lk lech lecha which is that God is saying “go to yourself”. In other words, the real journey is an internal one of self-awareness. God’s command to Avram is one each of us faces. Why am I here? Who am I? Who do I want to be? And at the end of my days, what will be my legacy? Finding our own way, however, can degenerate into self-indulgence. Thus, there is a caveat “go to the Place” – in rabbinic interpretation, another name for God.

Seen in this way, the narrative is about Avram (and us) realizing that the real direction in life is not just for ourselves, but to the God in each “self” (our own and all others). This is not a zero-sum theology of winners and losers, but of seeking a world in which each person – treated with equity, justice, dignity, and compassion – can find fulfillment. The very next verse in the book Proverbs quoted above offers a caution to those who feel smug about their success, “if your opponent falls … let your heart not rejoice.” (24:17)

No one knows what lies ahead, but this week’s Torah, and Jewish history, teaches that the journey does not end with any single generation (and certainly not in any one election). It is an ongoing attempt not only to survive, but to be part of a people that seeks the God in all, creating a society where being united is not imposing uniformity, one in which justice is wedded to compassion, and where difference and diversity is a blessing.

And … two Israel related programs

Background Information on Adi Vital

This past Yom Kippur friends of Rabbi Z and Anne Zeplowitz, Jacqui and Yaron, shared the story of the tragic murder of their daughter Adi by terrorists last October 7th, and a miraculous tale of survival. Additional material and videos related to their story can be found here.

Open Minds: Lunch and Learn - We Are the Children of ’23
Tuesday, November 19, 12-1:30 pm

This poignant and gripping session will follow the trajectory of Israeli identity of generations who have faced a rollercoaster of despair and hope. Using music and graffiti art, Israeli Educator Uri Feinberg will trace how a generation anguished by the Yom Kippur War faced the possibilities of an uncertain peace in the 1990s, and then how that artistic expression exploded in so many ways after last October 7th. Learn more and RSVP here.

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Rabbi Sank Ross – Light in the Darkness

Email – November 1, 2024
Parashat Noach

Parashat Noach is most famous for its infamous flood. But after the great deluge, we find the almost-as-notorious story of the Tower of Babel. All of humanity has gathered in a single place and everyone speaks the same language. The people come together to build a city with a tower with its top in the heavens in order to make a name for themselves, lest they be scattered all over the world. This displeases God, and God puts an end to this most epic of building projects by scattering humanity across the globe and by mixing up everyone’s speech creating different languages.

Often, this story is read as an etiological tale of the creation of the diversity that we celebrate today. Just chapters after the wiping out of a generation that God found irredeemable for their treatment of one another, the cooperation modeled here seems utopian–it is the exact opposite of Noah’s generation–one of radical unity. Living together in one place, with one language and one shared project makes humanity so unified that we believe we can challenge even God’s oneness. In the story of Babel, division and difference becomes our collective punishment.

Living as we do today in times of dangerous polarization, and being just days away from one of the most divisive elections in American history, I cannot help but see us all as the descendants of Babel. We are constantly grappling with building a shared society together with those who seem hopelessly different from us. The story of Babel weighs which should take precedence: Is it more important that we live in such a way that our daily conduct declares God’s singularity, or humanity’s? Could the answer in this week’s parsha be any more clear? It is the watchword of our faith: “Shema Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai echad! Listen Israel, The Eternal is our God, The Eternal is One.” ¹ A unified humanity, we learn from this story, inclines us to lose perspective of exactly what makes us mortals. Building Babel, blinds us to the fact that we are created b’tzelem Elohim (in the Divine image)--yet one more quality that makes us all the same, even, arrogantly, god-like. But we are not God.

However, to think that being created b’tzelem Elohim makes us fundamentally the same is a misunderstanding of God and that is what God reminds us of this week. In the Mishnah, we read that God creates Adam alone and all of humanity as his descendants so that no one will ever say to another, “My ancestors are greater than yours.” For the story of Babel, the Mishnah could have stopped here, all of us are equal, none is greater than another. But it continues: “And this serves to tell of the greatness of the Holy One, Blessed be God. When a person stamps several coins with one seal, they are all similar to each other. But the Holy One, Blessed be God, stamped all people with the seal of Adam, the first person, as all of them are Adam’s offspring, and not one of them is similar to another.” It is only through our differences that we can see God’s handiwork and this is what makes us b’tzelem Elohim.

And furthermore, being b’tzelem Elohim, the Mishnah entrusts us with this great responsibility: “Since all humanity descends from one person, each and every person is obligated to say, ‘the world was created for me,’ and recognize the significance of our actions.” ² Being created b’tzelem Elohim means that we too are each a die that will cut the shape of worlds to come. We live in a diverse world and we are engaged in the project of building a shared society despite our differences. Our actions matter. Our vote matters. Our enterprises will never be as easy as Babel, nor should they be, but it is exactly because of our diversity that we can glimpse and even manifest God in this world.

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¹Deuteronomy 6:4

²Mishnah Sanhedrin 4:5

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Cantor Claire – Light in the Darkness

Email – October 25, 2024
Parashat Bereshit

Every I wanted to be an astronaut when I was growing up. Fascinated by the idea of space, I would often sit outside in my backyard staring up at the night sky. By the time I was 10, I could identify most of the constellations and would imagine what life outside of our universe was like. This was not, by any means, theological contemplation. I was intrigued by the scientific not the philosophical. But then in fourth grade, I asked my Rabbi to explain where the science of creation and the Torah of creation intersected. His answer was less than satisfactory, and the question was shut down in the name of “moving the discussion along.” Somewhere along my journey to adulthood, I found my own answer. The scientific and the theological aren’t mutually exclusive.

I was surprised to learn that, as early as the late 1400’s, Rabbinic commentators made the connection between science and theology. Ovadia ben Jacob Sforno’s commentary on Genesis 1:16 (God made the two great lights, the greater light to dominate the day and the lesser light to dominate the night, and the stars.) connects science and theology. Sforno was a contemporary of Copernicus so it is not surprising that he says, “God’s impression after He had removed these luminaries from their original place in the universe, given them spherical shape so that they can orbit, and function as luminaries.”

It is possible to believe in science and God at the same time. Religion and science are simply different ways to look at the universe. Both are essential perspectives and combining them gives us a deeper appreciation for the grandeur of our world. Science teaches us our origin and religion gives us our purpose. Science leads us to search for explanations while religion inspires us to search for meaning. As a child, I imagined myself a scientist staring at the stars to map the constellations. As an adult, I look at the night sky pondering God’s hand in the vastness and majesty of the universe. I know for sure that God has a part in both. My fourth-grade self finally has her answer.

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Rabbi Rothman – Light in the Darkness

Email – October 18, 2024
Chol HaMoed Sukkot

Every Jewish holiday has its appropriate greeting followed by the same response. The familiar Shabbat Shalom or Gut Shabbos (Good Shabbat) and on other holidays Chag Sameach (Happy Holiday) or Gut Yontif (Good [holi]day). But there is a special greeting that we say on the intermediate days of Sukkot and Pesach that I believe is most appropriate, especially this year at this time: Moadim L’simcha literally meaning Times of Joy. Unlike our other greetings, if someone says to us Moadim L’simcha we should respond with Chagim Uzmanim L’sason which means The Festival and special occasions are for joy. While that sounds like a mouthful, there is something so beautiful about these words.

Throughout our prayers, Sukkot is known as zeman simchatenu, the time of our joy. Yet if you’re like me, this year hasn’t been filled with enough light and joy. So this brought me back to a question I often think about at this time of year. Why is it that on Pesach we are restricted in what we eat but we can eat it anywhere yet on Sukkot we can eat anything that we want but we are commanded to do it in the sukkah? Why are we commanded to be joyful in a temporary hut on Sukkot and not on Passover when we celebrate our freedom? If Sukkot is about joy, shouldn’t we be able to be joyful in a comfortable setting.

We learn from Rabbi Jonathan Sacks z’l that the ability to “…leave…the safety of our houses and sit in sukkot…” and to still be able to say “…this is zeman simchatenu, our festival of joy, is the supreme achievement of faith, the ultimate antidote to fear.” ¹ We have the ability to be truly joyful and responsive to the words of our faith only when we are vulnerable enough to see the Divine in each other and all around us. As the days get shorter, colder, and darker, we are forced to find the light in the darkest corners. Joy is about having the courage to embrace the darkness in search of light. During this joyous holiday of Sukkot, may you all the strength to say Moadim L’simcha.

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Rabbi Z – Light in the Darkness

Email – October 11, 2024
Yom Kippur

The 19th century rabbi, Chofetz Chaim learned from his own experience that only when we get our personal life in order can really make a difference with others:

I set out to try to change the world [he said], but I failed. So, I decided to scale back my efforts and only try to influence the Jewish community of Poland, but I failed there, too. So, I targeted the community in my hometown but achieved no greater success. I gave up on that effort and directed all my strength to changing my own family. However, I was not successful with that as well. Finally, I decided to change myself, and that’s how I had such an impact on the Jewish world.

It is easy to see what is broken in the world, and easier still to blame others or find scapegoats for why things are so messed up. These Days of Awe remind us, however, that instead of focusing on what others should do, we ought to reflect on our responsibility for why things are not as good as we want them to be. As the Chofetz Chaim taught, telling others what they should believe or how they act is often fruitless unless and until we do what we can to consider how we can help bring about the change we seek. Only when we model the behavior we want to see from, and words we want to hear from, others can we expect them to reflect that back to us.

Thus, Yom Kippur teaches that only with a repair of our inner spirit and our soul (שפנה ןוקית tikkun ha’nefesh,) can we effectively move towards the repair of the world (םל וע ןוקית tikkun olam). Do you want to make things better in your family, your friends, in our community, our nation, in Israel and in the world? Begin in your heart – seeking to understand what upsets you and what you gives you a sense of purpose, what you fear and what of you want as your legacy, what are the qualities within that help give you strength, resilience and hope. Do that, and Yom Kippur teaches, you will gain the resolve to change more than you can imagine.

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Cantor Gladstone Martin – Light in the Darkness

Email – October 4, 2024
Shabbat Shuvah

This week’s Torah portion, Haazinu, meaning “listen,” presents some of Moses’ final words, not in the form of a speech, but as a song. As a cantor, I know firsthand the unique power of song to convey emotions and create deep connections.

Music has always been at the heart of my spirituality. Growing up, prayer in synagogue was where I first developed my love for singing. I remember, like many congregants, instinctively harmonizing with prayer melodies. Standing alongside others who shared the same emotional attachment to liturgy was, and continues to be, profoundly moving.

Since October 7th, prayer has been an integral outlet for my emotions – this week in particular. I know I am not alone in finding solace in the sounds housed in our siddurim.

Before my maternal uncle passed, I led regular Shabbat services at his nursing home in Toronto. There, I witnessed the transformative power of music in prayer. Patients who had lost their ability to speak would vocalize along with the prayers I recited. Those who appeared to be asleep or in a catatonic state would often awaken when they heard a favorite melody. Music had a way of reaching them beyond the limitations of words, awakening something deep within.

Moses, as retribution for his anger over the golden calf, was not permitted to enter the Promised Land. In the last verse of Parshat Haazinu, God tells Moses, “You may view the land from a distance, but you shall not enter it—the land that I am giving to the Israelite people.” This always felt like a cruel punishment to me. But this year, I see it differently. Although Moses could not take part in the next phase of the Israelites’ journey, he could still witness the profound impact of his leadership. Moses saw how far his people had come because of him – out of slavery and through the wilderness – and could pass on knowing that his legacy would far outlive him. Look at us still learning about his prophetic work in the year 5785!

As we celebrate Rosh Hashanah we are reminded of the soundscape of this sacred time. The melodies of our prayers, the distinctive tunes of High Holiday chants and Torah readings, and the calls of the shofar invite us to listen deeply, just as Haazinu urges us to do. And as Rosh Hashanah draws to a close, we are called upon to act– to seek forgiveness and to make amends. Just as Moses’ deeds and his final song have echoed through the generations, so too does our music carry forward our prayers, hopes, and reflections for a better future. But unlike Moses, we are given the chance to enter this new year renewed, with the chance to grow and become our best selves. Let’s not take this sacred opportunity for granted.

Praying for a Shana Tova for us all,

Cantor Ella

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Rabbi Sank Ross – Light in the Darkness

Email – September 27, 2024
Parashat Nitzavim-Vayeilech

“Be strong and resolute, be not in fear or in dread…for it is indeed Adonai your God who marches with you: [God] will not fail you or forsake you. (Deuteronomy 31:6)”

What a reassuring message to read in this week’s double portion, Nitzavim-Vayeilech. But we quickly see, just ten verses later, that the Israelites will not always be able to sense God’s proximity in this way: “...They will forsake Me and break My covenant that I made with them…Then My anger will flare up against them, and I will abandon them and hide My countenance from them (Deuteronomy 31:16-17).”

How do we reconcile these two declarations? How can we understand God’s closeness and yet, at times, God’s distance? When it feels as if God has abandoned us, how can we avoid giving up on God? How do we know that God is truly beside us?

A midrash, a rabbinic story that helps us to understand the Torah, teaches, [God’s hiddenness is like] a man who betrothed a woman and wrote an elaborate ketubah (marriage contract)...then left her and went overseas, staying there for many years. All of her friends taunt her and say to her, ‘Until when are you going to wait? Get yourself [another] husband while you are still young and have your strength!’ And she goes inside her house, takes her ketubah, reads it and is comforted. After a long time, the man comes from overseas and says to her, ‘My dear, I'm surprised! How were you able to wait for me all of these years?’ She says to him, ‘Were it not for the elaborate ketubah that you wrote, [I would have been] lost to you.’ Similarly, [some say to] Israel, ‘Until when will you [wait for] your God...how much pain your God brings upon you…!’...And Israel go into synagogues and houses of study, they read Torah and they are comforted. When the time will come, the Holy Blessed One will say to Israel, ‘I am shocked! How were you able to wait for Me all these years?’ And Israel will say before the Holy Blessed One, ‘Were it not for the Torah that You wrote us, [we would have been] lost to You!’...And so David wrote in Psalm 119, ‘Were it not for Your Torah which calms me, I would be lost in my suffering’ (Pesikta D'Rav Kahanna 19:4).”

There are times when we will feel as if God has abandoned us, but, it is in these moments when we most need to be reminded that God is with us. Certainly, this is a message that I have turned to again and again this year. When everything seems most dark, and uncertain, we can return we can look deeper, and in doing so, we find Torah, community and a renewed sense of God’s presence and purpose.

Tomorrow night (Saturday, September 28) at 7:30pm we will gather for Selichot through music and poetry.

“Selichot” refers both to a collection of prayers of teshuvah (return/repentance) and to our communal gathering on the last Saturday night, to mark the last havdalah (separation between Shabbat and the new week) before Rosh Hashanah. Selichot offers us an opportunity to look back on the moments in our own lives when we may have turned away from God and away from others. Selichot is a time of return and of forgiveness, for looking back on the year past and forward to the year to come.

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Rabbi Rothman – Light in the Darkness

Email – September 20, 2024
Parashat Ki Tavo

In Parashat Ki Tavo the Israelites receive important wisdom that guides them in general and can help us during this month of Elul in particular:

וּנְתָֽנְךָ֨ יְהֹוָ֤ה לְרֹאשׁ֙ וְלֹ֣א לְזָנָ֔ב
Un-tan’cha Adonai l’rosh v’lo l’za-nav
Adonai will make you the head and not the tail,

וְהָיִ֙יתָ֙ רַ֣ק לְמַ֔עְלָה וְלֹ֥א תִהְיֶ֖ה לְמָ֑טָּה
V’ha-yee-tah rak l-ma-lah v’lo t’h’yeh l’matah
you will always be at the top and never at the bottom” (Deut. 28:13).

To be at the head and not the tail, to be at the top and not at the bottom, is not just poetic but a call to action. It implores us to live out the words of the psalmist: “...to live with integrity, to do what is right, and to speak the truth in our heart” (Ps 15:2). Frankly, I can’t think of a more appropriate message during this time of year as we do a real cheshbon hanefesh, a true accounting of our soul.

Our tradition even developed a ritual based upon being the head. Today, in some homes you can find a fish head or a head of cabbage on the Rosh Hashanah table accompanied by the blessing, “May it be Your will, God, that we be as the head and not as the tail.” This symbolically guides us towards success and progress in the year to come.

In our Torah portion, Moses assures the Israelites, God will bless all of the creations of your hands (Deut 28:12). To create is to start something for the first time, to introduce something new to the world. Within a Jewish context, creation is a sacred venture, an undertaking supported by God’s blessing. It is these blessings that our Torah portion speaks of and the month of Elul demands we surround ourselves with. As we begin the process of walking into the New Year, may we be wise enough to create for ourselves those opportunities for blessing to help us make appropriate choices in the year to come.

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Cantor Franco – Light in the Darkness

Email – September 13, 2024
Parashat Ki Teitzei

I love a good New Year’s resolution. Although I usually join the 88% of people who do not keep their resolutions, I love the idea of a chance to reflect and think about change. This Hebrew month, Elul is traditionally a time of introspection and personal stock-taking, known in Hebrew as cheshbon hanefesh — literally “an accounting of the soul.” Jewish tradition teaches that this process is conducted in preparation for Rosh Hashanah as humanity is called to account, and a divine judgment is issued.

This year, reflecting and stock-taking weigh heavily on my mind. I will celebrate a “big” birthday tomorrow. Birthdays are a natural opportunity for us to look back on the year we just lived and glean the takeaways. When I imagined all the possibilities for celebrating this occasion, it never occurred to me that I would have buried my mom two weeks before. These two events have ignited some serious thinking about the past and about the future for me. What really matters? Who are the people who show up for the good and the bad in my life? What do I want to do with my time? How do I want to be remembered by the people who I have touched? We are encouraged to ask all of these questions during the season of our holiest days.

Tucked into an unassuming paragraph in this week's parsha, Ki Teitzei, we read, “…thou mayest not hide thyself.” The phrase follows specific instructions for returning lost property; an ass, a garment, an ox, “every lost thing of thy brother’s.” Hide thyself from what? French commentator, Rashi answers that we must not hide ourselves from the obligation to return whatever has been found. We cannot pretend not to see it. But, perhaps in this season of returning and reflecting, the mandate hints at something more powerful and personal. It can be read as a motto for everyday life. In our lives today, when people talk of compassion fatigue, of division and moral conflict, we often create rational and reasonable explanations for our unwillingness to care about the discomfort in the world we see around us.

This time of year, we are called upon to examine our lives and the things we have done or left undone. We are asked to consider how the choices we make affect the people around us and how they impact ourselves. We need to be honest, to stop hiding behind all the good reasons why we didn't have time to do what we should have done. The Torah reminds us that we are not permitted to look the other way, to continue with our lives as routinely as before. Indifference to our world is intolerable, unethical and it compromises our morality. As the calendar turns to Rosh Hashanah and annual Cheshbon ha Nefesh, we need to come out of hiding and look clearly at our world and our place in it.

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Rabbi Z – Light in the Darkness

Email – September 6, 2024
Parashat Shoftim

2400 years ago, the philosopher Plato predicted that democracy inevitably gives rise to a tyrannical leader. He wrote that the fullest flourishing of democracy is an openness to freedoms of all kinds, a tolerance that kowtows to no authority, where family hierarchies are disrupted, and the moral authority of teachers are questioned. It is exactly at a time of such seeming cultural openness when a would-be tyrant will make his move, appealing to the mob by appealing to their desire to overturn the elite. That person is filled with “false and braggart words”, dismisses moderation, calls “insolence ‘good breeding,’ license ‘liberty,’ prodigality ‘magnificence,’” and “temperance they call ‘want of manhood’ and treat (tolerance) with contempt.”

Centuries before Plato, however, the Torah also warned about the desire of the people for a leader who may seem to provide all the answers but will – inevitably and invariably – strip away liberty. Our parasha warns the people of their desire for a king, giving up their freedom for someone who wields too much power and believes he is the only one who can solve the nation’s ills. A way to control such a leader, Torah suggests, is that he “write for himself a ‘copy of this Torah’ … so that he should learn to fear the Eternal his God … (and) not consider himself better than others (literally “raise up his heart above others”).”

The ancients may not have been as technologically advanced as are we, but they understood human nature and the danger to society of those who speak as if they rule on behalf of the country but eschew morality and use power for personal advantage. In short, Torah suggests, the only way to stay in power is to continually seek ways to restrict one’s power. What are those restrictions:

First, a leader must remember that he or she shares the ability to lead with others.
Second, the ancient rabbinical sages interpret the “copy of the Torah” that the king was to carry was a “mini-Torah”, with key phrases from the scroll written out to remind him that it is the good of the nation that must guide his actions, not personal power.
Third, the Biblical phrase “fear of God” implies humility – the need for a ruler to admit mistakes, to treat others with respect, and to rule not only with harsh judgment, but also compassion.
Finally, the king is supposed to write himself the Torah scroll. Why? Because every single letter is necessary to make the Torah kosher and alludes to each person as equals standing at Sinai. Thus, a political leader is obligated to show respect for the people as a whole – not just their supporters or their party or their “base” – but to all.

To conclude, neither Plato nor Torah are prophetic or clairvoyant in saying what necessarily will happen, but they do remind us what could happen. In this time, when the underpinnings of liberal democracy are being questioned, we would do well to heed the wisdom from of old. Democratic freedom is not inevitable and can be lost seeking those who would constrain our liberty. Power, too often, corrupts. And there is a steep price that comes with not holding leaders to a standard of justice, rectitude and virtue that has stood the test of time.

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Cantor Gladstone Martin – Light in the Darkness

Email – August 30, 2024
Parashat Re’eh

Two weeks ago, I had the profound honor of officiating my cousin’s wedding in my hometown of Toronto. It was a day of utter joy, and yet, as the ceremony drew to a close, we observed the tradition of breaking of the glass.

This ritual, even in the midst of such happiness, compels us to pause to acknowledge the brokenness in our world. Judaism teaches us that in moments of joy, there is often a shadow of pain. Yet, conversely, our faith also assures us that in moments of darkness, there is always a spark of light.

In this week’s Torah portion, Moses instructs the Israelites to celebrate their arrival in Canaan with a ceremony of both blessings and curses. As they stand on the threshold of the Promised Land, ready to build a society of their own, Moses reminds them of the constant choices they will face. He warns them against the allure of false prophets and urges them to always walk a path illuminated by God.

As Jews, we are called to partner with the Divine in mending the shattered parts of our souls and our world, striving towards a time of wholeness for all.

May this Shabbat bring you a sense of light, peace, and wholeness.

Shabbat Shalom,

Cantor Ella

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Rabbi Sank Ross – Light in the Darkness

Email – August 23, 2024
Parashat Eikev

In Parashat Eikev the Children of Israel are about to enter Eretz Yisrael, the land of Israel, and the Torah reminds us of how we made it to this moment: “[By] the mighty hand and the outstretched arm with which the Eternal your God liberated you.” ¹ Indeed, God chose our ancestors from among the nations and, by extension, chose us. ²

For many of us, myself included, the idea that God uniquely cherishes the Jewish people among all people is one of the most challenging in our theology. In the words of author Sarah Hurwitz in her book “Here All Along,” “...the ‘chosen people’ idea has always made me uneasy, with its whiff of Jewish superiority.” ³ Why were we chosen? How are we meant to live in light of a teaching like this?

A rabbinic story offers one answer: One day God and the angels gathered to decide who among the Hosts of Heaven would represent each of the nations of the world. They chose to assign each nation by casting lots. The first angel picked the Moabites, the second the Jebusites, and the third the Edomites, and so on and so on. Until finally it came to God’s turn to pick. And who should God’s lot fall upon, but the Children of Israel. ⁴ This midrash teaches us that in thinking about our ‘chosenness’, our first thought should be to consider how we got to where we are, how we reached the border of the Promised Land, and not that we inherently deserve it.

Moses himself underscores this idea later in this week’s portion when he warns us not to forget the divine help we were given after we enter the Promised Land: “When you have eaten your fill, and have built fine houses to live in, and your herds and flocks have multiplied, and your silver and gold have increased, and everything you own has prospered, beware lest your heart grow haughty and you forget the Eternal your God…and say to yourselves ‘My own power and the might of my own hand have made for me this fortune.’” ⁵

Parashat Eikev reminds us again this week that when we feel strong it is essential to remember what it was like to feel weak; when we feel defeated, it is important to remember what it was like to stand on the threshold of promise and hope. In her book, “Wounds into Wisdom,” Rabbi Tirzah Firestone offers this redefinition of the Jewish people’s’ divine chosenness, “...Again and again, in the aftermath of oppression [the Torah reminds us] ‘do not oppress a stranger, for you know the heart of a stranger, for you yourselves were strangers in a harsh land.’…Not everyone understands the spirituality of Judaism: that to be chosen is not to be superior, not to be arrogant. On the contrary! It is to be humble and responsible for others…it is to take our own history and convert it into kindness.”

During this month of Elul, these days of thinking back on the past year and looking towards the year ahead, may we strive for the balance that true humility brings. As the 18th century Hasidic rabbi, Simcha Bunem, taught, we should live as if we always have two slips of paper in our pockets. Upon one is written, “The world was created for me,” and on the other, “I am but dust and ashes.” When we stand on the border of promise, we must remember how we got here and what we owe to those who are still wandering.

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¹Deuteronomy 11:2

²Deuteronomy 10:15

³Hurwitz, Sarah. Here All Along (p. 23). Random House Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

⁴Adapted from Pirkei De Rabbi Eliezer 24:9-10

⁵Deuteronomy 8:12-17

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Rabbi Z – Light in the Darkness

Email – August 16, 2024
Parashat Vaetchanan

When I was 26, shopping with my wife Anne, I was writing a check for an item we bought, and the next thing I knew I was looking up at her worried face, with the store clerk asking, “Are you alright?” After a battery of tests, including wearing a Holter monitor (basically a portable electrocardiogram to measure heartbeat for 24 hours or longer), I was told that at one point my heart stopped for 11 seconds. In my cardiologist’s office I was told, “that’s not good” – and weakly laughed saying, “even this untrained guy gets that!” To address the issue, I had implanted a pacemaker – and certainly skewed the age of those in the cardiac ward of the hospital where I stayed.

I was devastated by this news. Yet when I told my mom, she was relieved. “How can you not be upset by this?”, I asked. My mother, a tough-as-nails nurse who served in the U.S. Army in World War II and Korea, told me that she imagined so many worse diagnoses and assured me that a pacemaker was no big deal and the best possible outcome. She reminded me that no one goes through life unscathed, and that it would be good not to only accept, but live fully, with this outcome.

How right my mom was. Not only does everyone face difficulties, but who we are is defined by how we respond to life’s inevitable setbacks, failures, and challenges. Sometimes the hard moments come from forces beyond our control – medical concerns, economic downturns, loss of work. Yet we also must face the mistakes we’ve made, our losses and failures, the wounds we endure of rejection and betrayal.

Over the next seven weeks in the Jewish calendar, we move from ט׳ באב Tisha b’Av, the saddest day of the year, towards Rosh Hashanah, a day for renewal and repentance. Throughout this period, we are reminded that even when there is a breach in a relationship with God (and human beings), there is always the possibility of repair, renewal of bonds, and of a return to a closeness that was shattered.

In the השכיבנו Hashkiveinu, the traditional evening prayer for protection, we ask God to “keep enemies, plagues, sword, famines, and troubles” from us. ט׳ באב Tisha b’Av teaches that there are many kinds of “enemies” that are ever at the walls – at times for us as a people, and in a myriad of ways that challenge us as individuals.

These coming weeks leading up to the Days of Awe teach us that we have the power within us, however, not to be deterred or defined by what fate has in store. No one is unscathed by life. We can, however, find the resolve to rebuild, to return to God and see the best within ourselves, and to rebuild relationships that have been shattered. Life can be (and often is) hard, but we can choose to live with resolve and hope to take to heart the message of the prophet Isaiah we read this Shabbat: “Comfort My people, comfort them, says God.”

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Rabbi Rothman – Light in the Darkness

Email – August 9, 2024
Parashat Devarim

This past week the Jewish world ushered in the Hebrew month of Av which is known as the saddest month on the Jewish calendar. While you may not be familiar with the month of Av, you may have heard of the commemoration called Tisha B’Av (The ninth day of the Hebrew month of Av). On this day, the Jewish community marks the destruction of the First and Second Temples in Jerusalem, our subsequent exile from the land of Israel, and a number of other tragic events. It marks the end of everything the Jewish community knew including a way to connect to God through sacrifice.

When the sun sets this coming Monday evening, Jews traditionally begin a 25-hour period of intense mourning. Just like on Yom Kippur, we refrain from eating, washing, sexual relations, using perfume and other ointments, and wearing leather. At synagogue, congregants sit on the ground or on low stools, read from Megilat Eicha, the Biblical book of Lamentations and recite liturgical poems or Kinot which reflects the mood of the day.

Being so far removed from this experience, I wonder if we can truly understand the magnitude of this loss for the Jewish people. But with the tragedy of October 7th still very much on our mind and the looming existential threat from Iran in our thoughts, there is still much to mourn. I believe this year, Tisha B’Av takes on even more meaning.

According to the Sages of the Talmud in tractate Yoma 9b, even though the people at the time studied Torah, observed mitzvot (sacred obligations), and performed good deeds, the Temple was ultimately destroyed because of sinat chinam, baseless hatred. But according to Rav Kook, the first Orthodox Ashkenazi Chief Rabbi of British Mandate Palestine, the antidote to sinat chinam is ahavat chinam, unconditional love. “If we were destroyed, and the world with us, due to baseless hatred, then we shall rebuild ourselves, and the world with us, with unconditional love — ahavat chinam. (Orot HaKodesh vol. III, p. 324). So as we enter this Shabbat, let us recommit ourselves to acts of ahavat chinam even in the face of unimaginable loss and pain.

A story is told of Rabbi Israel Salanter who once spent the night at a shoemaker’s home. Late at night, he saw the man working by the light of a flickering candle. “Look how late it is,” the rabbi said. “Your candle is about to go out. Why are you still working?” The shoemaker replied, “As long as the candle is burning, it is still possible to mend.” For weeks afterward, Rabbi Salanter was heard repeating the shoemaker’s words to himself: “As long as the candle is burning, it is still possible to mend.”

Living in a world of immense baseless hatred, we can learn a lot from the lessons of Rav Kook and Rabbi Salanter: as long as the candle burns – as long as the spark of life still shines – we can mend and heal, seek forgiveness and reconciliation. I know that this is not easy, especially at times like this, but if we live out the words of the Psalmist, then together with God’s help, we will rebuild this world from love.

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Cantor Franco – Light in the Darkness

Email – August 2, 2024
Parashat Matot-Masei

In my early years of parenting, I was sure that I was going to write a bestseller one day. The title? Bribery and threats: A Day in the Life of a Real Mother. It felt like I spent my entire day negotiating with myself, with God and most of all with my toddlers. The goals were reasonably simple, to get some sleep; to keep the baby asleep long enough to do something productive and most of all, to get a toddler to cooperate. In those days, I was negotiating to win. Fast forward 25 years and I am studying Negotiation and Conflict Resolution as part of a program at Harvard University. In my class, we read Getting To Yes – Negotiating Agreements Without Giving In and I learn the factors that lead to successful outcomes. Modern case studies and current events highlight successful processes and failed attempts.

This week, parsha Matot offers us a masterclass in negotiation. The Israelites are in the final stage of their journey to the Promised Land and can see their final destination from the bank of the Jordan. Reuben and Gad realize that this land is good for grazing their flocks and herds. So, they approach Moses and ask for permission to stay there rather than to inherit their land in Israel. “If we have found favor in your sight, let this land be given to your servants as our possession. Do not make us cross the Jordan.” Moses quickly realizes that the two tribes were putting their own interests above those of the nation. The Israelites had war ahead of them if they were to inherit the Promised Land and now, Reuven and Gad want to abandon their people. Moses says to the tribes: “Should your fellow Israelites go to war while you sit here?”

What follows is a perfect example of a great leader who negotiates an agreement using techniques that will stand the test of thousands of years.

Separate the people from the problem. Moses confronts the issue directly, reminding Reuven and Gad what happened when the spies divided the people. He does not attack them personally, but simply points out the danger in their plan for the nation.
Focus on interests, not positions. Moses recognizes and validates their claim that the land is good for their flocks and herds. He also explains that the Israelites need them to inherit the land. Both sides have a common interest in the fate of the Israelites.
Invent options for mutual gain. We understand this as a compromise. In Jewish law we read it as zeh neheneh vezeh neheneh-both sides benefit. Moses allows for Reuven and Gad to leave their families and flocks on the other side of the Jordan, come into the land to fight and then to return to them.
Insist on objective criteria. Make sure that both sides agree that what has been agreed upon has been achieved. Moses repeats the agreement making sure that Reuven and Gad understand that they will not return to the Eastern side of the Jordan until the Israelites are safely settled in the land. Their return will be realized under Joshua’s leadership.

Negotiation is imperative for peaceful conflict resolution. Judaism teaches that the goal of good negotiation is not for one person or one side to defeat the other. In Hebrew, negotiation is masa u’matan, quite literally, to “give and take.” As righteous as our desires or outcomes feel, there is no solution unless both sides gain and unless both are willing to embrace the factors necessary to agree.

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Cantor Gladstone Martin – A Special Light in the Darkness

Email – July 26, 2024
2024 ACC-GTM Mission to Israel

Earlier this month, I had the unique opportunity to spend a week in Israel with the American Conference of Cantors and Guild of Temple Musicians. This was my first visit to the beautiful, complicated country of my birth since the devastating events of October 7th. The heroism, trauma, talent, and strength we witnessed were overwhelming. We met with individuals across the political spectrum and from various religious and ethnic backgrounds. Despite their differences, they were united in their desire for us to share their testimonies with our communities back home in order to combat the misinformation being spread across the world. Here are their stories.

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Rabbi Sank Ross – Light in the Darkness

Email – July 19, 2024
Parashat Balak

In this week’s Torah portion we find the origins of the prayer “Mah tovu” in Numbers 24:5. Balak, the king of Moab, dispatches the prophet Balaam to curse the people of Israel. On their journey towards Eretz Yisrael, the Israelites have defeated every nation that has stood to block their way. Now they are headed to Moab and intend to cross. Anticipating a battle ahead, Balak sends Balaam to weaken them with curses. However, three times over, Balaam ascends a mountain, is poised to pronounce his curses upon the Israelites, but blessings fall from his lips instead.

This week’s Haftorah portion from the book of Micah recounts the story of Balak and Balaam as Micah the prophet rebukes the Jewish people for not observing God's commandments. The people respond saying that they do not know how to serve God and they ask for guidance. Micah replies with the famous imperative, “You have been told mah tov–what is good...do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God (Micah 6:8).”

From Balaam’s “mah tovu” to Micah’s “mah tov”, this phrase teaches us an important lesson.

As Rabbi Shai Held points out, “Balaam speaks in the indicative, Micah speaks in the imperative. Juxtaposed with Balaam's, Micah's words serve as a powerful reminder that a deep sense of "not yet" ought to pervade our spiritual lives. ("Not There Yet", 2015).”

Certainly, the tents of The Community Synagogue are good. Tonight, we will bring in shabbat with song and prayer, surrounded by gardens and a lawn bearing the subtle marks of the more than 80 pairs of feet that run across it each day during our L’dor V’dor ECC Camp. We’ll hear announcements of opportunities to learn, live and celebrate Jewish life at every point in our lives, and finally, this week, we will share in a joyous shabbat meal (come on August 9!). Mah tovu–how good it is to be part of this community.

And yet, at the same time, as a congregation, we never forget that sense of “not yet”. Each shabbat, we also announce where our communal tzedaka will be directed. The opportunities to volunteer to help our neighbors in need, to contribute to the great project of repairing our broken world, are always at the forefront of our minds. Mah tov–we know that the work of justice, kindness and humility is not yet done.

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Rabbi Z – Light in the Darkness

Email – July 12, 2024
Parashat Chukat

Is Zionism good for the Jews … or not? For me, Zionism is a blessing, but with a caveat.

I want to be clear that I am a proud Zionist. Why? First, because the promise of our people’s connection to the land of Israel began at the very beginning of our people and has been central to our identity as a faith and people throughout history. Second, the reality of anti-Jewish hate has demonstrated to us that it is better to have power than not. Yes, power corrupts, but the one thing that corrupts even more is powerlessness. Third, a strong, vibrant Israel has made it safer for Jews around the world. October 7 th showed that even the State of Israel cannot protect from determined enemies, but overall, Jews there and in the Diaspora are arguably safer than at any other point in the past 2000 years.

The challenge of the State of Israel, however, is that when political and religious power are wedded – as it often is there – corruption, an abuse of power, and a compromise of the most noble ideals of Jewish tradition can result.

The early 20th century Zionist thinker and theorist Nachman Syrkin once remarked that the political reality of a Zionism was a dual-edged sword. On the one hand, it makes the impure more pure or spiritually worthy. Zionism forces those who think a society of Jews is just like any other nation to realize that the ideal for the reestablishment of a Jewish nation is that we are to be a “light unto the nations.” On the other hand, Zionism makes impure those who only yearn for a pure “heaven on earth.” The challenge of living in the world means that idealistic notions of Israel must confront the reality of human beings who do not agree, and often are in conflict. In the real world there are intractable enemies. Long before today’s conflicts, then, Syrkin understood that by having to live in the messiness of the world, the dreams of Israel would be sullied.

The State of Israel, therefore, is very much like the “red heifer” in this week’s Torah portion, the crimson-colored cow that was totally burned, the ashes of which were used to purify those who became ritually impure. Paradoxically, however, any who touched those ashes became impure after the sacrifice was completed. Zionism, like the red heifer, makes the impure pure, but it makes pure impure.

All of this explains the tremendous debates amongst Israelis – and with Jews around the world – about so much related to Israel. Are Israelis and Palestinians doomed to forever be in conflict? What might be the steps that lead to an end to the current war? Should those who are focused on the study of Torah be required to serve in the army in Israel? What is a priority – saving the lives of the hostages or eliminating Hamas? What will the “day after” this war look like? Is it good for Israel’s Prime Minister to be coming to the States now –during a difficult political campaign – or is it a dangerous interference and deflection of facing responsibility for the events of October 7th ?

Nachman Syrkin understood that Zionism is a blessing. But the reality of a Jewish State can, as it has twice before in our history, lead to internal division and a disregard for righteousness. There is, I believe, no singular way to express a love of Israel. Israel is a blessing. But not every act of Israel’s government is worthy of our support. May we ever act realizing the impurity of living in a harsh world, but never lose sight of at least seeking greater purity for that land of promise.

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Cantor Franco – Light in the Darkness

Email – July 5, 2024
Parashat Korach

“…and the earth opened its mouth and swallowed them up with their households, all Korach’s people and all their possessions.” This dramatic event is the result of a public challenge to Moses and Aaron’s leadership by Korach, Datan and Aviram and 250 “chieftans of the community.” At first glance, their challenge has some merit after all they claim that everyone is worthy of being a leader and ask why Moses and Aaron have been set up above all the people. But they are not looking to create an egalitarian society, they are accusing Moses and Aaron of having exactly what it is that they want-power. And this is the source of their trouble. The aren’t looking for truth so they don’t attack the message, they attack the messenger. They are looking to invalidate the standing and credibility of Moses and Aaron whom they oppose. Datan and Aviram accuse “Isn’t it enough that you have brought us up out of a land flowing with milk and honey to kill us in the wilderness?” This is a biblical example of “fake news.” It is a lie, but Datan and Aviram repeat it loudly and with conviction hoping that if they say it often enough the people will believe them. The real issue is that there is a leadership structure in place that created an underlying discontent in the Levites, Reubenites and other tribal chiefs. This generation had just realized that they would not be entering the promised land. There were real problems and the people had nothing to lose by rebelling. But the rebels were not interested in the truth. They wanted power. And so, the earth swallowed them up. Judaism is a religion that fundamentally believes in argument and challenge. Our sacred texts are built around questions, discussions and varied opinions. But holy argument must be for the sake of heaven-for truth and good purpose like the disputes between Hillel and Shammai. The arguments of Korach, Datan and Aviram are quite the opposite. They are self-serving and duplicitous. Today, there are many on all sides who say things loudly and repeatedly in the hopes that their “facts” will be accepted as truth. Curated media and AI further their cause. As we celebrate American Independence Day, may we remember that free speech is a gift, and we should use it for the sake of heaven like our sages and not like Korach.

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Rabbi Rothman – Light in the Darkness

Email – June 28, 2024
Parashat Sh’lach

Tucked away in the last five verses of Parashat Sh’lach L’cha we read about the laws of the tzizit found on the four corners of every tallit (Numbers 15:37-41). One of the most moving experiences for our B’nai Mitzvah and their families happens in the quiet moments before their special Shabbat service begins. With the tallit spread wide, our students recite the blessing l’hitateif batzitzit and then they are lovingly wrapped in the fringes that connect them to our Jewish past and this week’s Torah portion in particular.

Our tradition teaches that the tzitzit, fringes on our garment serve as a visible reminder of all 613 commandments. The sheer act of wrapping ourselves in the tallit should prompt us to live a life worthy of God’s blessings. In fact our sages say that by fulfilling the commandments, we will merit a loving partner to walk through life with.

While I don’t believe that getting married is dependent on our observance of the commandments, there is something certainly transformational about the sacred relationship that is created under the chuppah. In just a few days as Sam and stand under our chuppah, we too will be lovingly wrapped in a tallit by our loved ones. May its fringes continue to guide us in our sacred obligations to each other, to the world, and to our God. At this time all I have is gratitude. Shabbat Shalom!

A Tallit Poem
Yehuda Amichai

Whoever puts on a tallis in one’s youth will never forget:
Taking it out of the soft velvet bag, opening the folded shawl,
Spreading it out, kissing the length of the neckband (embroidered
or trimmed in gold.) Then swinging it in a great swoop overhead
Like the heavens, a chuppah, a parachute. And then winding it
around his head as in hide-and-seek, wrapping
his whole body in it, close and slow, snuggling into it like the cocoon
of a butterfly, then opening would-be wings to fly.
And why is the tallis striped and not checkered black-and-white
like a chessboard? Because squares are finite and hopeless.
Stripes come from infinity and to infinity they go
like airport runways where angels land and take off.
Whoever has put on a tallis will never forget.
When he comes out of a swimming pool or the sea,
he wraps himself in a large towel, spreads it out again
over his head, and again snuggles into it close and slow,
still shivering a little, and he laughs and blesses.

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Cantor Gladstone Martin – Light in the Darkness

Email – June 21, 2024
Parashat Beha’alotcha

In this week’s Torah portion of Beha’alotcha, God instructs Moses to “have two silver trumpets made” for calling the community. Aaron’s sons, the priests, are tasked with playing these trumpets in order to summon the Israelites for prayer, war, and celebration.

An early cantorial prototype, the Levite priests were responsible for the music and liturgy of the ancient Jerusalem Temple. Prophets worked themselves into states of ecstasy through music. Levite musicians played instruments such as trumpets (as described in this week's portion) as well as drums, pipes, shakers, cymbals, harps and hydraulos (an ancient water organ). They also sang Hallel psalms while the Israelites prepared their Paschal offerings.

Music was a significant part of Jewish temple life. As Reform Jews, this is something we have in common with our ancient counterparts.

The Synagogue is where I first developed my love of music. At a young age, I began harmonizing prayer melodies. Standing alongside others who share the same intense emotional attachment to the meaning of the prayers continues to be profoundly moving. I hope that you feel the same.

Music has many healing properties through its use of force and vibration and studies show that live performance synchronizes the heartbeats of an audience. A congregation is even more susceptible to the physiological and emotional powers of live music. The cantor is a proxy for communication with God. By opening our hearts and mouths to prayer, we also open ourselves to the therapeutic properties of community engagement and music-making.

This year, many Israelis have found comfort in the power of music. I encourage you to check out this playlist I made of songs that have dominated Israeli pop charts in the wake of October 7th. Music continues to be a source of strength, unity and healing, connecting us to our heritage and to one another.

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Rabbi Sank Ross – Light in the Darkness

Email – June 14, 2024
Parashat Nasso

This week’s Torah portion, Nasso, opens with the following commandment: Naso et rosh b’nei gershon gam heim–Take a census of the Gershonites as well… (Numbers 4:21-22).” This instruction from God to Moses is in keeping with the opening project of the Book of Numbers: the task of counting the Children of Israel.

We do a lot of counting in Judaism and counting is a sacred act. With the celebration of Shavuot this week, we concluded counting the omer, the 49 days between Pesach and Shavuot–from redemption to revelation. And this year, counting days has become all the more poignant, as we have not stopped counting since October 7th, and will not until each and every person being held hostage is brought home.

The title word of this parasha, is the word: “Naso”. Here “naso” is the first word of the three-word phrase: “Naso et rosh,” which in context means “Take a census.” But literally, these three words mean something much more poetic: “Lift up the heads.” And it is this literal meaning of “Naso” that I think holds a powerful message about how we count ourselves and about how we count other people.

This week, four people who were held hostage in Gaza for over 240 days were rescued. This was a miracle. But as incredible as this was, we know that there are still 116 people suffering in the narrowest of places–hope seems fleeting. And yet, seeing four individuals reunited with their families reminds us that, truly, each and every person is an entire world (Babylonian Talmud, Sanhedrin 4:5). Judaism places profound value on the life of every human being. This week, this lesson is reinforced once again: To count another person is to lift up their head. To see their face. To look into their eyes. To acknowledge that even though we are adding them to a total, they are more than a number.

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Rabbi Rothman – Light in the Darkness

Email – June 7, 2024
Parashat Bamidbar

As we concluded the Book of Leviticus last Shabbat, we said the same familiar words that we recite each time we finish a book of Torah; chazak, chazak, v’nitchazeik - be strong, be strong and may we be strengthened. Our tradition is quite clear that only through unity, will we be strengthened and prevail. So if we concluded last week with strength, it is only fitting that we take some of that chizuk - encouragement with us into the Book of Numbers (Bamidbar).

This week we start our collective wandering in the wilderness towards revelation. While the great expanse of the unknown can be scary, it also provides nourishment in the form of hope. The Midrash asks why was the Torah given in the wilderness and not in the Land of Israel? Because the desert is open and accessible to all humanity (Numbers Rabbah 1:7) In the wilderness of Sinai, we were inspired to come together. The desert is where we received Torah. The desert is where we learned what it means to be a Jewish people.

On Rosh Hashanah I spoke about taking a ramble, a walk without a definite route, into the unknown. This past year has been uncertain for sure but together we have found collective strength. In just a few days when we celebrate Shavuot with the receiving of Torah, our people agreed to the mitzvot even before they fully understood. They said na’aseh v’nishma - first they will do and then they will listen and learn. It took a certain amount of strength to agree but it was because of that strength, that a new era of Jewish life was born. Let’s enter the summer months by coming together just as our people did in the wilderness.

On a personal note, Sam and I would be so honored to have you join us tonight to celebrate with us at our Aufruf. Please join us at 5:30 pm for a BBQ Shabbat dinner followed by Shabbat on the Lawn services at 6:30 pm and a festive oneg. The meteorologist in me tells me that the weather is beautiful, so we really hope to see you. Shabbat Shalom!

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Cantor Franco – Light in the Darkness

Email – May 31, 2024
Parashat Bechukotai

One of the most important lessons I learned as a new parent was never make a threat on which you can’t follow through. One of my mom friends with older kids cautioned me against being one of those “if you do that one more time…” people who are never taken seriously by their children. But the truth is, we love a good idle threat. Or maybe it is that human nature has us conditioned to want to give each other just one more chance to do the right thing. How many of us have bargained with ourselves in our minds? If (fill in the blank) happens one more time, I will (fill in the blank). I imagine you are searching for the blanks that apply to you right now. We are accustomed to examining the conditional. In this week’s parsha Bechukotai, we read some of the most terrifying “what ifs” that will happen to the Israelite people if they misbehave and fail to follow the way of God. The condition is clear that if Israel strays spiritually, it will lose physically, economically, and politically. They will experience defeat and disaster. In many synagogues, there is a custom to read this passage in a soft voice since it is so aggressive. But is this an idle threat? The Israelites never find out since the threat is enough to keep them in line.

In a dramatic turn of events, what follows in the parsha is “Yet, even then, when they are in the land of their enemies, I will not reject them or spurn them to destroy them, annulling My covenant with them: for I am Adonai their God. I will remember in their favor the covenant with the ancients, whom I freed from the land of Egypt in the sight of the nations to be their God: I am Adonai”. In these verses, the threat transforms into a reminder of the covenant and gives the Israelite people hope. God might punish the people. The people might suffer. But even at their worst, God will not abandon the people. God does not make idle threats. The Torah offers these curses as a warning not an ultimatum. In the end, the fate of the Israelites as a nation will mimic their behavior. The Torah seems to teach that humans are hardwired to react to the fear of a threat more than they react to the promise of a reward. The more powerfully one can present the bad, the more likely people are to choose the good. Bechukotai reminds us that we have the chance to consider the consequences of the choices we make.

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Rabbi Z – Light in the Darkness

Email – May 24, 2024
Parashat Behar

When our children were younger, I used to go into their bedrooms and ask them to clean them up. On good days they were kind enough to say that they understood why I wanted their room to be tidy. Sometimes they even made a bit of an effort to do so. Despite my urgings and his best intentions, however, the cleanup was often minimal. So why did we bother? Because there were moments – rare though they seemed at the time – that they put things back in place enough that I get a glimpse of how nice it could be when everything is where it belongs.

The Torah for this week deals with the shmittah (sabbatical year) and Yovel (Jubilee – every 50th year), and they represent a similar give-and-take between God and the Jewish people. The desire to put things “back” – either by restoring a slave’s freedom or returning property to its original owners – is not unlike that of a parent hoping a child’s room will be in order.

There is a great deal of speculation about whether the Yovel ever actually took place. Some have argued that it the idea of such a sweeping remission of slavery and all land reverting back to its original owners is so impractical as to be pure fiction. Whether it was observed or not seems to miss the point, for Torah describes a world not as it is, but as it ought to be. What would such a world look like? The portion speaks in grand terms. It envisions a time of freedom for every inhabitant, a place where people do not wrong one another, people feel safe and secure, and recognize that nothing (even land) is truly “owned.” If ever there was a passage in Torah that expresses a messianic and utopian vision it is this one.

There is a danger when the acquisition of land – or wealth in any form – too greatly divides people. Inequity inevitably leads to envy, which all too often leads to enmity. Jewish traditions have always valued the making of money, but there is a countervailing tendency in Judaism to redistribute wealth – either by moral suasion or communal pressure – in order to create a community of greater equality. Where there is a great disparity of wealth, such as in ours, there are inevitable tensions, and so the Torah seeks a world of greater equity for that leads to greater peace.

The Talmudic sages taught: “Pious people say, ‘what’s yours is yours and what’s mine is yours.’ Evil people, ‘what’s mine is mine and what is yours is mine,’ while normal people say, ‘what’s mine is mine, what’s yours is yours.’ But some rabbis replied, ‘the sin of Sodom and Gemorrah was that those people said, ‘what’s mine is mine, what’s yours is yours.’” (Pirkei Avot 5:10) Why is this last so terrible if it is so typical? It is because people who insist on each person keeping whatever they have, without a willingness to share, will inevitably create a society that is selfish and hard-hearted.

Our traditions remind us that only when we see a world as it might be, rather than as it simply is – more equitable, and thus more at peace – do we become holy.

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Cantor Gladstone Martin – Light in the Darkness

Email – May 17, 2024
Parashat Emor

This past Tuesday was Yom Ha’atzmaut, marking Israel’s 76th year of independence. Reflecting on Israel’s foundation fills me with pride, rooted in my family’s long standing involvement in the Zionist youth movement Hashomer Hatzair.

My great-grandparents, Motl and Chienke, were raised in impoverished Eastern European shtetls, where they faced anti-Semitism and political strife. Their yearning to escape led them to become chalutzim (pioneers) in the communal farms of the British Mandate of Palestine. Motl and Chienke’s pioneering spirit fueled their membership in Kibbutz Gesher, where they toiled and sacrificed for the Zionist dream of rebuilding the Jewish homeland.

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My Zaidy Motl & Bubby Chienke

Continuing this legacy, my grandmother embraced Hashomer Hatzair, as did my extended family, including, aunts, uncles, cousins, my brother, and myself. From the age of eleven, I immersed myself in the movement’s weekly programming and summer camp, Shomria, a cherished tradition captured in the photo below taken of my family during Visiting Day in 2011. Shomria is dedicated to ensuring Jewish self-determination in Israel, as well as fostering peace in the region, hosting 10 Palestinian and 10 Jewish Israelis for a coexistence seminar every summer.

The alignment of holidays at this time in the Jewish calendar holds profound significance. Passover evokes our ancestral longing for Zion, Yom Hashoah underscores the imperative of a Jewish state, Yom Hazikaron honors those who sacrificed their lives for Israel’s defense, and Yom Ha’atzmaut celebrates the realization of our dreams. Yet, as we pray for the restoration of Jerusalem, we seek more than the city itself; Yerushalyim, derived from the word for “wholeness,” symbolizes our aspiration for a slice of utopia on Earth. As we celebrate how far we have come, let us remain mindful of the journey ahead.

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Cantor Franco – Light in the Darkness

Email – May 10, 2024
Parashat Kedoshim

It is 10AM on Monday April 19, 1993. Our teacher, Masha had taken us out to David HaMelech (King David Street). The siren sounds and everyone freezes. Literally, everyone freezes. People stop walking, stop their cars and get out to stand next to them, no one talks, no one moves. This scene plays out across the entire country as every single person pauses to remember the victims of the Holocaust. The memory of Yom HaShoah in Israel remains one of the most powerful minutes of my life 31 years later.

6 days later at 8pm, my class makes its way to King George Street as Israel pauses again. This time, the siren sounds to remember soldiers who have fallen defending Israel. This one feels personal. Everyone in Israel knows someone or knows someone who knows someone that died defending Israel. My teacher cries this time. The memory of Yom HaZikaron in Israel remains one of the most powerful minutes of my life 31 years later.

24 hours later, the country is alive with celebration. The joy is palpable and everywhere you turn there is a sea of blue and white and Israeli flags. There are speeches and performances and music. (Think Coachella in Hebrew). There are fireworks. It is Spring and we sleep with the windows open so the sounds of music and cheering and dancing fill our apartment through the night.

The arch of these three days reflects, in some ways, the arch of the state of Israel. Some Zionists believe that the state of Israel is a direct result of the Shoah-an antidote of sorts, although my most recent tour guide may have convinced me otherwise. Israel was created, with the sacrifices of those who have died defending her time and again. We remember them. We embrace the remembering as a powerful reminder that the celebration does not come without a price.

In the aftermath of October 7 th and the ever-rising antisemitism, it is challenging to celebrate. With Israel and Jews under attack around the world, we find ourselves remembering the holocaust and our ancestors who died simply for being Jewish. We utter the phrase “never again” over and over. For many of us, October 7 th also feels personal. We know people and we know people who know people directly impacted by the events of that awful day. The chants and demonstrations on our college campuses and city streets remind us that antisemitism and hate are not tucked safely away in our past. They are also here in our present. We have a moral imperative to stand strong and proud against the hate and to honor our identity, our right to exist and the state of Israel. Israel is an everlasting symbol of the victory of life over death, the power of the human spirit and of hope over despair. Yom HaShoah, Yom HaZikaron, and Yom Ha’atzmaut remind us that after we remember, we celebrate.

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Rabbi Rothman – Light in the Darkness

Email – May 3, 2024
Parashat Achrei Mot

We are in that time of the year when we do a lot of counting. Some of us are counting down to the end of school, the anticipation of graduation, and the excitement of summer vacation. In the Jewish community, our joyous secular celebrations are mingled with national Jewish commemorations of sadness and remembrance. As we count at this time of the year, we in the Jewish community hold an extra amount of heaviness in our hearts.

The Torah teaches that we should count seven weeks, from the second evening of Pesach until Shavuot (Lev 23:15). This period, known as Sefirat HaOmer or Sefirah, is traditionally marked with rituals connected to mourning and sadness; refraining from shaving, haircuts, and weddings. It is also the time where we mark national Jewish commemorations such as Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day, which begins at Sundown on Sunday evening. Our collective Jewish anxiety is certainly heightened with so much unrest in the world. But is there a deeper meaning to this period as we count? I am reminded of the psalmist who says, “Teach us to count our days so that we may acquire a heart of wisdom” Psalm 90:12. Wisdom comes from knowledge and knowledge is gained through community.

Twenty-four years ago, when I was a senior in High School, I was fortunate enough to be in Poland for Yom HaShoah on the March of the Living; an experience that helped me decide to become a rabbi. The wisdom I gained in that community and from that experience taught me what it means to value life. The following, while simplistic, is taken from a journal I kept during the trip:

“Right now I’m sitting…in the middle of Birkenau…where the railroad crosses. As I look around I see death on 3 sides of me. I see the main gate, I see the gas chambers, and I see the barracks. But on one side I see life. I see seven thousand men, women, and children…who weren’t killed by the Nazi’s. I see life. In seeing life I see hope."

May 2, 2000

We can acquire a heart of wisdom by striving to make each day count. With so much uncertainty, let us turn to God to help us greet each day as an opportunity to celebrate life. At sundown on Sunday evening please light the memorial candle you received in the mail from Brotherhood and consider joining us at Temple Beth Israel for our community observance at 7:30pm. May this time of collective counting draw us closer to our community, to our tradition, and to our God.

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Rabbi Z – Light in the Darkness

Email – April 26, 2024
Pesach 2024

Just before Pesach I wished someone a joyous Pesach, using the Hebrew greeting, chag sameach. With deep sadness this person responded, “I wish I could say that this year, but I just can’t. the best I can hope for is that this holiday be just a chag herut – a ‘festival of freedom’.”

As much as empathized with her feelings, I responded that now, more than ever, we must say chag sameach. During the Passover seder we remind ourselves that enemies, in every generation, seek to rob us of our ability not only to live, but to fully live – to enjoy the gift of life, the blessings of hope. Reflecting on her words, I wrote her back, sharing the words of the Piacezner Rebbe, Kalonymos Kalman Shapira, a rabbi who lived in Warsaw ghetto and who witnessed the death of his only son, daughter-in-law and child and wife. Writing from the Warsaw Ghetto in 1940 taught his students, “Not only at a time when things are going well for us shall we go in God’s ways, higher and higher. Even in distress and darkness, heaven forfend, we shall do so. When all is going well for a person, it is easier to serve God with joy, love and fervor. When, however, he is, God forbid, in trouble, he must make use of his situation, serving God with a broken heart and an outpouring of soul.” It is precisely from a place of brokenness, the Rabbi Shapira said, that we are most attuned to the Divine Voice.

Instead of avoiding pain, Shapira suggests that it is through the brokenness that we find a great inner strength. After 9/11 some researchers trying to determine how to help children face psychological trauma found that the best single predictor of children's emotional health and happiness was understanding their family's history. Family stories let children know that they're not alone, and that those who came before them celebrated triumphs and overcame struggles, just as they do. Stories of their family gave children a better sense of control over their lives, higher their self-esteem, and an understanding that they – like those before them – can be resilient, strong, even hopeful.

Based on this, at our seder this year I asked participants to share an item or share a story that taught them about freedom and resilience. That seder was one of the most memorable of my life as people shared remarkable tales of immigrants, facing physical challenges, overcoming spiritual crisis, having relatives who stood up for what they believed in the face of injustice, or were inspired by the courage of loved ones in the face of overwhelming challenge.

At the seder we reminded ourselves of the Jewish family story that reminds us that we can not only survive but thrive. The personal stories spoke to us of the gift God gives of freedom, not only a national redemption, but a spiritual gift of the power of us to transcend the pain and live freer, more resilient lives. We are all like the broken piece of matza, but we can choose – as we do at the seder – to allow the next generation to find ways to restore the shattered pieces of our lives. Truly, it is with – and through - the brokenness that we find the resilience and hope to “choose life”.

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Cantor Gladstone Martin – Light in the Darkness

Email – April 19, 2024
Parashat Metzora

If you’re reading this, you might be too old to be tasked with reciting the Four Questions at your seder on Monday.

While it is customary for the youngest person at the table to ask what makes the night of Passover different than any other by singing Mah Nishtana, The Four Questions are among the oldest strata of the Haggadah.

Four different verses in the Book of Exodus command parents to explain deliverance from slavery to their children. The seder ritual is an attempt to fulfill those commandments through symbolism and storytelling, teaching young people about the hardships their ancestors faced and the strength and benevolence of God. As a result, much of the Haggadah reads like a Q&A session between parent and child — from the Four Questions, to the Four Children.

The first rabbis were eager to steep parents and children in the ways of their people — a notion that motivates Jewish leadership to this day. For better, and for worse, from pedagogy to enslavement, and from fighting oppression to longing for redemption — the ancient themes of Passover live on.

In the footsteps of our earliest rabbis, we are tasked with the sacred duty of passing down these traditions mi dor l’dor - from generation to generation - ensuring that each remains connected to our collective heritage. This year, as we reflect on the enduring history of our people, and grapple with our current reality, let us hold fast to the ultimate lesson of our faith - that even in the darkest times, there is always hope for a brighter future.

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Cantor Franco – Light in the Darkness

Email – April 12, 2024
Parashat Tazria

I wanted to be an astronaut when I was growing up. It was, in part, that we were able to watch the rockets launch from Cape Canaveral from our schoolyard. But it was also something much larger. I was always struck by the idea that there was something much grander than what we experienced on earth. So, I was very excited about the opportunity to witness a solar eclipse this week. I didn’t travel to the path of totality like some people, but I was ready with my glasses watching the clock on Monday afternoon. A group of us gathered in the backyard of the synagogue, glasses on and eyes turned toward the sky. We debated the light, the temperature and the “feeling” in the air. When clouds rolled in, we sang Both Sides Now and waited. We said a blessing, praising God’s power in the universe despite the Talmud debating its appropriateness since an eclipse was seen as a sign of God’s displeasure with us.

And in between the science, it was clear to me that I was witnessing a miracle and the presence of God’s power. I was not alone. TV coverage of the event and social media all spoke a common theme. Our country, so divided and broken right now had found unity for a few minutes staring at the sky. We have a choice in what we see. Yes, there was a scientific phenomenon, but there was also a dose of the holy and miraculous for those who were willing to see it. In commenting on this week’s parsha Tazria, the Talmud asks “If the Kohen looks, shall he not see? This is to teach us that his eyes must be open looking upon it, as he inspects the one who comes.” The Torah repeats the verb “to see” many times and in many forms as the priest is gazing upon the person afflicted with tzara’at. The priest must not just see the disease but must recognize the human being that stands before him. We can look but not see. We can see but not fully appreciate or understand what is before us. On Monday we saw the moon cross in front of the sun. But there was also an opportunity to acknowledge God’s presence in the universe and the power of being part of something infinite.

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Rabbi Rothman – Light in the Darkness

Email – April 5, 2024
Parashat Shmini

Ever since I was a child, I have loved Pesach. Even before I understood the importance of retelling our Exodus narrative, I appreciated the preparation that went into the seder and the festive meal. My grandpa made the soup, my grandma prepared the brisket and the matzah balls - sinkers of course, and we gathered around the table to retell the story in our own words. To be clear, it was really in our own words because we didn’t read much of the Haggadah. Passover was always about family and food.

But as I got older, I began to understand what Pesach is truly about. In order to arrive at the seder ready to retell our story of freedom from bondage, we must be prepared both physically and spiritually. This coming Shabbat is also known as Shabbat HaChodesh as the traditional maftir Torah reading recalls the very first night of Pesach. But it also is the Shabbat where we announce the new Hebrew month of Nisan and begin to formally prepare for Pesach. Just like in the month of Elul when we prepare for the Days of Awe by doing an accounting of our soul, our tradition says that we should start to learn about the halachot, the laws of Passover at least thirty days before the holiday begins.

The Haggadah teaches: “B'chol dor va’dor - In every generation one is obligated to see oneself as one who personally went out from Egypt.” We learn from Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav that the “Exodus from Egypt occurs in every human being, in every era, in every year and even on every day.” It’s not enough to just clean our homes and buy and prepare the proper food. We must learn to internalize our Exodus so that Pesach is more than good food on the table.

In the coming days, I encourage you to dust off your Haggadah and find something in it that you never saw before. Take that new wisdom and share it at your seder. If you don’t have a Haggadah or you want a new one, please consider coming to our Judaic Shop Passover Boutique this Sunday from 9:00-11:00 am. Now is the time to begin removing the spiritual chameitz in your life so that you can be fully prepared to clean your house, prepare your food, and gather around the table. And just to be clear, this rabbis thinks “sinkers” are always better.

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Rabbi Zeplowitz – Light in the Darkness

Email – March 29, 2024
Parashat Tzav

In the early days after October 7th, I was filled, as I know so many were, with emotions of shock, anger, despair, fear, and uncertainty. After the devastation of that attack on Israel many asked, “Is it at all possible to feel hopeful? Is there ever going be any chance for peace between Israelis and Palestinians?”

Not a prophet, but only a rabbi, I have no great foresight about what the future holds. It certainly is possible that things will get worse, with Palestinians and Israelis each becoming more nationalistic and less willing to engage in dialogue. Or it may be that things will muddle along as they have for the past generation, not with full war but more the simmering boil of occasional violence, limited military assaults, and political inertia. There is, however, a third possibility – that enough people on each side will rise up to say that enough is enough, that the past 75 years of strife is emotionally unsustainable, and there must be a new paradigm for both Israelis and Palestinians living “between the river and the sea.”

In the past month we have had the sad gift of hearing from four Israelis who came to speak to our congregation about life in Israel after October 7th. Two were from Project 24, who are helping empower Israelis deeply traumatized by the events of that day, to find ways to be restored to a sense of empowerment and life. A group of teens from Project 24 will be returning to our area in mid-May and you will hear more about that visit soon. We also heard on Mitzvah Day from Boaz Hochstein from Restart Global, who helps wounded soldiers find meaningful work and hope for the future. Restart Global will be our congregation’s tzedakah recipient in the coming quarter. Finally, 10 days
ago sculptor (and magician!) Yaron Bob, whose moshav was on the seam with Gaza, offered a powerful presentation. In the weeks after October 7th Yaron was emotionally paralyzed by what he witnessed that day. In time, however, he returned to his work as a sculptor, turning rockets fired by Hamas into Israel into jewelry and Judaica.

Yaron then showed us another project of his – taking a stone from the area around the ancient Temple in Jerusalem and sculpting a “living” tree of metal that seems to grow out of the very stone on which it sits. We purchased one of these and you can see it in the display case in the lobby of the synagogue. Purchase of this unique art piece fulfilled a “double mitzvah” – first, by providing work for an Israeli (such an act, the Rambam teaches, being the noblest act of tzedakah), and second, because all the proceeds will help children with special needs or who are hospitalized.

In this month between Purim and Pesach we are reminded that while there are enemies who, in every generation, arise against us, we Jews have always defined ourselves as “prisoners of hope”. Our new Tree of Life sculpture, a reminder of the symbol of our congregation – the mighty Atlas Cedar outside our sanctuary – will, I pray, remind us of the resilience and courage of all Israelis, and help us also to be strong and to never lose hope.

A picture of the Tree of Life. Information about the

sculptor and this piece that is a symbol of strength,

resilience, hope, and life can be found at this link.

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Cantor Gladstone Martin – Light in the Darkness

Email – March 22, 2024
Parashat Vayikra

They say there are two types of Jews - Purim Jews and Passover Jews. I have always counted myself among the latter category, finding immense joy in planning Passover seders and even focusing my senior project in Cantorial school on the music of Passover. However, this year, the significance of Purim has taken on new and profound resonance for me.

This weekend, as we gather together to celebrate, I’m grateful for the opportunity to contribute to our Purim festivities by crafting Sunday’s Purim Shpiel. The story of Purim, as narrated in Megillat Esther, serves as a poignant reminder of our people’s enduring resilience in the face of adversity. Moreover, Purim’s inherent sense of playfulness and jubilation arrives as a much-needed balm for our neshamot (souls).

In chapter 8, verse 6 of Esther, Purim is described as a time of “light and gladness, happiness and honor.” The darkness of trauma and conflict casts a shadow over our celebrations. Nonetheless, we can find inspiration in the strength of our Israeli siblings, who, despite their trials, are donning costumes and embracing the spirit of Purim. Remarkably, amid crisis, Jerusalem - the city of my birth and spiritual home – is set to host its first Purim parade in over four decades.

Our hearts are heavy, and it is precisely during challenging times that Purim's light-hearted nature is most essential.

The Megillah tells us: “The same days on which the Jews enjoyed relief from their foes and the same month which had been transformed for them from one of grief and mourning to one of festive joy.” (Esther 9:22) These words echo through the ages, reminding us of the transformative power of joy amidst adversity.

May this Purim be a source of light and love for us all.

Chag Purim Sameach!

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Cantor Franco – Light in the Darkness
Email – March 15, 2024
Parashat Pekudei

The synagogue where my husband, Alan celebrated his Bar Mitzvah, is now a Baptist Church. Temple B’nai Israel closed its doors and sold the building when they no longer had enough members to sustain the community. On a recent Sunday morning, I found myself in the 7-11 parking lot directly across from the synagogue building right as church let out. Worshippers exited the building in droves clearly excited or moved by the services they had just attended. The exit reflected a vibrant community. I thought to myself-even though synagogue may be gone, this place is still a house of God and isn’t that nice?

A sizable portion of the book of Exodus is devoted to the construction of the Sanctuary built by the Israelites. The Torah is uncharacteristically elaborate in the detail describing the building of the Mishkan. The fifteen materials used in the Sanctuary’s construction are listed three times; the items and furnishings of the Sanctuary are listed eight times and every detail of the Sanctuary’s construction, is spelled out for us. Thirteen chapters are devoted to describing how this home for God will be built. In the final verses of this week’s parsha, Pekude, we read that Moses finishes the work and then the glory of Adonai fills the tabernacle. These final verses of Exodus bookend the opening chapter of Genesis. In the beginning, God creates a home for us and then, upon leaving Egypt and accepting the commandments, the people build a space that will become a home for God. God’s presence is evidence in the cloud and the fire that cover the tabernacle and accompany the people.

What makes a house a home? If you google that question, you will find answers from interior designers, biblical commentators and even Oprah Winfrey. I was particularly struck by this answer from an Australian builder, “Homes are a place that memories are made, where you are surrounded by the humblest of belongings that make you smile…where you begin each day and where you rest
your head each night, but most importantly your home is where your heart is and your loved ones come together to celebrate the wins, the losses and life’s special milestones.” The closing verses of Pekude remind us that God came to live among the people when, in their intention and enthusiasm, they created a home. They were ready to recognize the signs that God would be with them on their journey. As I sat in that 7-11 parking lot watching the church goers, I wondered to myself if those Baptists ever think about their building having been a synagogue before it was a church. But, watching the joy they exuded as they left the building it was clear, that it is not only the structure, but the presence of the people that creates a home for God. The Israelites were reassured by the signs that God was there. May we too, be able to recognize when God dwells among us.

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Rabbi Rothman – Light in the Darkness
Email – March 8, 2024
Parashat Vayakhel

Moses, having just returned from Mount Sinai, witnessed the Israelites worshiping the golden calf. Recognizing that he had to bring the people back to God, Moses created – kehilah – community from a very chaotic kahal - gathering of people. Parashat Va’yak-heil opens with the words: “Va’yak-heil Moshe et kol adat bnei yisrael – And Moses assembled all the community of the children of Israel” (Exodus 35:1). Va’yak-heil is a verb of action for a specific purpose, in this case, to create a community. So perhaps a better reading is “And Moses created community from the whole assembly of the children of Israel.” Moses was not just our teacher, lawgiver, and great leader; he was also our community builder.

In the wilderness of Sinai, Moses inspired our people to join together and contribute to the building of the Mishkan, the portable dwelling place of the Shechinah, God’s Divine Presence. Moses told the people “Take from yourselves gifts for the Eternal” (Exodus 35:5). And this newly inspired kehilah responded to Moses’ plea and God’s command with overwhelming support and enthusiasm. “And everyone whose heart was inspired…” (Exodus 35:21) brought what they could. Even those who had no formal training in performing any of these tasks were inspired. Each person came to Moses volunteering to complete the tasks that were required.

For the Israelites, the completion of the Mishkan in the wilderness transformed individuals into a community that welcomed God's presence into their midst. Each person who contributed was moved to do so, not out of force but because of the importance of the community. Today, we are the inheritors of this tradition and on Sunday we have an opportunity to do something for our community. Mitzvah Day is the moment for our community to build community with the goal of making our world a better place. So please take some time on Sunday to bring your own special gifts as we join together to make a difference.

* Some of these words come from my Senior Sermon that was originally delivered at HUC-JIR on February 24, 2011.

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Rabbi Zeplowitz – Light in the Darkness
Email – March 1, 2024
Parashat Ki Tisa

The Real American Idol

The popular television show American Idol seeks the most talented singers.The ultimate goal is not showcasing their talent, but to have the winner secure a major recording contract, to become the “next singing sensation.” The real purpose, then, is not just fame, but fortune, not simply being good, but getting the “gold”.

The dramatic story of the עגן הזהב egel ha’zahav, the Golden Calf, is at the center of this week’s parasha. Making an idol is, of course, something the Torah forbids (see Exodus 20:4-5), but the focus on what it is made of – gold – is significant. Gold has long been symbolic of wealth. There is, in Jewish thought, nothing wrong with the making of money. “Rabbi Yishmael said, ‘One who wishes to acquire wisdom should study the way that money works, for there is no greater area of Torah study than this. It is like an everflowing stream’” (Babylonian Talmud, Bava Batra 175b). Emblematic of the fact that there is nothing inherently wrong with wealth is that the Ark of the Covenant is itself covered with gold “within and without” (Exodus 25:10).

The issue is not the material used to build the עגן הזהב egel ha’zahav, therefore, but how this material was used. The calf, like all idols, was false because it represents only a part of the whole and, more importantly, because it was seen as the source of greatest authority. The people of Israel left Egypt, but they had not distanced themselves from a worship of the material plentitude they saw around them. Even as Moses ascends the spiritual heights, the masses return
to a tangible, material “thing”. They assumed that this work - the literal representation of their shared wealth – is the true source of blessing.

After Moses rebukes the people for turning from God he grinds the idol into a powder, sprinkles it over water and has the people drink it (Exodus 32:20). In this Moses seems to be teaching the people that the real problem of idolatry is an internal desire to believe that what we own is what is the most important thing about us, that our possessions define us and are paramount above all else.

The transgression of the Golden Calf is not the pursuit of money and acquisition of things per se. We turn from the truth of Sinai, however, when the measure of our worth is based in what we own. Happiness does not come from our holdings, and what matters – in the end – is not luxury but love, not gold but goodness. As the Rambam taught, “Let the wealthy not revel in their wealth ... but one should glory in knowing and understanding God ... (so as) to act with mercy, justice and righteousness” (Guide for the Perplexed III.54, quoting Jeremiah 9:23).

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Rabbi Sank Ross – Light in the Darkness
Email – February 23, 2024
Parashat Tetzaveh

Parshat Tetzaveh is, on the surface, all about the priestly vestments. There is one item in particular, mentioned in this week’s portion, that is reminiscent of tefillin, the frontlets or boxes, that some Jewish people choose to wear during morning prayers. In the Shema/V’ahavta prayer, the text of which comes from the book of Deuteronomy, we learn that we should bind God’s commandments “on our hands” and “between our eyes”. Wearing tefillin, which contain this prayer, is a literal fulfillment of these words. In this week’s portion, we learn about the tzitz, a gold plate engraved with the words “holy to God,” that the High Priest of the Torah, Aaron, wore around his head. However, the tzitz served a different function than tefillin–as Exodus 28:38 teaches us, wearing the tzitz expiates any inadvertent errors made in the process of offering the sacrifices.

Further, our tradition connects the tzitz that the priests wore with the lattice that God peers through in the Song of Songs 2:9, “Behold, my lover stands behind our wall, looking through the window, peering (meitzitz) through the cracks.” As Rabbi Elie Kaunfer explains, “The tzitz is the connection point between God and the High Priest. It is not simply a band with God’s name on it, but it is the reminder that God sees Aaron by ‘peering through the cracks.’”

So too is this true for all of us. The same verse from the Song of Songs is used to explain the priestly blessing of the children of Israel. The kohanim, the ancient priests, would hold their hands up over the people with their thumbs and middle and ring fingers spread apart (think Vulcan salute from Star Trek) symbolically recreating a lattice through which God could peer through the cracks at all of us.

Leonard Cohen’s famous words, “There is a crack, a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in (Anthem),” ring true this week as we read Tetzaveh, and in this time in particular. Even the High Priests of the Torah were expected to make mistakes, they wore the tzitz for this purpose: God would see their every success and every failure and they would still be “holy to God” each and every day. God sees us in our imperfection, all the highs and all the lows, and is present nonetheless. It is up to us to continue to realize that the cracks are there, and to know that we are not alone.

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Cantor Gladstone Martin – Light in the Darkness
Email – February 16, 2024
Parashat Terumah

On January 20th, the world mourned the passing of Norman Jewison. Despite
his surname, Jewison was not of Jewish descent. However, due to this common misconception, he was the recipient of antisemitic bullying during his school years. In a twist of fate, this created a deep bond between him and a Jewish classmate whom he regularly accompanied to synagogue, fostering a profound connection with Judaism. The filmmaker’s affinity for the Jewish people eventually inspired him to direct the beloved movie-musical “Fiddler on the Roof”.

Originating from Shalom Aleichem’s 1902 short story “Afn Fidl” (On the Fiddle), the wandering violinist symbolizes the cultural heritage of Eastern European Jewry. The 1964 musical adaptation captures the vulnerability of Jewish culture in the face of modernization and anti-Semitic violence, epitomized by the precarious position of the fiddler on a roof.

During a time of instability, the Jews of Anatevka find comfort in their traditions. The same is true for modern Jews in North America. Synagogues across the country have seen a resurgence in attendance since October 7th.
Yet, to derive true solace from our traditions, we must fully understand and
feel comfortable embodying them.

In my time at Community Synagogue, I’ve noticed some confusion surrounding the physical actions we perform to reinforce the spiritual message of L’cha Dodi. L’cha Dodi is a 16th-century acrostic poem, during which we recite specific verses and perform symbolic gestures to welcome Shabbat. As is customary in many Reform congregations, it is our tradition to recite verses 1,2,5 and 9. When we reach the final verse, we rise and face the entrance, welcoming Shabbat as if it were a bride on her wedding day. We intone the words “Bo’i Kallah” (Enter, O Bride) twice, the first-time bowing left and the second time bowing right, greeting the symbolic Sabbath Bride. Then, with the presence of Shabbat in our midst, we return to face our original directions.

While the world grapples with pain, Shabbat is an Oneg – a delight. If there are aspects of our customs that feel unfamiliar to you and thus impeding your enjoyment of the Sabbath, please don’t hesitate to seek guidance from the clergy. And I encourage you to try on new ways of embodying Judaism – touching the mezuzah and then kissing your fingers, circling your hands around the Shabbat candles when you bless them, or taking three steps backward and three more forward before chanting the Amidah. Each of these actions can show reverence for God and bring heightened awareness and mindfulness to our celebration of Shabbat.

May this Shabbat bring you a sense of wholeness and peace.

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Cantor Franco – Light in the Darkness
Email – February 9, 2024
Parashat Mishpatim

By the time I was nine and he was fourteen, my brother had a good foot on me in height. This made for some interesting sibling battles since he could put his hand out and keep me from getting anywhere near him. I was, admittedly, an annoying younger sister and would often push his buttons and limits. One time, I taunted and provoked, a chase ensued, I slammed by bedroom door, he kicked, and he put his foot right through the door rendering it useless. In what I still think might have been my parents most successful moment, they took his door off the hinges until mine was repaired. If I didn’t have a door, he wouldn’t either. Tit for tat or as we read in this week’s parsha Mishpatim, “an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.” My nine-year-old self was smugly satisfied.

But it isn’t that simple. As Mahatma Gandhi said, “An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.” So how then do we apply this principle? Rabbinic commentators interpreted the verses to mean that the victim would receive compensatory damages equal to the damage done to him or her. Simply put, the punishment should fit the crime. But even this explanation is unsatisfying. It is nearly impossible to assign monetary value to the injury or damage done in many cases. Juries try, judges try but too often, financial compensation falls short of restoring wholeness to a suffering individual or family.

We must mediate our desire for exacting a tit for tat revenge with our values and ethics. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks wrote, “we need to recover the absolute values that make Abrahamic monotheism the humanizing force it has been at its best: the sanctity of life, the dignity of the individual, the twin imperatives of justice and compassion.” In other words, we cannot lose sight of our humanity as we wrestle with the desire to get even.

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Rabbi Rothman – Light in the Darkness
Email – February 2, 2024
Parashat Yitro

I should begin by saying, I am not a fan of riddles and puzzles but there is a simple riddle that, with a little reworking, is quite appropriate for this week: “I make two people out of one. What am I?” The answer: A Mirror. But for our purpose, please allow me to take some creative liberties. “I make two months out of one. What am I? The answer: The Hebrew month of Adar. Once every three years, during a Jewish leap year, we add an additional month of Adar to make sure that the Jewish holidays occur at their appointed times. Can you imagine celebrating Passover in the summer or Sukkot in the winter? That would happen if we did not have a Jewish leap year and add an additional month of Adar.

The month of Adar is our collective light in the darkness because tradition teaches, “When Adar enters, we increase our joy” (Talmud, Taanit 29a). There is no better way to transform our “grief and sorrow into joy” (Esther 9:22) than by welcoming not just one but two Hebrew months of Adar. The biggest blessing of our Jewish leap year is that instead of just 30 days of joy, we carry that happiness into Adar II and hope that our joy increases over those 60 days.

Over the past few months, it may have been hard to truly celebrate life knowing that our brothers and sisters in Israel are suffering and Jews around the world are sad. But that is exactly why we need Adar I and Adar II now more than ever. On this Shabbat known as Shabbat Mevarchim, we announce and bless the new Hebrew month. With God’s help, may the next 60 days bring to us and all Israel goodness, blessing, peace, and most of all joy.

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Rabbi Sank Ross – Light in the Darkness
Email – January 26, 2024
Parashat Beshalach

At the beginning of parshat Beshalach we pick up in the middle of the action as Moses and the Israelites are fleeing Egypt. Pharaoh’s army is close behind the Israelites, attempting to chase them down and bring them back. The Israelites panic and cry out to Moses, “What have you done to us, taking us out of Egypt? It would have been better to serve the Egyptians than to die here in the wilderness.” In response, God tells Moses and the Israelites to stop complaining and even praying and to go forward! Moses holds out his arm over the sea, the Israelites cross, Moses holds his arm out again, and in just seven verses, the Israelites are free. The Israelites break into prayer, “Mi chamocha ba’elim, Adonai–Who is like you, God?” And famously, Miriam and all of the women pick up timbrels to lead the people in song and dance.

But hold on, where did the timbrels come from?! For generations commentators and Torah scholars have wondered, if we have to eat matzah during Passover, among other reasons, to recall the hurried state in which our ancestors left Egypt, why would anyone in such a hurry have thought to grab a hand-drum?

The medieval commentator, Rashi, answers this question by citing a story: When Pharaoh ordered all Jewish boys to be drowned in the Nile, Miriam’s father, Amram the Levite, decided to leave their family. “Why have any more children,” he said, “What’s the point?” And since he was a Levite (a leader in ancient Israel) everyone followed his example.

Our tradition teaches that it was Miriam who tracked him down and said, “Father, you are worse than Pharaoh. Pharaoh decreed against the boys, but your action is the end of all children. Pharaoh is powerful, and his decree might or might not become reality, but you are a moral leader, and your example will without question become reality, look how it already has! Father,” she said, “Pharaoh can dominate this world, but your decree takes away the World to Come.”

Amram listened to his daughter, and came home. So did all the other Levites. And right after that, his wife Yocheved became pregnant with Moses, the redeemer.

Miriam knew. Miriam had hope in a world that was at rock bottom. In the face of slavery, she knew that redemption was certain. That is why, the midrash says, the women had timbrels when they crossed the Sea–because Miriam had hope and inspired hope.

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Cantor Franco – Light in the Darkness
Email – January 12, 2024
Parashat Vaera

The Torah portion for this week, Vaera, gives us what are arguably some of the most well-known words in the Torah. We recite them as we retell the Pesach story each year at the seder. We teach them to our children in story and in song. Our ECC children shout this response enthusiastically during their Passover play. “No, no no I will not let them go.” Moses approaches Pharaoh and asks over and again, “Let my people go.” Let my people go. How could we have imagined the meaning these powerful words would take on thousands of years after our deliverance from Egypt?

Let my people go. Bring them home. How could we have imagined that these words would be our daily mantra? Let my people go. Bring them home.

In December, I had the honor of singing these words at the Union for Reform Judaism’s Israel Leadership Summit. Right before my colleague and I took the stage, a young Israeli woman spoke about the people she knew who had been killed or taken hostage on October 7th. Her words were heartbreaking. She said (I will paraphrase). “I thought about the people I know. I know them. Not about them–not people who know them. I know them. I know their favorite color. I know how they take their coffee and whether they prefer coffee or tea. I know their stories and I know them. 27 of them.” She began to cry and the hundreds of people in the room cried with her.

Let my people go–bring them home. Eli Wiesel wrote, “…as long as one person is in prison, our freedom will not be true. What all these victims need above all is to know that they are not alone; that we are not forgetting them, that when their voices are stifled, we shall lend them ours, that while their freedom depends on ours, the quality of our freedom depends on theirs.” And so, like Moses, we must continue to shout, “Let My People Go.”

To see me and Cantor Seth Warner singing Bring Him Home, use this link or watch the video below.

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Rabbi Rothman – Light in the Darkness
Email – January 5, 2024
Parashat Shemot

A ball drops
Confetti flies
Champagne toasts makeway for midnight kisses
              and just like that, it’s 2024!
A new year
Renewed vision
             Clarity.

Perfect vision and real clarity is sometimes very hard to achieve. No matter how many resolutions we make, history shows us that we tend to make promises that we probably won’t keep. There is even some research that tells us that 23% of people quit their resolution by the end of the first week of January - which is right around now. So how can we mitigate potential failure at this time of year? Jewish wisdom teaches us that the answer is found in kehilah – community.

Last week, as we concluded B’reishit, the first book of the Torah, we said the words: “Chazak, Chazak V’nitchazek –Be strong, be strong and may we be strengthened.” This cry of encouragement serves as a reminder between the books of the Torah that we are in this together and together we will prevail.

And with this week’s Torah portion, Shemot, we transition from just being b’nai yisrael, individual children of Yisrael(our patriarch Jacob), to b’nai yisrael – the nation or people of Israel. In fact we are defined as a nation by the same person who would seek to oppress us, the “new king [that] arose over Egypt who did not know Joseph.” This new Pharaoh is the first to call us a nation and in the same breath demonizes and enslaves.

Even when oppressors and antisemities seek to define us, our strength comes from community.

In community, we:
          are held accountable.
          celebrate achievements
          overcome obstacles.

In the year to come, may we resolve to be courageous. It is only when we seek to create a kehilah kedosha – a holy community, that we can find the chizuk – strength and encouragement that we need.

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Cantor Gladstone Martin – Light in the Darkness
Email – December 29, 2023
Parashat Vayechi

As we navigate an uncertain path into 2024, this week’s parashah, Vayechi, offers a poignant reminder of the human capacity for love, even in the face of darkness.

In Parshat Vayechi, Jacob imparts instructions and blessings to his sons in preparation for his final days. The familial intimacy displayed as Joseph and his brothers mourn their father together starkly contrasts earlier strife among the siblings. Even Joseph, a remarkable dream interpreter and soothsayer, likely could not have foreseen such a profound reconciliation when he was thrown into a pit and sold into slavery by his own kin.

As we stand on the threshold of the secular new year, facing challenges and uncertainty, I draw strength from the Torah and recent experience. Attending a virtual panel of Haaretz contributors, I witnessed a shared hope for the future of Israel. Journalists expressed optimism that Israel will emerge from its current trials stronger and healthier than ever before.

In times of pain and strife, it is challenging to envision a better future. Yet, the story of Joseph teaches us that change, growth, atonement, and forgiveness are achievable even under the most fraught circumstances. Just as Joseph’s life took unexpected turns leading to redemption, so too can our collective journey bring about positive transformation.

Reflecting on the themes of hope and promise, I am reminded of a song from a beloved childhood musical, “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.” The lyrics of “Close Every Door” echo a sense of resilience and optimism:

“Close every door to me,
Keep those I love from me
Children of Israel
Are never alone.
For we know we shall find
Our peace of mind
For we have been promised
A land of our own.”

As we step into 2024, let us embrace the enduring hope of our people that positive change is not only possible but likely. History has shown us that, almost always, things do improve.

May the light of hope guide us through the darkness, and may our collective strength and resilience lead us to a year of healing, growth, and blessing.

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Rabbi Zeplowitz – Light in the Darkness
Email – December 22, 2023
Parashat Vayigash

To look the other way, assuming “it’s not my problem” is, so often, the way of the world. Many are the reasons. “Why get involved?” “It’s too much of a hassle.” “I’ve got other priorities.” We Jews know, however, both from the teachings of our faith and because of our history, how much sorrow can come when “good people”, “good leaders”, or “good schools” do not accept their part in the wrong going on around them. That is what makes one who is willing to accept responsibility that much more praiseworthy … and notable.

This week in the Torah we read the climax of a long confrontation between Joseph and his brothers. Joseph, sold into slavery, now confronts brothers who do not realize who he is. With consummate skill, he brings series of “troubles” upon them. His first step was to separate one brother, Shimon, from the others and imprison him. Later, Joseph engineers the framing of another brother, Benjamin, with a “stolen” goblet.

Although the brothers do not realize that the man testing them is their long-lost brother, the realization of their wrongdoing in the past begins to bother at least one of them. “And Judah said, ‘What shall we say to my lord, what shall we speak and how can we justify ourselves? God has found your servants’ sin …’” (Genesis 44:16) Not having long before stood up for Joseph, who was sold as a slave, obviously weighed on Judah’s conscience. Surely, Judah knew that he and his brothers had been wrongly accused. He could have said nothing. When Judah finally says to the Egyptian governor, “take me, not my brother Benjamin” he is not confessing to any crime. Rather, he realizes that the wrongs he did in the past may not be able to made right, but he can take responsibility now.

As the first century sage, Hillel, succinctly taught: “if not me, who; if not now, when?” (Pirkei Avot 1:4).

Judah (the namesake for all Jews) teaches that it is only when we choose to act to help as best we can that the world can become better. It’s not up to our leaders. It isn’t the job of others to help. It’s our task … and our gift, for when we model responsibility for helping we inspire those around us and the generations to come to make this world a bit better because we live in it.

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Rabbi Sank Ross – Light in the Darkness
Email – December 15, 2023
Parashat Miketz

In this week’s Torah portion, Miketz, we see Joseph conceal his identity from his brothers. As we lit all eight candles of our chanukiyot last night, and will continue to find light in the darkness, kindling shabbat lights tonight, what can this portion teach us about bringing forth our inner light?

In the very beginning of the Torah, when God says, "Vayehi or–Let there be light" (Genesis 1:3), this is not the same light as that which comes from the sun, moon and stars that give light to the physical world. Generations of Torah commentators and scholars, including one of this year’s TCS b’nai mitzvah students, agree that the light at the very beginning of creation is a different kind of light. Perhaps it's the light of awareness, perception or even the “light [that is] set aside for the righteous” (Psalm 97:11).

As Psalm 97 teaches, many of our traditional sources hold that this original light was hidden away or concealed. Yiscah Smith and Rabbi Zvi Hirschfield, two teachers at Pardes Institute in Jerusalem, liken this first light to each of our individual inner lights. They believe that, like God in the beginning of creation, by using his gifts only to better himself, in his early years, we see Joseph conceal his inner light. But this week, Joseph discovers and understands the light he possesses and shares it: Not only is Joseph a dreamer, but he can be an interpreter for others. We watch him in this week’s portion interpret Pharaoh’s dreams and discern his brothers’ honest teshuvah (repentance and sincere change). To be aware of the people next to us as deeply as Joseph is able to understand his fellows, connects us to who we are at our essence.

In Proverbs it is written, “Ner Adonai nishmat Adam–The light of God is the soul of the person” (Proverbs 20:27). This text, inscribed above our memorial plaque in the lobby at The Community Synagogue, teaches us that each of us brings God’s or, original light, into the world. The Zohar, the essential text of Kabbalah (Jewish mysticism), tells us that because of this text in Proverbs, we know that God did not completely hide this original light away. “If the light were completely hidden, the world would not exist for even a moment! Rather it is hidden and sown like a seed that gives birth to seeds and fruit. Thereby the world is sustained. Every single day a ray of that light shines into the world, keeping everything alive; with that ray God feeds the world” ª. Like Joseph, like those who see us more deeply than anyone else, may we strive to connect with others. May we too continue to sow seeds of God’s light, even in the darkest of days.

ª Zohar 2:148b-149a, translated by Daniel Matt, The Essential Kabbalah: The Heart of Jewish Mysticism, page. 90.

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Cantor Claire Franco – Light in the Darkness
Email – December 8, 2023

“Today we are witnessing a new kind of antisemitism, different from yet continuous with the old. The current campaign against Israel is focused not on the battlefield but on the buses of Haifa, the restaurants of Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, and the civilian populations bordering Gaza and Lebanon. It is being fought not by nation states but by their proxies, terrorist groups like Hezbollah and Hamas. It is a war not just of weapons but also of images and words, and it aims…at the delegitimization of its right to exist as a Jewish state.” (Rabbi Jonathan Sacks)

You may be surprised to learn that Rabbi Sacks wrote those words in 2007. Yes, you read that correctly, 16 years ago. I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse. On the one hand, here we are again. And on the other hand, we have been here before and we have continued to exist, continued to live, and continued to thrive despite the attempts to destroy us.

Chanukah celebrates the military victory of the Maccabees over a much stronger army and the miracle of the oil. We remember it as a victory of the few over the many, the weak over the strong. The Maccabees did not have more weapons or power and yet they were victorious. What they had was faith and a fighting spirit. In the words of Zechariah that we read on Shabbat Chanukah, “Not by might, not by power but by My spirit” said Adonai, God of hosts. (If you grew up like me you are resisting the urge to clap your hands right now – ask me if you don’t understand). The Maccabees were willing to fight for religious freedom and right now, Israelis and Jews around the world are doing the same. May the lights of Chanukah kindle your spirit and remind you that a group of dedicated people can, in fact, be victorious.

Chag Orim Sameach

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Rabbi Rothman – Light in the Darkness
Email – December 1, 2023
Parashat Vayishlach

Having just gathered around the Thanksgiving table, many of us know all too well what conflict may look like, especially in the world we live in. While we hope that our most important relationships are filled with joy and happiness, the bitterness of our disagreements often linger long after the sweetness of the cranberry sauce subsides. Even in the midst of much uncertainty, Vayishlach, our Torah portion this week, offers a small glimmer of hope and light.

Our patriarch Jacob, who is poised to meet his estranged brother Esau at dawn, falls asleep on the bank of the river. Then in the stillness of the dark night, Jacob wrestles with an angel and ultimately prevails. Jacob’s name is changed to Yisrael (Israel), meaning one who wrestles with God. But it’s during that fierce fight that Jacob is injured, his hip is wrenched from his thigh, and he walks away with a limp for the rest of his life. Like Jacob, many of us walk away from our disagreements with emotional limps. But the good news is that, like Jacob, we are all Yisrael; we are a people who wrestle and ultimately prevail.

Since October 7, like our Patriarch Jacob, we have been terribly injured. But since that dark day, we have been forced to live up to our name - Yisrael. As a people we have to be Yisrael, wrestling to overcome that limp. While we are entering the darkest time of the year, a week from now, we all have the ability to bring much needed light into our home, community, and the world. Chanukah enables us to wear our Jewish Pride on our sleeve by proudly displaying the miracle of the oil in our window for 8 days. Even as we wrestle with the uncertainty of the present, let the light of Chanukah inspire us to spread the glow of goodness to even the darkest corners of our world.

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Cantor Ella Gladstone Martin – Light in the Darkness
Email – November 24, 2023

On Tuesday, November 14th, I had the privilege of traveling to D.C. with Rabbi Z and a number of congregants to express our solidarity with Israel during this critical time.

Having never participated in a March on Washington before, I was unsure what to expect.

I harbored concerns that speakers might express views conflicting with my own, dreaded potential backlash from counter-protesters, and worried about internal discord amongst my fellow Jews.

Instead, I encountered thousands of people, including non-Jews, standing peacefully, side by side. Together, we unequivocally condemned antisemitism, put pressure on global leaders to secure the release of hostages, and heard the harrowing stories of Israeli-Americans whose loved ones had been kidnapped.

While I fervently wished that such a rally wasn’t necessary, the day turned out to be an inspiring one.

Nothing encapsulated the hopeful, united, spirit of the day, better than when thousands of us joined in singing Matisyahu’s “One Day” – an energetic anthem for peace –at the top of our lungs.

Participants of the March for Israel drew strength from our togetherness.

In Judaism, a quorum of ten Jewish adults called a minyan is required to perform many rites. While we can always pray as individuals, the founders of Judaism recognized the potency of communal prayer. Something powerful happens when we pray in community (and at Community).

This Thanksgiving, I am grateful for the unified and resilient spirit of the Jewish community. I pray that the bonds that bind our people continue to bring us healing as we work together to try and heal our world.

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Rabbi Irwin Zeplowitz – Light in the Darkness
Email – November 17, 2023
Parashat Toldot

What does it mean to say Shabbat Shalom? Is it seeking a life without tension or enmity? At this moment when the state of Israel is at war and anti-Jewish hate is on the rise, each of us has to confront the age-old question – are we doomed to eternal conflict or is peace possible? In the “day after tomorrow”, after Hamas is defeated, what lies ahead? Are Israelis and Palestinians doomed to an eternal embrace of hatred?

In this week's Torah portion the mother of our people Rebecca suffers a difficult pregnancy – “and the children struggled within her.” For many this is a story that describes an ongoing reality, one of for us – that of constant conflict. But there is another path.

This week, the remains of Israeli–Canadian peace activist, Vivian Silver, were found at Kibbutz Be’eri, among the 1200 murdered by Hamas terrorists. For decades Vivian helped Palestinians across the border from her kibbutz in Gaza. In an interview last year she said, “I spent a lot of time in Gaza … like–minded Palestinian organizations, all of those people want to live in dignity and in recognition of a national people.” She went on, “I call myself a conditional Zionist. I believe in the right of the Jewish people to have a state, as long as we give the same right to the Palestinian people. This could be such a haven to both of our people here. I know what life could be like if we put down our arms.”

In Hebrew שלום shalom is related to the word “wholeness”. It means holding two truths at the same time. Peace is not perfection. It is the acceptance that life is often hard, that even on Shabbat we live with disappointment and uncertainty. But (and it’s a big but) we refuse to allow our fear define us. The story of Rebecca need not be descriptive. Rather, it can be seen as a warning. “Shabbat Shalom” is to embrace the vision of Vivian Silver, who died by hate, but refused to accept that ongoing war is the only way forward.

Shabbat Shalom – not “perfect peace”, just something better than what is …

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Rabbi Sank Ross – Light in the Darkness
Email – November 10, 2023
Parashat Chayei Sara

Echad. One.

I’ve been thinking a lot about “one” lately. In Judaism, God’s oneness is distinct. We affirm it each time we pray Shema, each time we walk through a doorway with a mezuzah. Because God is one, because we are each created in the divine image, each one of us, each and every human life is akin to an entire world.

In this dark time, when so many worlds have ended, it is more clear than ever that one makes an enormous difference. One word chosen without care, one tearing down, one rationalizing. One, just one, can make one feel so alone. And one friend checking in, one Israeli flag in a stranger’s window, one Shabbat shared. One, just one, reminds us that we are part of an even greater One.

Abraham was just one. One who went out of his way to welcome one, and one, and one. And in this week’s Torah Portion, Chayei Sarah, as he loses his dear one, he finds in Rebecca another who will provide water to one, and one camel after another, and companionship to one heartbroken son, Isaac. One makes all the difference.

I believe in the power of one person to connect with one other person. In the ability of each of us to be the one who welcomes, who recognizes, who reaches out. And I especially believe in the power of Jewish communities, congregations like The Community Synagogue, to recognize and uplift each and every individual to sustain infinite worlds.

In Judaism, one is a blessing, but this Erev Shabbat, we are doubly blessed to celebrate the official installation of not one, but two leaders in our community, Rabbi Lyle Rothman and Cantor Ella Gladstone Martin, who like Abraham and Rebecca uplift us all by comforting one soul, sharing one teaching, leading us as one community in one song.

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Cantor Franco – Light in the Darkness
Email – November 3, 2023

Two weeks ago, I walked through the gate at Auschwitz with the infamous words Arbeit Macht Frei at the top. I had seen this sign in pictures hundreds of times and had anticipated the sight of them since making the decision to travel to Prague and Poland on a trip with the American Conference of Cantors many months ago. It was a difficult trip to take particularly given the situation in Israel and the rising level of antisemitism worldwide. I wasn’t sure how much more Jewish tragedy I could handle. Auschwitz 1, as the original is called, is neat and orderly. The trees were full and green, the sun was shining, and, in this setting, it was difficult to imagine the horrors that took place there. The enormity of the camp is overwhelming and everywhere we turned, we were reminded of pure evil. But in an unexpected turn of events, I felt a light in this darkness.

We learned that 2,000,000 visitors come to Auschwitz- Birkenau every year. Everywhere we looked, there were groups of people from all over the world, of every race and religion. There were countless groups of young people - pre-teens, teens and young adults paying close attention to their guides and behaving respectfully. There were groups with Israeli flags and other groups asking to borrow the flag so that they could take a picture with it flying behind them. There was life and there was hope in this tragic and dark place. I left inspired in ways I could never have imagined.

I got a magnet in Auschwitz that says, “Even if evil triumphs at times, goodness does not cease to exist.” Written by a survivor, this statement is a powerful reminder, particularly in these troubling times, that there is light in the dark. And if we can’t find it, we can be it.

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Rabbi Z – Gathering for Israel: Both/And
Port Washington Community Gathering – October 29, 2023

Hold your hand to your heart.
Feel it beating. Remember with your beating heart that you are human “In place no one is human ... strive to be humanE.”

Remember that a heart has many chambers – yet beats as one. That is a frame for what I want to share with you now.

Torah portion – God is about to destroy Sodom & Gomorrah ... (old story – for one choice is to seek to wipe away evil ... e.g. Flood, scattering of peoples after Bavel). But now comes key moment – God says, “Can I hide this from Avraham ... for all nations are to bless themselves by him?” Further, God says, “his children ... (must) do what is just and right” to fulfill promise given (that of land).

That is eternal challenge for us ... from our origins connected to land (we are not occupiers, colonizers), but by dint of faith, history & international law have place in Land ... but there is an AND ... to remain there we must be exemplars of justice

Model – Avraham – challenges God, do NOT wipe away righteous/innocent with wicked; stays God’s hand if enough of them. Thus, Avraham exemplar that for us as Jews we must not ever fall into trap of either-or. That is what Hamas wanted ... to sow hate, to seed revenge in our hearts. We must resist, בכל לבבך “with all our hearts (our animalistic yetzer hara – seeking payback tempered by our yetzer tov – inclination to good” ... and בכל מאדך all our might (to speak of peace, but also truth and justice)”.

We must realize that the option for us is not either OR (או), but both AND (ו). Words so close in Hebrew ... just one letter difference ... but the OR includes the א׳, which is a letter with no sound; the aleph is an emptiness, an absence of seeking anything in the other, an inability to listen, an incapacity to accept anything or anyone else. But ו׳ the letter that means “and” connects, it contains all possibilities ...

And so this final thought ... as God teaches Avraham, we must not be a people of either / or but both / and ...

Israel needs to destroy Hamas, its murderous ideology that threatens genocide and terrorizes its own citizens AND to acknowledge how tragic that Palestinians are suffering because not allowed to leave, that military headquarters and rocket launchers are placed under hospitals

Hamas has misappropriated funds meant for Palestinian people AND Gazans deserve food, water, healthcare

We can disagree about Israel’s responsibility in helping create the animus felt by so many Palestinians AND be united in condemning the barbarism of Hamas and its supporters around world whose silence about what they did (or worse support for them) reveals that the immorality of so many (especially in progressive world and academia)

We can hope and support for end to those who seek our extermination AND work for dignity for the millions of Jews and millions of Palestinians who share that land, crating seeds of hope, and peace

We are “prisoners of hope” ... as audacious and crazy as that may seem.
Thus – as an expression of that hope I ask all our Jewish clergy to now join as one as we join in Israel’s national anthem ... we have (and never will lose hope) – עוד לא עבדה תקותנו

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Rabbi Z – First Steps of Destruction
Erev Shabbat Sermon – October 27, 2023

It is possible to look at the first several weekly portions of Torah as an anguished attempt to try to deal with the problem of evil and the belief in God. If there is a Creator who brings order to the universe, why are we left to live in a world of such chaos? If God is the One who brings good, why is there so much evil?

The first Torah portion begins with murder and the searing question of Cain whose refusal to care for others echoes through the generations, “Am I my brother's keeper?” The second Torah portion, which we read last week speaks of a world gripped by violence (in an eerie echo of today, the word for unmitigated violence in Hebrew is hamas). God's answer to human depravity is to seek to wipe it from the face of the earth. Later in the portion where humanity gathers together in (our sages suggest) in immorality, God again seeks to destroy the evil, this time by scattering and dividing the nations.

In all these efforts, however, even God fails. Which brings us to this week's Torah reading, which offers a final attempt to address human injustice and cruelty – by beginning with one man who will be the progenitor of a people destined to model holiness and goodness. Lech lecha, God tells Avram, “go to ... a place that I will show you ... and you will be a blessing.” (Genesis 12:2)

Four times in this parasha Avram is promised the land that has been at the center of Jewish identity from this seminal moment. Our parasha, however, alludes to ongoing struggles. The shepherds of Avram and his nephew Lot quarrel over water and grazing. The strife between them, Avram suggests, is not the answer. Rather, the only way to live in peace is to live apart.

This week I heard an interesting discussion between two activists – one an Israeli Jew, the other a Palestinian. The Palestinian suggested establishing a single state where all would have equal rights “between the river and the sea.” He offered a utopian possibility of a nation which would be like Switzerland, where people of different languages and faiths could live in harmony. The Israeli activist countered that given the history, it would much more likely resemble Yugoslavia, where internecine hatred tore its peoples asunder, neighbor killing neighbor. For now, at least, it seems that the advice of Avram Avinu, Abraham our father makes more sense – “let us separate.” (Genesis 13:9)

And yet, and yet ... for Palestinians and Israelis to fully part is also fanciful and impossible. First, because 20% of Israel’s citizens are Palestinian. Second, because Israeli governments have allowed Jewish settlements to grow in the very heart of the West Bank – where Jews (hundreds of thousands) and Palestinians (millions) live cheek by jowl together. Like it or not, Zionism created two national identities – Israeli and Palestinian. We are bound together.

Even now, every three weeks after the barbaric pogrom of Hamas it is difficult to fully comprehend how much has changed. Even in the early hours of after the horrors of what was done to civilians came to light, already we heard equivocation and explanation. “Israel brought this upon itself.” “This is the understandable result of oppression and colonialization.” The bray of our enemies, particularly those on the political left, has offered moral clarity. When professors at elite universities say they were “exhilarated” by the torture and murder, we know that learning does not bring understanding. When pro- Palestinians protestors – just yesterday in New York City – chased terrified Jews into Cooper Union, and librarians offered to hide them in the attic from the angry mob, the well-earned trauma of the Jew forced to hide and flee rises like bile in the stomach? When our college students, or those in law schools or graduate programs, have hide that they are Jewish, or we are afraid to walk the streets of New York wearing a magen David or kippa, do we not know that those who say “I am only anti-Israel and not antisemitic” are liars?

This Shabbat is the fifth yahrzeit of the Tree of Life massacre in Pittsburgh. Let us make no mistake – antisemitism is real, it is growing and it comes at us from three directions: far-right white supremacists that sees Jews as “globalists” seeking world domination, the “woke” left that delegitimizes Zionism as a Jewish people’s movement of liberation and self-determination, and Islamic fundamentalists, which views a Jewish State as affront to a Middle East that only “belongs” to Muslims.

We live in a fraught and uncertain moment – as did many generations of Jews before us. However – and this is important to bear in mind – we also live in a time about which our ancestors could have only dreamed. The State of Israel, for all its challenges and problems, offers an expression of Jewish power, even if recent weeks have stripped away a sense of invulnerability. More than that, we are blessed to live in a country that continues to be supportive of Israel and to have most politicians express abhorrence with the anti-Jewish outbreaks of recent days. A study released this week indicates that nearly 85% of respondents sided with Israel in its current war against Hamas. Just yesterday, White House deputy press secretary Andrew Bates made clear, “Delegitimizing the State of Israel while praising the Hamas terrorist murderers who burned innocent people alive, or targeting Jewish students, is the definition of unacceptable — and the definition of antisemitism.”

I would be foolish to say what I think will happen in the coming days. As I once heard from times of Israel editor David Horovitz, “if anyone tells you what will happen next in the Middle East, don't believe them.” No one really knows. That said, there are some things that I believe will not be the same moving forward:

First, while no one can predict what will happen with the government in Israel, there is a nearly universal sense among Israelis that their government has failed them. Blame will come later, but the days since October 7th have shown the powerful sense of civic pride and civilian power that Israelis have. Hamas leadership may have thought that the divisiveness within Israel in recent months made Israel weak - and in some ways they were right - but the viciousness of their attacks has, for now, united Israelis and Jews.

Second, the political assumption of many in Israel that peace could come simply through accords with other Arab countries without really dealing with the Palestinian issue, has been shown to be untenable. Whatever is about to come next, it is hard to imagine that the relationship between Israel and the Palestinians will go back to the status quo ante.

Third, as Israeli commentator Daniel Gordis wrote this week, “as grateful as Israelis truly are for American support, it is lost on few that two aircraft carriers mean that we are worried that we cannot actually defend ourselves without help, something that we were always taught would never be the case.” The sense that Israel is the safest place to be a Jew was lost this month, and it is not going to be easy to determine what that means for the future.

Fourth, in this country there has been a palpable and deep reexamination by many Jews about its connections with those in the progressive left. The silence about the acts of the Hamas terror by many on the left – if not outright celebration of it – is causing a painful realignment of many North American Jews whose values tend to be liberal. What this will mean for funding of universities, for political alliances and within the Jewish community, I don’t know. But I am certain that I (and I suspect our larger Jewish community in this country) moving forward will not have the same priorities as previously.

Finally, there is no inevitability in history. Some may think that out of this, the sides will harden, and the anguish of these days are but a precursor to darker, more dangerous days ahead. Maybe. But Torah makes clear that even if evil may not be able to be fully eradicated, we still hold a power to move, step by step, towards a better tomorrow. The shock of recent weeks reminds us that we cannot take our alliances for granted nor our security for granted. Yet out of crisis can come a realization that something has to change. After the terrible Kishinev pogrom in 1903 Zionism was no longer a discussion just among an elite few, but it became a mass movement. Out of the Holocaust came the realization among some (if certainly not all) that Jews cannot and should not rely solely on the beneficence of others.

“Never again” became a mantra for Jewish resistance, resilience, courage and power. If there was ever a time for the assertion of our pride and power, it is now. More than this, we cannot predict what this will mean for Israel in the Middle East. After 1948, Israel went to war with Egypt four times. But, almost unbelievably, former enemies established a détente. It may not be “peace” fully realized, but it is better than war. It is not impossible that after all of this, and with some luck, there may be an awakening among Israelis and Palestinians that – as painful as that may be for both – a change in the relationship may be the price worth it if it leads to a realignment against Iran and those they support that seek only ongoing struggle and violence.

Our parasha speaks of Avram coming to the land that, generations later, would be the Land of Israel, and almost immediately thereafter having to go down to Egypt. His journey reminds us that the path to redemption is not a straight one. The road to Jewish liberation has always taken many twists and turns. But we are not powerless. They are blessed to live in a generation of Jewish power. We have the gift of being in a country where we can stand up, speak out, join with allies, and defend ourselves, fellow Jews and all those – including Palestinians – who seek peace and deserve the right to determine their destiny.

What can you do?

Join us in wear a blue ribbon in solidarity for the safe return of everyone who has been taken hostage by the terrorist group Hamas. And when people ask, “what is that?” urge them to join in the need to demand that those taken captive be returned.

Speak to our elected officials and thank them for their continued to support for Israel.

Demand of any university to which you are connected that they forcefully condemn the Hamas pogrom (even if far too late, better late than never) And also demand that your alma mater takes action to protect Jewish students, and clarify that support of the elimination of Israel is hate speech, it is racist, and the refuge of the Jew-hater.

Speak up and speak out – at work, school, on social media, in conversations with colleagues – about why this is war not a fight of Jew and Palestinian, this is not a religious war of Judaism and Islam, it is not about sharing the land. This is a war against Hamas - an enemy whose very charter for its existence, and which its actions of October 7 show that the goal is eradication of Israel (and another Holocaust) knows no moral bounds.

Take one of the “We Stand with Israel” signs this evening. If you want to be courageous follow the lead of several students in the Guggenheim elementary school who had these three signs in the hallway – each with an Israeli flag – “Everyone should be included”, “Everyone has different lives and don’t hurt Israel”, “Everyone is different.” If they can be Jewish and proud – so should we. So must we.

My friends. Do not be afraid. Lech lecha – the road ahead is long, but we will be, as we have ever been “prisoners of hope”. As God said to Avram:

I will make of you a great nation, And I will bless you;
I will make your name great, And you shall be a blessing.
ואברכה מברכיך ומקללך אאר
I will bless those who bless you And curse him that curses you;
ונברכו בך כל משפחת האדמה
And all the families of the earth
Shall bless themselves by you. (Genesis 12:2-3)

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Rabbi Rothman – Light in the Darkness
Email – October 27, 2023
Parashat Lech-Lecha

Our parasha, Lech L’cha (Go forth), begins with a command for uncertainty and ends with a covenant for eternity. The sheer act of listening to God’s voice in our vast world, shatters past idols, smashes inner fears, and soothes broken souls. For Abram, Lech L’cha was not just a call to action from God but a realignment of values from within. For us, Lech L’cha is a cry for help in uncertain times and a command to persevere despite all the obstacles placed before us.

Today, as we commemorate the 5th anniversary of the deadliest terror attack on the Jewish community in the United States at the Tree of Life Congregation, we say: Lech L’cha, Go for yourself! As a Jewish community, let us stand united and say in one clear voice that the normalization of antisemitism must be eradicated.

Today, even as we continue to mourn for our Sisters and Brothers in Israel on October 7th, the deadliest day for Jews since the Holocaust, we say: Lech L’cha, Go by yourself! Even when we think the walls are closing in around us, let there once again “...be heard in the cities of Judah and in the streets of Jerusalem voices of joy and gladness.”

Today, as we take one step out of the pain, we rise against the hatred, and we say: Lech L’cha: Go to yourself! May the echo of God’s command to Abram reverberate within our collective Jewish soul. Search for that voice of God deep within and muster up the strength to proudly declare: Am Yisrael Chai - the People of Israel will ALWAYS Live! Jewish Pride begins with recognizing your potential. Jewish Pride means a realignment of values and priorities. Jewish Pride begins with you. So “Lech L’cha - Go Forth to the land that I will show you.” Because if you listen, with God’s help, darkness and sorrow will be transformed into greatness and blessing.

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Cantor Ella Gladstone Martin – Light in the Darkness
Email – October 20, 2023
Parashat Noach

In this week’s Torah portion, God is so troubled by humanity’s widespread corruption and lawlessness that a catastrophic flood is unleashed to cleanse the Earth. Only Noah, his family, and two representatives of every animal species are spared. As the rain eventually subsides, and the land dries sufficiently for a dove to pluck an olive leaf from a tree, the passengers on Noah’s ark recognize that it is safe to disembark. To seal God’s promise that “never again shall there be a flood to destroy the earth,” a rainbow graces the sky.

Rainbows are one of nature’s most profound wonders, having evolved into a ubiquitous symbol of hope.

In 1938, in the wake of pogroms in Europe, the Jewish musical minds behind The Wizard of Oz, lyricist Yip Hapburg and composer Harold Arlen, crafted the iconic song “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” In penning its lyrics, the pair capture Dorothy’s yearning for Oz, echoing the age-old aspiration of our people:
לִהְיוֹת עַם חָפְשִׁי בְּאַרְצֵנוּ lihyot am chofshi b’artzeinu – “to be a free people in our own land”.

In these dark days, I keep awaiting a sign that the clouds are going to part, that I will “wake up where the clouds are far behind me.” Yet, instead, I often awaken feeling more discouraged and disempowered than ever. Then, I recall Noah’s arduous journey. When he initially sent out the dove it returned empty-handed, having found that water still blanketed the earth. Even earlier, a raven had been dispatched and failed to complete its mission. Noah and his family found themselves adrift for 10 months and forty-seven days. The world they once knew had come to an end, and their future was unknown. Hope did not come straight away, but it arrived, nevertheless.

For centuries, the Jewish people have endured hardship and persecution. And for centuries we have persevered.

Somewhere over the rainbow
Skies are blue
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true.

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Rabbi Z – Light in the Darkness
Email – October 13, 2023
Parashat Bereshit

The first parasha (Torah portion) says the natural state of the world is utter chaos. Everything is תהו ובהו tohu v’vohu – “emptiness and void.” Given the horrors of the worst mass murder of Jews since the שואה Shoah(Holocaust) that took place last Shabbat, it is hard not to feel that there is no morality or inherent sense of meaning, justice or good.

In contrast to this nihilistic approach, Torah makes an audacious claim. “And God said, ‘Let there be light’”. What is so bold about that? It is the assertion that in a world that seems dark, we believe in order. Where unimaginable pain is brought by those who claim, might is right, we emulate a God who creates not through destructive power, but words that can enlighten and illumine.

This is not some naïve understanding that speech alone can conquer the chaotic hate of an implacable enemy. A God who “drove back the sea … who fixed all the boundaries of the earth” is also a God, the Psalmist says, who can rise up against those whose actions undermine the very moral order Creation establishes. (Psalm 74)

The opening of Genesis, then, offers an enduring message that is the foundation of Torah – that those who bring “emptiness and void” will be destroyed, and our words ought to ever reflect the hopeful belief that there is a light in the darkness, and we – made in God’s image – must be that light.

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Wed, April 30 2025
2 Iyar 5785

All Events

Wednesday ,
AprApril 30 , 2025

Finance Committee Meeting
Wednesday, Apr 30th 7:00p to 9:30p

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Thursday ,
MayMay 1 , 2025

RS Classes - Grades 2 & 3
Thursday, May 1st 4:00p to 6:00p

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Friday ,
MayMay 2 , 2025

Parenting Inclusively Meeting
Friday, May 2nd 11:30a to 1:00p

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Friday ,
MayMay 2 , 2025

Special Yom Ha'atzmaut oneg
Friday, May 2nd 7:30p to 8:30p

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Saturday ,
MayMay 3 , 2025

Grade 6 Torah Study
Shabbat, May 3rd 9:00a to 10:00a

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Saturday ,
MayMay 3 , 2025

Shabbat Morning Service: Bat Mitzvah of Frankie Klein
Shabbat, May 3rd 10:30a to 12:00p

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Shabbat "Shmini" ~ "שבת "שמיני

Friday, April 25
5:00 pm – Tot Shabbat
6:30 pm – Erev Shabbat, worship in person or watch on our Website.

Saturday, April 26
9:00 am – Shabbat Havurah Morning & Torah Study, worship and study in person or register here to join via Zoom. Torah Study will take place during Shabbat Havurah.
10:30 am – Shabbat Morning
Bar Mitzvah of Gavin Brodsky, worship in person or watch on our Website.

Link to this week's parasha (Torah portion) and haftarah.

Wed, April 30 2025 2 Iyar 5785

TCS

Light in the Darkness: Statements From the Clergy April 2025

Rabbi Sank Ross - Light in the Darkness – April 25, 2025

Rabbi Rothman - Light in the Darkness – April 18, 2025

Rabbi Z - Light in the Darkness – April 11, 2025

Cantor Claire Franco - Light in the Darkness – April 4, 2025

Cantor Ella Gladstone Martin - Light in the Darkness – March 28, 2025

Rabbi Jade Sank Ross - Light in the Darkness – March 21, 2025

Rabbi Rothman - Light in the Darkness – March 14, 2025

Jen Schiffer - Light in the Darkness – March 7, 2025

Rabbi Z - Light in the Darkness – February 28, 2025

Cantor Franco - Light in the Darkness – February 21, 2025

Cantor Gladstone Martin - Light in the Darkness – February 14, 2025

Rabbi Sank Ross - Light in the Darkness – February 7, 2025

Rabbi Rothman - Light in the Darkness – January 31, 2025

Cantor Franco - Light in the Darkness – January 24, 2025

Cantor Gladstone Martin - Light in the Darkness – January 17, 2025

Rabbi Sank Ross - Light in the Darkness – January 10, 2025

Rabbi Rothman - Light in the Darkness – January 3, 2025

Cantor Claire Franco - Light in the Darkness – December 27, 2024

Cantor Gladstone Martin - Light in the Darkness – December 20, 2024

Rabbi Z - Light in the Darkness – December 13, 2024

Rabbi Sank Ross - Light in the Darkness – Dcember 6, 2024

Rabbi Rothman - Light in the Darkness – November 29, 2024

Cantor Franco - Light in the Darkness – November 22, 2024

Cantor Gladstone Martin - Light in the Darkness – November 15, 2024

Rabbi Z - Light in the Darkness – November 7, 2024

Rabbi Sank Ross – Light in the Darkness – November 1, 2024

Cantor Franco – Light in the Darkness – October 25, 2024

Rabbi Rothman – Light in the Darkness – October 18, 2024

Rabbi Z – Light in the Darkness – October 11, 2024

Cantor Gladstone Martin – Light in the Darkness – October 4, 2024

Rabbi Sank Ross – Light in the Darkness – September 27, 2024

Rabbi Rothman – Light in the Darkness – September 20, 2024

Cantor Franco – Light in the Darkness – September 13, 2024

Rabbi Z – Light in the Darkness – September 6, 2024

Cantor Gladstone Martin – Light in the Darkness – August 30, 2024

Rabbi Sank Ross – Light in the Darkness – August 23, 2024

Rabbi Z – Light in the Darkness – August 16, 2024

Rabbi Rothman – Light in the Darkness – August 9, 2024

Cantor Franco – Light in the Darkness – August 2, 2024

Cantor Gladstone Martin – A Special Light in the Darkness – July 26, 2024

Rabbi Sank Ross – Light in the Darkness – July 19, 2024

Rabbi Z – Light in the Darkness – July 12, 2024

Cantor Franco – Light in the Darkness – July 5, 2024

Rabbi Rothman – Light in the Darkness – June 28, 2024

Cantor Gladstone Martin – Light in the Darkness – June 21, 2024

Rabbi Sank Ross – Light in the Darkness – June 14, 2024

Rabbi Rothman– Light in the Darkness – June 7, 2024

Cantor Franco – Light in the Darkness – May 31, 2024

Rabbi Z – Light in the Darkness – May 24, 2024

Cantor Gladstone Martin – Light in the Darkness – May 17, 2024

Cantor Franco – Light in the Darkness – May 10, 2024

Rabbi Rothman – Light in the Darkness – May 3, 2024

Rabbi Z – Light in the Darkness – April 26, 2024

Cantor Gladstone Martin – Light in the Darkness – April 19, 2024

Cantor Franco – Light in the Darkness – April 12, 2024

Rabbi Rothman – Light in the Darkness – April 5, 2024

Rabbi Z – Light in the Darkness – March 29, 2024

Cantor Gladstone Martin – Light in the Darkness – March 22, 2024

Cantor Franco – Light in the Darkness – March 15, 2024

Rabbi Rothman – Light in the Darkness – March 8, 2024

Rabbi Z – Light in the Darkness – March 1, 2024

Rabbi Sank Ross – Light in the Darkness – February 23, 2024

Cantor Gladstone Martin – Light in the Darkness – February 16, 2024

Cantor Franco – Light in the Darkness – February 9, 2024

Rabbi Rothman – Light in the Darkness – February 2, 2024

Rabbi Sank Ross – Light in the Darkness – January 26, 2024

Cantor Franco – Light in the Darkness – January 12, 2024

Rabbi Rothman – Light in the Darkness – January 5, 2024

Cantor Gladstone Martin – Light in the Darkness – December 29, 2023

Rabbi Z – Light in the Darkness – December 22, 2023

Rabbi Sank Ross – Light in the Darkness – December 15, 2023

Cantor Franco – Light in the Darkness – December 8, 2023

Rabbi Rothman – Light in the Darkness – December 1, 2023

Cantor Gladstone Martin – Light in the Darkness – November 24, 2023

Rabbi Z – Light in the Darkness – November 17, 2023

Rabbi Sank Ross – Light in the Darkness – November 10, 2023

Cantor Franco – Light in the Darkness – November 3, 2023

Light in the Darkness: Statements From the Clergy
April 2025

**Rabbi Z – First Steps of Destruction – October 27, 2023 Erev Shabbat Sermon**