Help. Thanks. Wow.

In the book Help, Thanks, Wow: The Three Essential Prayers, author Anne Lamont brings prayer to its most basic meaning and makes it accessible to all.

Help, Thanks, and Wow are the themes of all Jewish prayers whether expressed alone in personal prayer or as part of a structured worship service.

Today, I want to focus on Thanks – gratitude.

In addition to being part of our liturgy, gratitude is important because it puts everything in perspective. Giving thanks reminds us of our blessings and all that is good in our lives. A gratitude practice – articulating what we are grateful for on a regular basis – can lift our spirits and bring us joy. Research shows that regular acts of gratitude can even improve our physical and emotional health.

Through many of the blessings in our worship service, we have the opportunity for a regular gratitude practice. Of those blessings is unique as it combines an individual blessing with a congregational affirmation. In our Torah service, right after our prayer for healing, it is customary to say a thanksgiving blessing, called the Birkat haGomeil. Traditionally, this prayer is said by individuals who have survived life-challenging situations, for example: recovering from an illness, returning safely from travel, and overcoming a tragedy.

Even though Birkat haGomeil doesn’t traditional extend to other things we may be grateful for, like a simcha (happy event), or appreciation of nature, or the kind act of another human being to name a few, the wording of the text can apply to any reason for gratitude.

The text of Birkat haGomeil invites an individual to recite in front of the entire community: “Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Sovereign of the universe, who has bestowed every goodness upon us.” Then the congregation responds, “Amen. May the One who has bestowed goodness upon us continue to bestow every goodness upon us forever.” (Translation from Mishkan T’filah)

The unique nature of Birkat haGomeil is that it brings our gratitude to the public, and lets the congregation know what good things are happening in our lives. Then all of us can be grateful for each other’s blessings as a community.

This Shabbat, we’re going to begin this custom of inviting participants to share something they are grateful for in a short sentence. We’ll have index cards for you to write on before the service and there will be an opportunity to share out loud for those who are comfortable doing so. We hope to invite our online worshippers to participate once we determine the best method for that communication.

Even in our turbulent world, we have so much to be grateful for. Let us share our blessings with each other so we can rejoice together. Amen.

I wrote my rabbinic thesis on the magic and demonology found in a 13^th century book called Sefer Hasidim, The Book of the Pious. One of my favorite stories from the text describes how to expel demons from a space where you want to build a house. 10 men, one of whom carried a Torah scroll, were required to walk a grid over the space so they covered every inch of ground while reciting psalms. Other instructions designated how to consecrate a new home with a variety of rituals involving salt and bread. It is a wacky book.

This may sound like a wacky ritual from a wacky book, but the principal remains relevant today. These Jewish men wanted to ritually cleanse a space so they could build a house. They needed to purify it in order to create a holy space. I’d like to think we don’t have or believe in literal demons today; perhaps our “demons” are bad memories or negative feelings tied to a space. So, creating an emotionally safe space today is equally important – whether at home, at work, at school, at temple or other special places. Just like hundreds of years ago, we can design ways to remove negative feelings and memories from a space and infuse it with positivity.

Our Torah portion this week, Tzav, addresses the same concept, although it is a brief comment that could be easily overlooked. In chapter 8 of Leviticus, during a discussion of the priests’ ordination, one verse describes how Moses uses parts from the animal sacrifice to “purify the alter” and “consecrate it.” Why were both purify and consecrate mentioned? Aren’t they the same thing? When I looked at the Hebrew, I realized they had different purposes. Consecrate is easy: the Hebrew word vay’kadesheihu means to make holy. But the Hebrew words for purify, vay’chatei comes from the same root as sin, which can also be translation as expiation or even redemption. In Biblical times, when a sin offering was made, it was to repair or redeem the mistake that was made; from a ritual perspective it was almost as if the mistake was taken away with the sacrifice.

Perhaps the Hebrew vay’chatei can teach us that when we want to purify a space, we need to perform a ritual to take away any bad memories or feelings that we might associate with the place. If every time we walk into a certain place, we relive a bad memory, that space will never feel good or safe. To make a place holy, we need to repair the space. What a concept! I don’t necessarily have a ritual to offer for the purification; I think it depends on you, your memory, and what you need. It’s in our power to transform spaces into something holy.

Last Shabbat after the Torah reading, when we chanted the words, “chazak, chazak, v’nitchazeik” – be strong, be strong, and let us be strengthened – I wasn’t thinking about the fact that we would begin the book of Leviticus this week.

Leviticus is not my favorite book of the Torah. Outside of the Holiness Code (Chapter 19), and maybe a few other sections, I don’t find the material very interesting. I can’t seem to focus on the long descriptions about animal sacrifice and how the priests fulfilled their jobs. Every year, whether in sermons or Torah Study, I struggle to find ways the text is relevant to our lives.

This year, my reflections on my struggles with the book of Leviticus brought me a couple of insights – or reminders of why the content of Leviticus is valuable.

I may consider animal sacrifice and the role of the priesthood outdated, but their inclusion in our sacred text and the historical evidence of their centrality in Judaism shows that they were extremely valued. I may not value them, but someone did, and those “someones” are my ancestors. Reading the details about the priests’ job made me think about a friend or a family member who recounts all the details of their job. We might find the job and the description boring, but because we care about them, and hopefully don’t find the person boring, we care about what they have to say. For these reasons and more, I can find value in the text.

My second reason the text is valuable is because our worship structure is based on the sacrificial system. When the ancient rabbis realized that animal sacrifice was not the only way to worship God, and perhaps may not be available as a practice at all, they adapted the sacrificial worship into a liturgical structure – prayers – that continues to be the basis of our services today. Additionally, most of our ritual and ethical commandments are grounded in the text of the Torah, which of course includes the book of Leviticus. And the rabbis knew how difficult Leviticus was, so they created some of the most inventive midrashim – explanations – based on Leviticus. I remember studying a midrash based on Leviticus that was actually all about Purim!

So, as we begin the book of Leviticus this week, with a hint to the celebration of Purim that will take place in the coming days (see below), I hope to take my own advice and value the struggle with my least favorite yet still valuable sacred text.

Today is Rosh Chodesh Adar II. Traditionally, the month of Adar is the month in which joy should take over as our primary emotion (Adar I and Adar II in a leap year). It is hard to feel joy when watch human beings suffer. As we pray for peace – in Ukraine and in the world, we pray and hope for a day when joy will not only be easy but the most common emotion of every human being. This poem, written by Miriam Klimova in Ukrainian and Hebrew followed by an English translation by Rabbi Lior Nevo and Aharon N. Varady, not only asks for protection for all who are in danger but all expresses that hope for peace.

English Translation:

“Perhaps only migrating birds know –
Suspended between earth and sky –
The heartache of two homelands…” (From “Pine” (1955) by Leah Goldberg)

Our God,
bless our friends and relatives!
Lord of all creatures,
by your great mercy,
protect all the inhabitants of your world.
Spread over them a canopy of peace,
liberate them from all hatred and enmity,
and plant in the hearts of all people of this earth
love and fraternity,
friendship and peace.

And fulfill the vision of your prophet:
“Nation will not take up sword against nation,
nor will they train for war anymore.” (Isaiah 2:4)
Amen.

 

This week’s Torah portion, Ki Tisa, includes the story of the Golden Calf. This story is familiar even for many who would not consider themselves knowledgeable in the Bible. Moses was on the mountain talking to God for a really long time, and the Israelites became impatient. Perhaps he’ll never come back? They lost their faith in Moses, in this new God they couldn’t see, and they built an idol – a “god” they could see.

Yesterday, at a worship committee meeting, I asked our members why the Israelites built the Golden Calf. I wanted to dig deeper than the usual reasons listed above. We talked about the trauma the Israelites had experienced: years of slavery and now suddenly being free. They didn’t know where they were going, what was happening, what the future would hold. They were wandering, lost – physically, emotionally, and spiritually. The one person who held a hint to the answer of these mysteries was gone. He had disappeared, and there was no word when or if he would return.

They needed to do something. So they return to the familiar, to their comfort zone even if they know in their hearts that no positive outcome will result from their actions. After all, this Golden Calf, a symbol of Egypt, is almost like a memorial to their past enslavement. But they can’t seem to help themselves.

We, too, are a little lost. We yearn for answers: what does the future look like? Many of us hold on to our comfort coping methods, even when we know that they’re not so helpful: Oh chocolate, how lovely do you make me feel! We think about “going back to normal” when there’s no such thing as “going back” or “normal”. But we can’t seem to help ourselves.

When Moses finally comes down the mountain, he offers guidance for the future: the innovation of the 10 Commandments, and some say the Torah. Yes, it’s a new path, unfamiliar and scary. But what he – and God – have provided is a way to heal by going forward.

We, too, will find a new path to embrace, even if it is unfamiliar and scary. It will have characteristics of the past, like spending time together and in person, and seeing the smiling faces of other people. It won’t be the same, and it will be the way we heal forward.

Some of you may have heard about Whoopi Goldberg’s comment on the television talk show “The View” regarding the Holocaust not being about race. The response to her comment was swift, strong, and varied. Some people were incredibly harsh, accusing her of being Anti-Semitic, while others were interested in determining if her opinion was from lack of understanding and education. The very next day, after speaking to a number of Jewish leaders and educators, Whoopi issued an apology on “The Voice” and on social media. She apologized for the hurt she had caused, acknowledged her wrongdoing, and exhibited a willingness to listen and learn.

A friend sent me an opinion piece today about ABC’s decision to suspend Whoopi Goldberg from “The View” for two weeks even after her apology. The author of the article explained that Whoopi’s apology was in line with our Jewish values of t’shuvah (repentance), and it would be better to keep the conversation in the public so others could learn too. We should honor people when they realize their mistakes, learn from them, and begin to repair the damage. In fact, for someone who sincerely and correctly does t’shuvah, Judaism considers it a double mitzvah.

In thinking about ABC’s reaction, the vitriol Whoopi Goldberg received, the rising Anti-Semitic words and actions in our country, and so many challenges in other topics that are too depressing to name, I feel like most of us are feeling “on the edge”. We are unsettled, burned out, quick to react with anger or annoyance instead of empathy and compassion. This state of being is understandable, yet not helpful to ourselves or others.

Yesterday, I met with our 7^th grade Religious School class as they finished preparing for leading Shabbat Services tomorrow night (for our early service, 6:30 pm, on zoom and live-streamed). My short time with them reminded me how wise our young people are, from our littlest ones to our teenagers. The 7^th graders wrote personal prayers to fill in what they felt were gaps in our prayer book: prayers that expressed compassion for ourselves and others. They felt that this was something we needed to talk and pray about especially now.

They are absolutely right. If everyone’s default was compassion – especially in challenging times, can you imagine how different people would be? I’m not sure I can comprehend a world ruled by compassion – it’s beyond my experience. But I can imagine working on my instinct toward compassion, and I can imagine being surrounded by a group of people who are compassionate. We make a difference one person at a time in order to change the world.

Our 7^th graders have begun the process. Come to services tomorrow night to be inspired and join with them to increase compassion in our world.

In Mussar literature as well as in parenting, we are taught the concept: “midah k’neged midah”. This can be loosely translated as “measure for measure.” In parenting, we try to make sure that we are responding appropriately to our children at the same level, or “measure” as they are behaving, whether answering their questions or consequences for breaking a rule. We’re probably most comfortable applying this concept to the latter, or in more plain language, making sure the punishment fits the crime.

Even in Judaism, the idea of “measure for measure” has that connotation. We analyze the Torah and the reward/punishments attributed to following the mitzvot according to that standard and sometimes even judge God’s behavior that way as well.

Mussar, which started developing in the Middle Ages, is a Jewish spiritual practice that gives concrete instructions on how to live a meaningful and ethical life. Musar literature has a different view of “midah k’neged midah”. Mussar understands midah as a characteristic, and each characteristic can be taken to extremes on either side of a spectrum. Our goal is to find the right balance for us.

Mussar, spiritual practice, and most of all balance all came to mind when I read an article from the Harvard Business Review titled, “Your Burnout is Unique, Your Recovery Will Be Too.” I was directed to this article from a clergy organization talking about organizational burnout, and how organizational burnout is rooted in individual burnout. We can’t solve burnout at an organizational level because each person’s burnout is unique; it must be solved at the individual level.

The article identified three kinds of burnout and specific actions that can be used to “balance” each kind to help mitigate the negative effects. If we have a particular kind of burn-out, and yet try an action that is better aimed toward a different kind of burn-out, then the action may even backfire. For example, taking extra time off and practicing self-care is not the solution to everyone’s burn-out. It’s hard to imagine, but for some who may be feeling lonely from lack of human contact, having more focus on themselves isn’t necessarily helpful.

I encourage all of us to read this article for two reasons: I expect that in some way everyone is feeling burn-out or trauma from the changes in our society, and I believe this article is helpful. The article also reminds us that we’re all different and we all need different things.

“Midah K’neged Midah” – Measure for Measure

The need for balance, though, is certainly one thing that we all have in common.

Last Shabbat, I spent the morning moving my son Gabriel into his dormitory at Clark University. I know, not a typical Shabbat morning activity for a Rabbi; but when your child’s college sets the move-in time, a parent is not going to argue.

I returned home, cold and exhausted, trying to warm up and relax. Not long after I got home, I received a text and a phone call almost simultaneously from two different friends: “Turn on CNN” and “Are you sitting down? I need to make sure you know something…” They were talking about the hostage situation at Congregation Beth Israel in Colleyville, Texas. It was frightening and horrifying, and finally, after 11 hours of being held at gunpoint, Rabbi Charlie Cytron-Walker helped the other hostages escape. That’s the short version.

I told my husband Jonathan that Colleyville was my second worst nightmare.

Now, almost a week later, many of us are still processing what happened to these four hostages. What will now forever be a part of history to the small, once unknown Jewish community of Colleyville, and to our global Jewish community. It has echoes of too many other recent attacks: Tree of Life in Pittsburg; Chabad in Poway, CA; a Kosher supermarket in Jersey City; and so many more.  With the image of the white supremacists marching in Charlottesville there as well.

I imagine each of us is responding differently to the events of last Shabbat – how could we not? There are so many layers to what happened, to our own histories and personal traumas, to the communal trauma we continue to live in, and to how much our hearts and heads can handle.

Some of us may be numb or even desensitized; after all, gun violence is so commonplace.

Some of us may be angry and horrified because gun violence is so commonplace.

Some of us may be reliving all the anti-Semitic events of our past, or it has triggered other personal traumas.

Some of us may be grateful that they survived, and proud of Rabbi Charlie’s actions.

Some of us may be so tired and exhausted, we don’t know how to describe our feelings even if we try to.

Some of us may be scared to go to temple.

Some of us may be demanding that we never unlock our doors again to protect our members, following the Jewish value of saving lives.

Some of us may be emphasizing the Jewish value of welcoming the stranger, reminding us that this essential value cannot be compromised, because then who are we?

Some of us may be thinking about the reports of escalating Anti-Semitic incidents, and in fear for ourselves and our people.

Some of us may have heard the story, been relieved that no one died, and then moved on to respond to how our life is calling out to us.

For some of us, this feels surprisingly personal.

The “Some of us…” statements could go on and on.

A colleague and mentor of mine referred to this as “The Swirl”.

At times like these, the Jewish community has always responded by gathering in prayer. We need each other, the “some of us” becoming all of us, as we work toward healing, sharing gratitude that the story ended in survival, praying for a future without so much hate, and starting to think about the action that will get us there. We may be online for services, but we are still together.

Entering Shabbat: A Time for Healing and Gratitude – please join special guest Cantor Rosalie Will and Rabbi Valerie Cohen for a musical Shabbat Service. As we leave the week behind us, we do what Jews always do after trauma, whether personal or communal: we gather in prayer. Through our shared presence, with open hearts, and led by music that is both new and familiar and always inspiring, we will set aside this time – making it holy – for healing and gratitude.

Following services, we will gather on Zoom for our Shabbat Schmooze, where there will be an opportunity for people to share how we are feeling as we reflect on the hostage situation that took place last Shabbat at Congregation Beth Israel in Colleyville, Texas.

 

I am so grateful that Gitit Shoval will be joining our staff as Music Director and Cantorial Soloist starting July 1, 2022 as was announced in an e-Blast yesterday. Gitit is, above all, a compassionate and deeply spiritual person. Her musical talent and Jewish values are two of the characteristics that underly all that she offers. Gitit has the innate ability to use her instruments – voice, guitar, and others – to achieve the many goals of synagogue music. We are so blessed that she is as excited to become part of our community as we are to have her join us.

I want to express my thanks to the members of both search committees from last year and this year, for their dedication, time, and wisdom. It is a big responsibility to recommend a candidate for a position like this, and they all performed their role with the seriousness it deserved.

Gitit will be joining us at Shabbat Services as one of our rotating Cantorial Soloists about once a month from January – May 2022. I invite you to come to temple for services, introduce yourself, and give her the warm welcome that is characteristic of our Temple Emanuel Sinai community.

Music is essential to our Jewish experience. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks wrote a beautiful story about faith and music. He once watched a teacher explaining to young children the difference between a physical possession and a spiritual one. He had them build a paper model of Jerusalem. Then (this was in the days of tape-recorders) he put on a tape with a song about Jerusalem that he taught to the class. At the end of the session he did something very dramatic. He tore up the model and shredded the tape. He asked the children, “Do we still have the model?” They replied, No. “Do we still have the song?” They replied, Yes.

Music has extraordinary power to evoke emotion, remaining with us long after the sound of the instruments and voices fade away. This is especially true for Jewish music, which can be spiritual, comforting, inspiring, and just fun.

Jewish music is more than words alongside a tune: music is prayer and teaching; story-telling; pastoral care; community building; ritual observance; Jewish identity; social justice; mentoring children and the sharing of our Jewish values.

We can look forward to Gitit Shoval sharing all of these aspects through her music as well as engaging us to be her partners in musical expression.

Fifteen minutes. Today, I think it was only ten. That is how long it takes me every Thursday to get tested for Covid-19. From the moment I pull into the Mercantile Parking Garage until I leave with my validated parking ticket, I rarely – if ever – stay longer than fifteen minutes.

Even though I am fully vaccinated (and boosted!), I get tested every Thursday at the UMass free testing site on 201 Commercial Street (check website for days/times open). I decided that if I am leading services unmasked in front of the congregation, it is my obligation to take every precaution I can to ensure the safety of our in-person service participants. Our guest musician, Rick Recht, was also tested before he made the trip to Worcester and will additionally take a rapid test on Friday morning.

We are very blessed in Massachusetts to have such easy access to testing and to the vaccine. By now, everyone 12 and over has had ample opportunity to be fully vaccinated. As of last week, the vaccine was approved for children ages 5-11. This will be a “game-changer” for our country, our city, and even our synagogue. With everyone vaccinated (who can be), I have a feeling that we will feel more comfortable being together in person. My hope and prayer is that the rest of the world will be blessed with the same access to vaccines that we have been.

Judaism and our Jewish values guide us in how we care for each other, our health, and the protection of life. We are told that pikuach nefesh – the value of protecting human life – overrides all other laws and obligations. We couldn’t have a clearer statement than this about the Jewish imperative to get ourselves and our children vaccinated, to wear masks, to be aware of how we can protect ourselves and others. It’s values like these that create vibrant and meaningful lives for ourselves and those around us.