It’s the 6th anniversary of my decision to wear a kippah all the time, and reflecting on that today has gotten me thinking. Tonight, the night after yesterday's election, feels really different for me than it once might have because November 9, 2016 has become my baseline.
Tonight, I feel pretty grounded and okay enough. Better than I anticipated I might.
How might we make sense of what is often a nonsensicle world and to manage a relationship with God with maturity and honesty about the pervasiveness of our experience of moral disorder?
In which I share my first blogged book review, because this book was just that good. Thanks to this brilliant work by Rabbi Gavriel Goldfeder, I have new language to help me focus my mind and my energy and my intention when I get off-track, even just a little, distracted by rivers of wine and giants, in my quest to find the princess. I even put a quick drawing of an apple on a post-it and affixed it to my computer screen.
This is not a story of a damsel in distress. It is not a love story. It doesn’t have a happy ending. It doesn’t have a tragic ending, either. Looked at a little sideways, it might not have an ending at all.
Chodesh tov. It's Rosh Chodesh Av, the new month of Av.
This morning I had the pleasure of leading Hallel for our IKAR morning minyan. It's Av, a month that holds tragedy - Tisha B'Av. It's Av, a month that holds love and joy - Tu B'Av. In honor of our minyan, and this month, I wrote a poem.
Birth control. It was me, not Miguel, who wanted to talk about it. “This kinda makes me uncomfortable,” he wrote, “talking about something so personal as sex in order to raise money! I know that’s not YOUR thinking, but I want to avoid ANYONE thinking that!”
I doubt what I’m about to write is going to make anyone feel better.Let’s just be clear about that.
"We hold that Roe and Casey must be overruled," Justice Alito wrote in the opinion Justices Clarence Thomas, Gorsuch, Kavanaugh, and Barrett all backed. "The Constitution makes no reference to abortion, and no such right is implicitly protected by any constitutional provision. . . ."
I was seventeen the first time I remember engaging with Hebrew. I’d gone to my first, ever, High Holiday services just weeks before. I’d gone to Friday night Shabbat services enough times that I could sing along with some of the prayers - which I thought of as songs - reading along with the transliteration. That Friday night as we sang Shalom Rav I remember I touched the Hebrew letters. I touched that first one, that “sh” one, all round on the bottom and reaching up with three fingers. I touched the last one, the one that sounded like “mmm” that was a squared-off circle. I didn’t know their names, and I didn’t know that the last one was in its final form. My eyes scurried mouse-like around the page hungry for the morsels of “sh” and “m.” My hand shook. I wanted these letters. I wanted ALL of these letters.
She’ll do this hard thing, but she’ll do it her way, not Mordechai’s.
“Go, assemble all the Jews who live in Shushan, and fast on my behalf; do not eat or drink for three days, night or day. I and my maidens will observe the same fast. Then I shall go to the king, though it is contrary to the law; and if I am to perish, I shall perish!” Esther 4:15
I am both obligated by tradition and personally dedicated to the work of justice; it is work without end. I remember that Shabbat is coming, and this day is an omer. It is enough – exactly enough – to accomplish the work that is my job to do in this one day. And then I bless. And then I count.
On January 29th, Josie joined us in the world. On February 6th we welcomed her into the covenant of the people of Israel and gave her a Hebrew name. Welcome, little one. We are so glad you are here.
V’etchanan, this week’s parsha. V’etchanan, which means, “I pleaded.” Maybe when we are charged to love God with our whole two-vet hearts, we are charged with remembering that we are created in God’s image and charged with having hearts that reflect the hearts of one another.
Lonely, sits the city once great with people. She that was great among nations has become a widow. The princess among states has fallen under their power. She weeps bitterly. Her friends offer no comfort. Her allies have betrayed her. Empty of festival pilgrims, her gates are deserted. My eyes flow with tears.
Every year we chant these words on Tisha B’Av and are reminded that lament deserves our time. Pain will not be forgotten, but can be held. There is no just future without having an honest reckoning with our past.
(Unless you are. But my guess is if you are reading this the odds are good you are not!)
I apologize that you have received emails repeatedly since April 16th alerting you to my Yom HaShoah post. Yes, it would be wonderful if you read it. No, you do not need to read it half a dozen times! Thank you to those of you who let me know.
This reflection written for the University of Saint Thomas Campus Ministry Newsletter
Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day, begins Monday April 20 and continues through sundown Tuesday April 21, 2020. At a time when traditionally we would come together as a community to honor our local survivors and remember those who perished, we will gather virtually to commemorate Yom HaShoah and mark the 75th anniversary of liberation and the end of the Holocaust.
In this d’var Torah, I’m about to share a pretty personal story with you. Most of the time, when we donate blood, or volunteer, or help someone who plans to give remember to stay hydrated, or advocate for science-informed and inclusive donor eligibility policy, the person whose life we are sustaining on the other side of that donation is marvelously ordinary. They are probably so scared. We are helping them hold onto their muchness. And maybe that blood will be all they need. Or, more likely, that blood will mix in with the blood of lots of other people, and all together a life gets sustained. Beth Jacob’s Blood Drive this year is next week on Sunday, January 19, from 8:30-2:30. Donate there. Donate somewhere. Volunteer.
Please do consider committing one of your days to helping someone like me have another one.