So, the matza “stuffing’ has been made and is in the refrigerator, the shank bone and egg are ready and we’re about to search for the hametz. But, before that happens- a quick thought.

I want to share with you a new text for your Seder which comes from a book called Hatzaah Liseder ” A Proposal for the Seder” published by Ydeiot Aharnot press in Israel some years ago. It is a fantastic book of commentary and suggestions and what I found most refreshing about it is that it was clearly intended for a secular audience, one which was looking for meaning in the rituals but were willing to look critically and seriously at the text of the Haggada.

Immediately after saying  “Ha Lachma Anya”, “this is the bread of affliction” which marks the beginning of the magid, the storytelling section of the Haggada, the book suggests saying a kavana, an “intentional prayer” to direct our thoughts.Using the traditional form for such a kavannah:

“Harayni muchan umzuman lisapayr biyitzeeat mitzrayim yachad im kol  Yisrael”

Behold I am ready to tell the story of the Exodus of Egypt together with all of the people of Israel.

What a beautiful thought. To think that as we sit at our table, Jews around the world will be telling the same story, each in their own way. Some will start earlier, some will start later as sundown dictates in their community but we all say it together.  As sacred as is our individual havurah, our group sitting around our individual table with whom we will share the intimate experience of the Seder, each havurah, each group sits together knowing that others across the street, across town and around the world are telling the same story.

Pausing for a moment and reflecting on that as this kavannah suggests makes us realize how truly “different” this night is. May we all tell the story in our own way. But, may we never forget that we sit not by ourselves but with our people around the world, all of us engaging in this sacred storytelling.

Best wishes for a meaningful, sacred Seder. Hag Sameach.

 

The title is very serious but it shouldn’t be surprising.  I believe that everything in life can be compared to baseball in one way or another. But, the connection with Pesach is particularly noteworthy since most years, and this year is no exception, the holiday coincides with the opening of the baseball season.

In a book called Take Time for Paradise, Americans and Their Games,  Bartlett Giamatti wrote about the fact that baseball is all about seeking to come home. He spoke about a runner on the long journey around the basepaths searching for home after being so far away and how this is an experience which is so primal, so foundational for each human being.

It has often occurred to me that the Pesach seder is, in so many ways, a time for coming home.

First, there is the simple fact that so many people try so hard to “be home” for the Seder if at all possible. Of course it often is impossible to be “home” but that is why our Rabbis stressed the fact that a group that sits at the Seder is, in fact, a havurah, a community all its own. For that evening, if one can’t be home, home is  whatever seder table one happens to find herself at.

Secondly, the whole story of the Exodus is a story of coming home, taking the “long way around” as a runner does as he or she circles the bases. The entire story is meant to emphasize the need for human beings to reconnect with their past and make it part of their future.

And finally, it strikes me that sitting at the Seder for so many of us is a sense of “coming home” to Jewish ritual. For those who do not engage in significant Jewish ritual through the year (and even, quite frankly, for those of us who do), the Seder reminds us of the power that the ritual can have. The taste of the maror, the washing of the hands, the opening of the door, the first taste of Matza, all remind us of days past, of family members no longer with us and of family and community celebrations. But these rituals also remind us of the power that our Jewish rituals have in our own lives today and how deeply our lives  can be touched by the sounds and smells and tastes of our history. Sitting at the Seder feels like home in so many ways and reminds us of the unique place our rituals have in our hearts and our minds.

I wish you a meaningful Seder, one which d satisfies your hunger for freedom and one which reminds you that at any Seder table, you are home.

 

 

This story is not quite ancient history but it seems that way at times. 30 years is  a long time and we live in a world much different than the world we lived in in 1982. A lot has changed for me in the past 30 years and I have sat at 60 seder tables over those years. But, my memory of Pesach 1982 is still fresh in my mind.

I spent Pesach 1982 in the city of Kishinev, in the former Soviet Union. I traveled there with a classmate of mine on a special journey. We were one of  many pairs of Rabbinical school students traveled to the USSR that year and in the years before and after to spend holidays attempting to meet with and encourage Jews who had been refused the basic human right to live where they wanted to live. Those who expressed a desire to emigrate to Israel were routinely persecuted: their jobs were taken away, their lives threatened and, in many cases, they were separated from their families.

I won’t go into the entire story of my 5 days in the USSR.  During those 5 days, I met courageous people, determined people whose dream of leaving the USSR for Israel gave their lives meaning and hope.

But, there is  one part of the story that I will share here. My friend and I arrived in Kishinev around noon on erev Pesach. We spent the better part of the day calling the numbers we had been given. These were people we were supposed to meet with but each call went unanswered and our one attempt to visit a family had to be aborted when we were realized we were being followed rather closely by some suspicious looking individuals. We decided instead to go to a market to purchase some bitter herbs for a hotel room Seder to go along with the matza and cans of tuna we had brought with us.

As we began to put the symbols of the Seder on the hotel room table, we decided that we should give it one more try and took a cab to the house which by its address we could tell was the closest to the hotel. We got out of the cab, walked quickly to the door and before we could even knock, the door opened and we were pulled in with one word: “Shalom”.

The family had seen us outside and knew immediately who we were. They motioned us downstairs to the basement where they would be holding their Seder. We were shown the seats for each member of the family and the two additonal seats that had been placed at the Seder table earlier that day. They were not for us, rather they were in honor of the two students who had joined the family at the Seder the year before and had brought such joy and support to the family. We were pleased to sit in their seats and join a Seder in which the talk of freedom came from the depths of the heart.

The story had a happy ending. Five years after we left Kishinev, the family was finally allowed to leave. Our phone calls, and letters to them kept their spirits up and our actions on their behalf made a difference as they ultimately left the USSR. We met and hugged in freedom.

I learned two lessons that Pesach. First, I learned how remarkable the Jewish spirit is. To continue to dream, to continue to hope, to continue to believe, to continue to identify even at such a cost is a hallmark of our people. One of the great sources of pride for me as a Jew is to realize how our ancestors and our  brothers and sisters faced difficulties most of us will never experience and still stood tall and proud as Jews. They are an inspiration for all of us.

And the second thing I learned was that it often  happens that when we think we are going to be the ones to do a mitzva for others, we end up being the beneficiary of a mitzva. We went to Russia thinking that we were going to save the day. We were Elijahs. But, in the end, we were the ones who were lonely, sad and hungry, and we were pulled through an open door of kindness and generosity. Perhaps our greatest accomplishment on our trip was giving this family an opportunity to welcome us in and make our Pesach festive.

I have never forgotten that Pesach and never forgotten the lesson that in times of great hardship, human beings still manage to reach out to others in kindness and generosity. What a Pesach it was.

 

Well, it’s Pesach season again and it’s time for me to start ranting again about the 10 plagues. Before I start ranting, let me tell you that I love the tradition of dipping our finger in the wine to diminish the wine in our cups in deference to the suffering of the Egyptians. I love the story in the Torah which shows how the obstinance of Pharaoh in refusing to correct the horrendous injustice he and his people were committing against the Hebrews. The references to the plagues during the Seder are critical for rounding out the story. The recitation of the plagues in Hebrew provide one of the most memorable moments of the Seder and the words sound strangely poetic with a recognizable cadence: Dam, Tzifardea, Kinim…

But, now for the rant.  The Seder is supposed to be a lively, creative and memorable experience and there have been many positive creative attempts to help participants, especially children, stay connected to the ritual. But, I am infuriated by the attempts to play games with the 10 plagues. Songs about frogs, bags which contain little toys or other items which can remind us of each of the plagues or, and this is the worst, chocolate pieces made to resemble the plagues (with, God forbid, a baby carriage for the 10th plague) are just plain and simply insensitive and cruel. Even if you think the Egyptians of Torah times deserved the plagues, what do we say to  all of the innocent people in the world who have suffered from locusts or famine or disease? On Pesach night, it strikes me as completely inappropriate to make light of suffering of any kind.

So, I would suggest the following. I think we should find something positive about the story of each plague to help us make a positive commitment to direct us in a way which would help us move the world further towards the redemption begun on the night of the first Pesach.

Here are my suggestions, I’d love to hear others for any of the plagues if you have them:

Dam, blood. Give a pint of blood before or right after Pesach. There are few, if any, greater acts of tzedakah.

Tzfardea, frog. Singular not plural. The Rabbis say that one frog came up and called the others to join him in destroying the land of Egypt. Let each of us be an influence for constructive rather than destructive acts and get others to join us.

Kinim, lice. The word kinim is spelled like the word ken, “yes”. Let us say “yes” when asked for help from someone, rather than a knee jerk “no”.

Arov, wild animals. Let us spend a little extra time with the animals living under our roofs and show concern for endangered species throughout the world.

Dever, cattle disease. A little less meat maybe at the Seder, a little more healthful eating in the year to come.

Shchin, boils. Boils should remind us of heat. Let us seriously recognize the dangers of global warming and do what we can to reduce our energy use.

Barad, hail. The Rabbis claimed that the hail stones which hit Egypt contained fire within them … nes bitoch neys they claimed, a miracle inside a miracle. Let us treat life like the miracle it is and see to elevate the holiness of our lives through an appreciation for the world we live in.

Arbeh, locusts. Let us reach out our hands beyond our own walls and join in a community which can be a swarm of people acting for the good of all.

Hosech, darkness. The Torah is called Or, light. Let us commit ourselves to Torah study to bring light to the darkened corners of our lives and our world.

And finally makat bichorot, the 10^th plague. Let us take steps to see that all of our children in this nation and throughout the world are cared for, protected and loved. Let no child go without health care, no child go to bed hungry, no child, anywhere be denied the opportunity to grow in health and in freedom.

In a world in which so many are suffering from plagues of one kind or another: war, starvation, persecution, disease and so many others, let us show some sensitivity and tell the story of the plagues without jokes and sweets. Chocolate wine cups? Chocolate shankbones? why not. Chocolate Plagues? You decide.

 

Hag sameach.

 

Over the past couple of years, I have undertaken a project. I have begun to read books on US presidents with the hope of reading a book about each one. I’m making good progress and learning quite a bit about US history, leadership and how our nation has been shaped, positively and negatively, by those who have achieved our highest elected office.
Recently, I have begun to read David McCollough’s book on John Adams. I debated whether to read this book since I had seen the television series which was based on the book but decided, as a proud Bostonian, that I had  to read it and I am finding it fascinating.

The other day, I found these words written by Adams in the days before the Declaration of Independence. It is, I believe, a critical quotation for these times:

“We may please ourselves with the prospect of free and popular governments. But there is great danger that those governments will not make us happy. God grant they may. But I fear that in every assembly, members will obtain an influence by noise not sense. By meanness not greatness. By ignorance not learning. By contracted hearts, not large souls.”

Noise, not sense…meanness not greatness…ignorance not learning…contracted hearts not large souls.

As we watch the news and read the papers, Adams’ words speak to us today.

 

 

I wrote this a few years ago and thought it was time to recycle it. Happy Purim!

Did you  ever wonder how the Purim story would be presented in contemporary culture? In the spirit of this crazy holiday, and in honor of my love of old TV shows, particularly situation comedies, here is a selection of pivotal scenes from the Purim story as they might have been portrayed on popular TV shows of the past:

The Dick Van Dyke Show: As Haman approaches Esther to plead for his life, he trips over an ottoman and falls on Esther. At that moment, the King (played by Carl Reiner) enters the room and fires him.

I Love Lucy: After learning that the king only picked her as Queen because she was beautiful and was bragging to everyone about her good looks, Esther shocks her new husband by appearing at the public marriage reception dressed in a fright wig with blackened teeth. The king promptly faints.

All in the Family: Esther takes so long to tell the king about Haman’s plan to kill the Jews that his eyes glaze over and he pretends to fall asleep in his favorite chair as he listens to the convoluted story. He only agrees to order Haman killed when his assistant Harbonah (whom he usually called “meathead”) explains to him the sociological implications of bigotry.

Sesame Street: Haman sings to Ahasueraus: “One of these Persians is not like the other. One of these Persians just doesn’t belong…”

I’ve Got a Secret: Esther is forced to cancel her planned guest appearance on the show because Mordecai told her not to tell anyone her secret.

The Andy Griffith Show: Mordecai doesn’t bother to tell the King about Bigtan and Teresh who are plotting to assassinate him. He just runs up to them yelling: “Citizen’s Arrest, Citizen’s Arrest”.

The Honeymooners: Ahasueraus grabs Esther after Haman’s hanging and says: “Baby, you’re the greatest!”.

Friends : 4 Jews miss all the excitement because they spend all of their time in the city’s coffeehouse and bookstore called: the Shushan Noose.

Lassie: Esther only is able to save the Jews because Mordecai’s faithful collie climbs under the palace fence and pulls her by the arm to meet him in secret by the gate.

Mr. Ed: Haman does lead Mordecai around on the horse, but to avoid embarrassing himself further, Haman has the horse say: “Thus is done to the man whom the King wishes to honor”.

Happy Purim from the Dobrusin family!

A few weeks ago, I posted a story about my trip to Florida that I took with Rabbis For Human Rights-North America. I am the vice-chair of the board of RHR-NA and I am proud of my association with an organization which addresses issues of human rights here in the United States. However, RHR-NA has another role: to publicize, support and encourage the work of Rabbis for Human Rights in Israel.

RHR was founded in 1988 and calls itself the “Rabbinic voice of conscience in Israel”. RHR is comprised of Rabbis from different streams of Judaism and from different political perspectives who agree on one major issue: that Israel’s actions within its borders and in the West Bank should be based on Jewish values of ethics, compassion and respect for all people. The members of RHR are Zionists and proudly so. As residents in Israel, they are on the front lines, raise their children in Israel’s cities and towns and do their part in defending the security of the State. However, the Rabbis of RHR and their supporters do more: they fight for the needy and the disenfranchised within Israel, they establish “human rights yeshivot” to study issues of human rights as they affect the military and other institutions. And, they reach out to the Palestinians living under Israeli control in the West Bank to help address some of their difficulties: replanting olive trees which have been uprooted by settlers, rebuilding homes which have been damaged or demolished and establishing relationships which can be a paradigm for relations between Israeli Jews and Palestinians.

I am proud of the work that these  individuals do. It takes courage and compassion and it is so important for the Jewish state. While all of us who care about Israel, all of us who love Israel, should be committed to Israel’s security, we need to care about more than just security issues. A Jewish state should reflect the values of our Jewish faith and Rabbis should take the lead in voicing concerns in this area.

If you would like to read more about Rabbis for Human Rights in Israel , you can go to their website at rhr.org.il/eng/  I urge you to do so and to become more acquainted with this work. Not everyone will agree with each position taken or every action taken by RHR but think about what it means when religious leaders within Israel take a stand for equality, for coexistence, for compassion and for hope for the future. As Jews we know that life is more than about physical survival, it is about the quality of our lives as well. This is why I am so proud of the work RHR does. Israel will survive and will flourish not only because of the courage of those who defend her borders and protect her people but also by the courage of those who fight for the values and the ideals of our people and our faith.

Yishar Kochichem to the Rabbis and supporters of RHR in Israel. May you go from strength to strength.

Yesterday at shul, I taught some texts relating to the well known tradition of drinking on Purim until one doesn’t know (ad d’lo yada) the difference between “Cursed be Haman” and “Blessed be Mordecai”. The origin of the tradition is a single sentence in the Talmudic tractate of Megilla in which Rava says that a person is obligated livsumei bipurya, which can be translated in many ways but seems to have some relationship with drinking wine on Purim ad d’lo yada.

For many, this turns drinking wine or liquor to excess on Purim into a religious obligation. I do not have any problem with those who can drink alcohol doing so on Purim and there were a couple of Purims when I was younger when I clearly drank too much. But, the idea that this “mitzvah” to get drunk on Purim means offering liquor to kids  below the drinking age or not taking into account the danger of driving under the influence of alcohol is offensive and dangerous. This is not just a modern concern. Rabbis throughout the ages have tried to find ways to tone Rava’s statement down a bit: to claim that he meant something different or to lower the threshold for how much alcohol consumption fulfills the responsibility.

There are many different approaches to the question. Maimonides wrote about the need to drink just enough to insure that you sleep soundly because while asleep one certainly can’t tell the difference between “Cursed be Haman” and “Blessed be Mordecai”.

Other commentaries point out that the numerical values (gematria) of the words arur Haman (Cursed be Haman) and baruch Mordecai (Blessed be Mordecai) are in fact identical showing that one needs to have a clear mind to be able to distinguish between the two. Likewise, the difference between blessing and curse and between good and evil is sometimes very narrow and even the slightest amount of alcohol might dull our ability to tell the difference. Thus, one need only have the smallest amount to drink before one has fulfilled Rava’s teaching.

Then there are those who say that there was a long piyyut, a religious poem, from Rava’s time for which the chorus of each verse was either “arur Haman” or “baruch Mordecai” and that one needed to be very clear thinking in order to say the verses correctly. Thus, once you started garbling this rather complicated song, you stopped drinking.

But, of all of the answers my favorite is that which says that the text in the Talmud doesn’t have to be read: “one gets drunk on Purim” but “one gets drunk with Purim”. The letter bet in Hebrew can mean either on or in or it can mean by means of. So, some say Rava’s tradition is that we need to become intoxicated with the joy of Purim until we lose sight of the difference between Haman and Mordecai.

I like that interpretation the best because while it doesn’t eliminate the idea that one would choose to celebrate Purim with feasting, which is entirely appropriate, it stresses that it is the holiday itself which should be the focus not the eating and drinking. And, it also reminds us that on occasion any celebration can get out of hand. The moment that we lose sight of right and wrong, the celebration should stop. That is true whether we are talking about losing sight of the messages of the holiday or when Purim’s playfulness and mockery begins to hurt people. We need to celebrate but we need to never lose sight of the difference between good and bad and right and wrong.

One way to remind ourselves of that is to observe the fourth of the four mitzvot of Purim. We need to hear the Megilla being read, celebrate, give gifts to friends (shalach manot) and to make sure to engage in an act of charity (matanot lievyonim). That final mitzvah is mentioned in the Megilla. Mordecai tells the Jews of Shushan to celebrate the first Purim by giving gifts to friends while when he speaks of future Purim celebrations, he makes sure to add that they should give tzedakah as well. Perhaps that first Purim celebration was just a bit too self-indulgent and Mordecai wanted to make sure that for future years, Jews would keep in mind that our celebrations need to be moderated and one way to do so would be to give charity to make sure there was good that come from our celebration. 

Enjoy this happy month of Adar and enjoy a happy, meaningful and safe Purim!

I often joke with people that I love contemporary music but that, for me, contemporary music means any music which dates from approximately 1967-1980. It’s not to say that I don’t appreciate the music of today or the last few years but I will confess that those voices I listen to and  find myself most connected to are the ones I grew up with, listened to and loved as a teenager and a college and graduate student.

So many here and throughout the world are mourning the death of Whitney Houston whose talent was so great and who was a favorite of so many.

I would not profess to be as familiar with her as perhaps I should have been had I not been living in the past musically but in listening to the retrospectives and hearing her marvelous voice, I understand how she touched the hearts and souls of people throughout the world. I also understand how deeply she will be missed by those who loved her performance and her talent.

But, without meaning any disrespect to her memory, Whitney Houston’s death and the reaction to it among her fans reminded me of a moment 30 years ago when a tragic accident took the life of my favorite singer, Harry Chapin. I can remember the moment I heard of his death like it was yesterday and when I go back to listen to his music, I still find myself thinking what might have been.

Harry Chapin was a storyteller and a singer who touched the hearts of so many. His ballads were stories of real people, often stories of their disappointment and sadness. But, he also sang of dreams and of hopes not only for individuals but for the world. And, in addition to singing, he was part of the great tradition of activist musicians as he was a tireless worker for humanitarian causes, particularly for causes fighting world hunger.

If you never heard of Harry Chapin or if you only have heard a song or two of his, you owe it to yourself to go to the internet and find video of his performances. I saw him at Brandeis in 1976 and remember among other things, his determination to stay after the concert and sign autographs and shake hands with anyone who wanted to meet him. It was an inspiring evening and inspired me not only to continue to follow his career but to tell my stories from the bima and in print. We all have our songs to sing, our stories to tell.

I want to end this posting with a quote from Harry Chapin and it is difficult to choose which one to use. There are so many songs that touch me so deeply: Mr. Tanner, the story of a man who tried a musical career at the urging of friends only to be humiliated in the reviews; Stranger with the Melodies which tells the story of a singer who broke up with his lyric writing partner and was left with only the melody and no words; There Only Was One Choice, a long rambling autobiographical song which ends with the conviction that we are fortunate if we find a role in life that we seemed to destined to play even if it is frustrating at times and Mail Order Annie, a love song from a North Dakota farmer who meets his “mail order wife” and promises to share his life with her.

But, I’ll choose one which I’ve been thinking about quite a bit lately. It comes from a song called  I Miss America in which Chapin lamented the fact that people weren’t dreaming of a better world as much as they used to. He concluded his song with these words:

Well my little boy he told me something just the other night

He whispered it as I kissed him before I turned out the light

And of course he said it simply as only children can

He said: “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy please… I’m ready to dream again”.

Lately, I’ve been listening more and more to Chapin’s music. I find that I need d the inspiration it provides to continue to believe that this world can be a better place and that it is worth it for us to spend our time dreaming and working for better times.  We can never give up dreaming and working for the better world that the singers and the poets have helped us envision.

May the memory of all of those whose voices have been lost be for a blessing.

I’ll start right off by saying I don’t particularly like the name because this isn’t about me or my colleagues. It is about others, people whose experience in life is so different from mine  and who live in a place so different from Ann Arbor. But, we all have a role in this issue and I am proud to play my role even if it means being called a Tomato Rabbi.

I was part of a  group of Rabbis from across the country who spent the last two days in the town of Immokalee, Florida- not the part of Florida many of us have vacationed in but a dusty town in the middle of Florida’s tomato growing region. We came there as the second group of Rabbis brought by T’ruah: The Rabbinic Call For Human Rights to learn about the plight of workers in the tomato fields whose working conditions have been the subject of much attention over the past several years.For many years,clergy have made a similar trip and I am proud to work with T’ruah as part of a bigger picture.

Immokalee attracted the attention of many because of several well publicized, horrendous cases of slavery which took place in recent years. Workers were chained, kept locked in boxcars overnight, charged exorbitant fees for basic necessities and then forced to remain working for the same bosses in order to pay off debt which they never could succeed in doing. The living conditions were barbaric and their treatment an absolute disgrace in any country, let alone this country of freedom. As Jews who remember slavery each Pesach, who know the “soul” of the slave, we are obligated to raise our voices and do whatever we can to see that these types of crimes never take place again in this country- or anywhere.

But, there is more to the story. For even those that are not chained and who receive a paycheck, our faith’s ethical demands for justice and fairness and human dignity compel us to speak out even if the word “slavery” may not be the precisely correct word.

We spent two days talking with farmworkers and with members of the Coalition of Immokalee Workers, an organization which is fighting for those who work in the fields. We saw the destitute conditions many of these workers live in. We heard the stories of the hard, backbreaking work and stood in the parking lot in the middle of the town at 6 a.m. as workers boarded old school buses to take them out to the fields.

And, we learned of the efforts that are starting to make real changes in the lives of the workers because of the dedication of the leaders of the coalition and volunteers who have come to their aid. What has transpired in the past 16 months is remarkable. In October of 2010, one large farm: Pacific Tomato Growers was the first to join with the CIW to adopt a “fair food” agreement which mandated changes in the way that farm work was done. They were joined one month later many others and now 90% of the tomato growers are part of this agreement.

In addition to mandating better working conditions for the pickers including guaranteeing them minimum wage even if they do “piece work” and other important changes, the agreement raises the price paid by corporations for the tomatoes one cent a pound with that one cent passed along to the pickers. Now, a 32 pound bucket of tomatoes earns the picker 82 cents instead of 50 cents, still a low wage but an improvement.

We had the honor of having a tu bishvat seder with Jon Esformes, the owner of Pacific Tomato Growers, members of his staff and members of the Coalition of Immokalee Workers. He spoke of “doing the right thing” and that is what this is really about. And it is what it is all about for many of the large corporations which have agreed to the one cent increase and to buy only from those farms which are part of the agreement. McDonalds, Taco Bell, Subway, Whole Foods and many more (you can see the whole list at ciw-online.org)  have “done the right thing”. ‘

The one major fast food company that has not joined the Fast Food Agreement is Wendy’s. Wendy’s has consistently refused to be part of this effort and now buys their tomatoes from Mexico where workers are treated even more poorly than they were in Immokalee before the agreement took effect.

I am proud to have participated in this trip but I am such a newcomer at this- I had never been to Immokalee before this week and hadn’t heard of the whole struggle until a few months ago. Yasher Koach to all who have worked so hard for so long as another milestone is reached.

I was deeply moved not only by the sadness of the difficulties faced by these workers but also by the optimism, the progress, the glimpses of “redemption” that these two days offered. The issue is difficult, with many different angles but the most important one is that, as Jews, we are obligated to care for those who work for us. While we are not their “bosses”, we are the ones who reap the benefits of the picking that is done in Florida and we are responsible for doing what we can to improve the situation.

I will speak on this issue at Beth Israel during a Shabbat morning to come and we will plan a program to discuss this issue in more depth. Thanks to the miracle of modern communication, I’m writing this message on a bumpy flight home from Florida. In a world, in a country, where such “progress” is taken for granted, we can never take for granted those who work for us, those who put food on our tables.

To those in Immokalee, both the brave workers and the owners working with them- hazak v’ematz- be strong and courageous.  May we all “do the right thing”.