Last month, after I had been reminded of one of my favorite episodes of The Twilight Zone, I decided to watch all of the episodes in order while I exercised at home in the morning. I have been making good progress and am more than halfway through the first season. 

         This morning, I had the opportunity to watch an episode  called: The Monsters are Due on Maple Street.

         The story begins relatively simply. The residents of Maple Street hear a mysterious noise and see a flash of light. As they gather to try to figure out the source of the noise and flash, they find that the power is out, cars won’t start and the phone system is not working. 

         Immediately, they start to speculate what could have caused these problems and, naturally, they link them to the noise they have heard. Then, one young boy, basing his theory on a story he had read in a comic book claims that not only was the noise and the flash an alien spacecraft but that the aliens had obviously planted an advance party in the neighborhood. He claims that someone on the street must be an alien and that they had to find out who it was.

         What follows (spoiler alert) is predictable. Different people are identified as being aliens and baseless accusations are thrown back and forth. Eventually, the situation boils over as people are shot and killed and the neighborhood completely disintegrates into chaos.

         As the story closes, we see two aliens on a hill overlooking the town. They talk about the best way to defeat human beings: take away some of their conveniences, plant a seed of doubt in their minds about their neighbors and watch the chaos that erupts and the destruction that follows. 

         This episode, shown for the first time in 1960, was most likely a reaction to the baseless accusations that typified the “red scare” of the 40s and 50s. But, as I watched it today, I was left with the stark realization that we are all potentially living on Maple Street. 

          We have heard the false accusations all too often over the past two years. We hear about the enemies across the border trying to infiltrate our nation: the rapists, murderers and gang members that make up the majority of those trying to enter our nation. We hear about the Muslims in our communities and our government who are trying to undermine our wholesome values. We hear about the members of the LGBTQ community who are determined to corrupt our young people. We hear about those who disagree with the administration as being unpatriotic.

         And it goes on and on. 

         The language of division, fear, suspicion and hatred which our current administration and others use so freely is horrendous and offensive. The use of racist and xenophobic language intended to instill fear in our nation is a disgrace. 

         And it goes on and on.

         While it does seem that it has had the desired effect among some as they turn against their neighbors across the street or across the border in an attempt to protect themselves, it seems that more and more Americans are seeing this language and this fear-mongering for what it is and are uniting to stand against those who tell us that the monsters are among us or around the corner. 

         The Monsters are Due on Maple Street was produced in 1960. One would have hoped we would have grown wiser since then. Hopefully, we have grown wiser and will make our voices heard more loudly and clearly as the days go along.  

I have written several pieces over the years which describe coincidences which may not really be coincidences. Those pieces usually are focused on issues relating to the “afterlife” and my evolving conviction that some unusual events can in fact be viewed a window into contact with those who have died.

But, some coincidences are just coincidences.

The other day, I received an email from a good friend telling me about a podcast he had discovered called The Twilight Zone Podcast. He knew of my interest in the classic TV series because, years ago, I had replied to his Facebook posting in which he referred  somewhat subtly to the Twilight Zone episode: “A Stop at Willoughby”, one of my favorites.

The coincidence here was that just last Shabbat in speaking from the bima about my trip to the border in Texas, I had ad-libbed a reference to the Twilight Zone. I mentioned that the most stressful part of the trip for me was that the airline had cancelled my return flight because they claimed I hadn’t taken the second leg of the incoming flight to El Paso and, as a result, my return reservation was cancelled automatically.

The fact that I was standing in El Paso talking to the ticket agent and that my luggage still had the bar code which showed I had picked it up in El Paso didn’t seem to convince him. He steadfastly claimed I was not on the flight. I knew that I was but couldn’t  convince him.

I mentioned to the congregation that it was at that moment that I thought Rod Serling was going to come out from behind the counter and, in that haunting voice, start the introduction to this week’s episode: Picture a man who knows where he was…”

The congregation responded with the laughter I had hoped for before we got to the more serious matters at hand and by the way, the airline eventually agreed that in fact I was on the flight.

My friend hadn’t heard my sermon and the posted text does not include the reference to the show. Still, it was after all, just a coincidence that he would write to me two days later about the Twilight Zone.

But, his email brought me to the Podcast which is fascinating and gave me a new idea for what to watch on TV while I exercise in the early morning. I have the entire series on DVD so, this morning I started at Season 1 Episode 1 entitled “Where Is Everybody” and plan to watch them all in order.

The Twilight Zone is a masterpiece and I know I speak for many fans when I say that I can quote lines over and over again from my favorite episodes and truly am amazed at how they have remained so clear over the years.

The episode that my friend referred to: “A Stop at Willoughby” is one of my favorites and I actually did have a reference to it in the early drafts of my book: “The Long Way Around”, a reference which I decided to omit in the final draft.

In a description of a trip I had taken through the South many years ago when our kids were very young and life was extremely hectic, I wrote of my drive through the small town of Belcher, Louisiana early on a December morning. The town was beautiful in the early light: a woman walked her dog through the leaf filled streets and a little girl waved to me sweetly as she waited for the school bus.

I was so taken by the surrealistic quiet of the town, a throwback it seemed to an earlier, more relaxed time that I was tempted to park the car and stay there a while longer. Then, I remembered “A Stop at Willoughby” and just kept driving.

As they say in Hebrew hamayveen yaveen, those who understand will understand. I will not post any spoilers in this piece. If you haven’t seen the episode, you can find it online and then you will understand as well.

One Twilight Zone episode did find its way into the final draft of the book, the episode called: To Serve Man. Again, I will offer no spoilers (although I did spoil it in the book), but I have always seen that episode as a anti-religious polemic which, while I disagree with the premise, is absolutely fascinating in its attempt to discourage us from trusting mysterious books brought from the sky.

Last night, I listened to the host of the podcast talk about another of my favorite episodes: Five Characters in Search of an Exit. It is an absolutely engrossing story which ends, as the host discussed, with an appropriately mysterious ending. We understand who the people in the story are. But, so much is left unexplained, open to our imagination and our thought.

Just as an aside, there is an old episode of the children’s show Arthur, which actually featured a slyly written tribute to this classic episode. I remember watching that Arthur episode for the first time with our kids when they were young and screaming with delight when I saw the scene. I scared the daylights out of both of them and the dog as well. Such is the power of good TV.

And there are so many others that I will never forget including the one that really terrified me the first time I saw it as a young boy: “Twenty-Two”. (I swear there is a subtle reference to “Twenty-Two” in an episode of another favorite: “Fawlty Towers” but I can’t prove it.)

For me, the magic of the Twilight Zone is that many of the episodes leave us with deep, unanswered questions at the same time as it opens up to us the possibilities in our existence that we might never consider or take seriously.

I am beginning to make some progress on an idea for a second book which I won’t discuss in detail now but part of the book would involve a wonderful commentary on the siddur by the 13^thcentury commentator, the Ramban, Nachamanides.

Nachmanides comments on the verse from Psalms which we say before beginning the silent amida: “God, open my lips and my mouth shall speak your praise”. He notes that the word for “lips”, sfatai comes from the same root as the word for the bank of a river.He says, in essence, that we should ask God to help us go beyond the finite boundaries that we have accepted and be willing to explore new possibilities.

This is what the Twilight Zone did and continues to do. It is an inspiring work that encourages us to open our minds to ideas we might dare not consider.

I’ll keep you informed of my progress as I begin a daily watching of this fantastic show. And, if you have a favorite episode, I encourage you to let me and everyone else know by replying to this posting.

It was, after all, only a coincidence… Right?

 

Remarks Delivered at Beth Israel Congregation  Shabbat morning, November 3, 2018

 

Shabbat Shalom and B’ruchim Hab’aim.Welcome! It is truly a blessing to see so many from the community here this morning at Beth Israel.

In the Jewish tradition, mourning is a process, a journey. In the wake of last week’s attack in Pittsburgh, I want to share some thoughts on where I believe this journey of mourning the unspeakably tragic murder of 11 of our brothers and sisters should lead us.

Our rabbis taught that the Jewish people can be compared to a lamb. A lamb is so tender, so delicate, that if it slightly injures even one part of its body, its entire body quivers with pain. Kol Yisrael Arevim Zeh Ba Zeh, All of our people are intertwined one with the other and we feel the pain of one as the pain of all. It is that value, that principle, which motivates us to care for Jews anywhere our people are in danger. It is why we felt and continue to feel the attack on Tree of Life Synagogue as an attack on all of us. Deep in our kishkes, deep in our hearts and deep in our souls, we feel the pain, the mourning, the agony.

But, what is taught about Jews is not unique to our people. It is one of the values this great nation claims to be built on. It is what it should mean to be an American, this one nation “indivisible with liberty and justice for all”. Each of us is an integral part of the fabric of this nation and the pain of one individual or one community should bring pain to all of us.

Many in our American Jewish community have expressed deep concern about how this horrible attack affects the future for Jews in America, this country which has been so good to us for so long. We see a nation that looks different to us, as Jews, than it did last week or last year or two years ago and different than the nation most of us have known throughout our adult lives.

That is absolutely true. It is different.

However, it is important that we realize the truth that it is not just different for us; it is different for everyone. We don’t recognize this country in so many ways. The United States today is a nation infected by blatant and open hatred, baseless suspicion, extreme nationalism and relentless gun violence and this atmosphere affects every person who has ever been thought of as the “other” and therefore it affects each and every person who lives in this nation.

My friends, I will say it simply. As a Jew, I am not going to give up on this country or our place in it. I believe that we absolutely have a strong, secure future in America. But, that assumes that as we respond with tears, with anger, with resolve, we do it not just for our people and our community but also with concern for the future of everyone in this nation. And that means that while we obviously should react to this horrendous crime as Jews, we must react just as passionately as Americans, for this was not only a Jewish tragedy, it, like so many other horrendous attacks was an American tragedy.

We must commit ourselves to standing with every threatened community just as we have welcomed their standing with us and certainly the experience of the past week has been so comforting and heartening. We must commit ourselves to feeling the pain of others, as we feel the pain of our own.  We must work for not only our own security but for the security, equality and dignity of all. We must stand up against the rhetoric, whether openly hostile or more subtly code-worded language. We must take a public and vocal stand against actions, in place or proposed, that vilify or ostracize or demonize people, whether because of religion, race, gender identification, sexual orientation, or ethnic origin.

We mourn for the victims as Jews. It was a terrible tragedy for our people. But, it was more than that. We must move forward from this point joining hands with all who have been victims or may be victims in the future.  They are us.

And, now we know, if we didn’t before last Shabbat, we are them.

Finally, let me add one last point. Solidarity Shabbat is a fantastic idea and I am glad so many are here to show solidarity with our people.

But, we must not only show solidarity with a people, we must also show solidarity with the covenant that is our gift to the world, the millennia-old obligations which link our people to greater heights and welcome in our better angels.

Love your neighbor as yourself.

Remember that you were once slaves.

Care for the stranger and the orphan.

Care for the children.

Seek peace and pursue it.

What is hateful to you do not do to your neighbor.

Recognize the image of God in every person.

Care for our earth.

Do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with God.

This is where our solidarity must be expressed. Solidarity with those obligations and so many other principles is the challenge we must accept and reflect in our daily lives. We must join hands with others in this nation and in this world, who, even if they use different language, share the same basic hope in a better future.

May God grant strength and safety to our people and grant peace to our people and all who live here in the United States.

May the memory of the victims of the attack in Pittsburgh and all of those who have been victims of hatred anywhere in the country serve as a constant inspiration and a perpetual reminder that we have so much work to do. Let us do the work with passion, perseverance and strength.

 

 

Having retired from the full time pulpit rabbinate a few months ago, I am once again becoming accustomed to something I haven’t done for about 40 years: going to shul on Shabbat morning with no professional responsibilities.

The most significant challenge for me has been to train myself to sit in my seat as opposed to wandering around the sanctuary and going up to the bima to make announcements or give sermons or explanations. I think I am doing fairly well with that aspect. I do occasionally get up to go greet a friend I haven’t seen for a while but that is something all of us should do at appropriate times. Honestly, I’ve enjoyed sitting in my seat even more than I thought I would.

There is, however, one additional aspect of life “in the pews” that I am thoroughly enjoying and finding tremendously meaningful.

I especially love the weekly reading of the Torah.

I have always loved the reading of the Torah but I am loving it in a different way now and it is a way I actually spoke about on Yom Kippur evening several years ago.

My sermon that evening was about the importance of listening. I spoke at length about how critical it is that we listen rather than only talk, concentrate on what others are saying rather than consider our own response and truly listen with all of our concentration and attention.

These are critical issues for our lives today and certainly worthy of discussion from the pulpit.

But, as I do with any sermon, I came to the topic of listening from perspective of Jewish tradition.

My starting point in the sermon was this question: What is the purpose of the Torah service on Shabbat morning?

The easiest answer, of course, is that we read the Torah on Shabbat morning in order to learn Torah.

But, as is often the case, the easiest answer is not really correct.

The reading of the Torah on Shabbat morning is not primarily intended to give us an opportunity to learn Torah.

I say this for two reasons. First, we are supposed to be studying Torah every day. While the commentaries in the Hummash are meaningful and thought provoking and rabbis love to see congregants discussing a commentary during the reading, there are six other days a week to study this way. Certainly it is better to study during Shabbat morning services than not to study at all but it still is not the ideal time.

And that is because this is not how Jews teach or learn Torah. We don’t teach by standing up in front of a group of people reading the words from a scroll or a book. We learn by engaging, discussing, challenging, responding.

This “frontal”, one directional ritual couldn’t be seen as an example of Torah education.

So, if the Torah service is not intended to be a time for study, what is it intended to be?

The public reading of the Torah on Shabbat morning is intended to be a re-creation of the giving of the Torah at Mt. Sinai. It is a public ritual in which we commit ourselves to the words which our ancestors committed themselves to at the foot of the mountain. As they listened to the words of the Torah, without responding with their own interpretation, without asking for clarification and without argument, so, ideally should it be for us.

Without any intention to encourage a “fundamentalist” reading of Torah or denigration of centuries of inspirational and necessary rabbinic interpretation, the ideal behavior during the reading of the Torah is to sit quietly and listen to the words of Torah.

I know that to do so is antithetical to so much of who we are as contemporary Jews but, presuming we have taken the time to study Torah properly at another time during the week, the emphasis of the Torah service should be to listen, to hear, the words of Torah.

So, after 36 wonderful years of standing on the bima and acting as gabbai,carefully following each word in the hummash, I can now have the experience of sitting during the Torah reading with the book (and sometimes, my eyes) closed and hear Torah. I have the experience of hearing the beautiful, poetic, inspiring, challenging words of Torah, saving my own interpretations and those of our honored teachers for another time.

As I have written many times, those years on the bima were so meaningful and I look forward to future opportunities to lead services in various settings.

But, I also look forward to each Shabbat morning sitting in my seat and hearingTorah.

It is a marvelous and inspiring experience and one which I encourage everyone to try.

 

 

 

This has certainly been a different type of High Holy Day season for me. I always enjoyed being on the bima on Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur but “to everything there is a season”s and I know that the time had come for me to make some changes. So, having retired from the position of rabbi at Beth Israel in June, I spent Rosh Hashana as a congregant rather than on the bima.

It really was not too difficult to make the change. I had to restrain myself a couple of times from calling out page numbers and I actually think I nodded off for a moment at one point- something which never happened to me while leading services. But, all in all, it was a very meaningful and inspirational experience. Most importantly, it felt right.

I had resisted using the word “retirement” for months. But, after speaking with so many people who had gone through this transition, I realized that “retirement” doesn’t mean sitting and watching TV or playing golf all day. For most that retire, it is a time to explore new opportunities and have more time to be selective about what one wants to do and to = sit and think much more patiently and quietly.

So, here I am, sitting in my home office on a day between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur taking deep breaths and reaching down every so often to scratch Sami who loves to sit on the floor next to the desk.

Every day hasn’t been so idyllic. But, each day has brought something new.

One of my goals for this period of my life was to try to try to discover some “spiritual experiences” beyond Jewish ritual and prayer. That is not meant to be a rejection of ritual and prayer. But, it is true that after being a “professional Jew” for over 40 years, there is a yearning for something wider as well.

I had found some of those experiences during my years in the rabbinate. I have often written about my love of astronomy and watching the movement of the stars and experiencing the glory of creation from New England mountain tops, the cliffs above Lake Michigan or countless other places has always stirred in me those spiritual feelings that we need as human beings.

But, there is more time now and I have started to pursue some other avenues.

I’ve been trying to learn more about classical music and found moments in an introductory lecture series I watched online when I truly felt elevated by the beauty of the music and complexity of the orchestra.

I’ve been trying to read and understand more about science in order to more deeply appreciate the connection between the natural world and my belief in God.

And, finally, and perhaps most dramatically, there are the primates.

One of the first things that I did when I ended my full time rabbinate was to register as a volunteer at the Toledo (Ohio) Zoo. I’ve always wanted to work in a zoo and now I have the chance. So when they asked me where I’d like to work as an “exhibit guide”, there were so many good options. I listened to the list and jumped when I was told I could work in the primate exhibit.

And, what an experience it has been.

While I only am there once a week and  have no more direct contact with the animals than any other zoo visitor, I have learned to recognize the different personalities of the gorillas and orangutans and after a few visits, I  am starting to feel part of some wider family.

Each day I am there, that feeling grows stronger. I feel more and more of a connection with these majestic, beautiful creatures and I find myself saying the blessing: “Blessed are You O Lord our God ruler of the Universe who varies the creations”.

Becoming more intimately familiar with these animals has solidified even further my belief about creation.  If, as I believe, human beings were the purposeful and deliberate act of a creator, so were these magnificent animals. How could I think otherwise?

And, then something happened yesterday which I will always cherish.

I was spending some time in the orangutan exhibit area watching one of the males, Bajik, as he sat eating fruit right up against the exhibit glass. He was very calm and kept looking at me and I kept looking at him. Then, I started to walk away and heard a strange noise. I turned around and Bajik was knocking on the glass quietly with his hand. When I walked back to him, he looked at me and stopped. Then I walked away again, and he knocked again. I walked back to him and he stopped and looked at me.

I was stunned and filled with joy.

Finally, we went our separate ways.

When I got home, I was telling the story to the family and I know there was some feeling that maybe I was exaggerating. So, I looked up some information about Bajik online and read this sentence: “A common thing he does is sit at the window and tap on the glass when visitors are near.”

I don’t care if Bajik had done this hundreds of times before.

That one was for me.

And, I will never forget it.

After so many years of connecting with human beings on a very meaningful level and after so many years of forming bonds with our animals in the house, this was something that I never expected.

I am humbled and in awe.

I love to teach Torah and am glad that I will be doing so at Beth Israel and several other places over the year to come. I hope I can continue my writing on Jewish issues and while I’m taking a step back from making comments on current events and issues, eventually that will come too.

But, I will forever remember that knock on the glass and seek to deepen this new connection that is out there for me.

It’s been a great start to the new year.

Over my years as a Rabbi, I have embraced, and when necessary, defended the term: “Jewish State” in reference to Israel. But, I always acknowledged that this term means something different to each individual and that it was important that, as a Jewish people, we engage in discussion about what that term should mean.

In 2010, I delivered a Kol Nidre sermon on the subject and spoke about my own interpretation of those two words. You can read the sermon here: https://robdobrusin.com/497/

This month, Israel passed a law referred to the Nation State Law which identified Israel as the nation state of the Jewish people. I am not alone in my belief that the passage of this law was a tragic moment in the life of the country.

You can read the text of the law here: https://www.timesofisrael.com/final-text-of-jewish-nation-state-bill-set-to-become-law/

It has been argued by some that nothing changed with the passage of this law and that all that it did was put on paper what has been true all along.

But, that is not true.

It is not true for two major reasons. The first is that this law omitted any reference to equality and justice for all citizens. These thoughts were certainly found in Israel’s Declaration of Independence: ” (Israel) will foster the development of the country for the benefit of all its inhabitants; it will be based on freedom, justice and peace as envisaged by the prophets of Israel; it will ensure complete equality of social and political rights to all its inhabitants irrespective of religion, race or sex; it will guarantee freedom of religion, conscience, language, education and culture”

Many members of the Knesset urged that some echo of this language should have been included in the nation-state law but it was not and its absence is glaring. Stating that self-determination applies only to the Jewish people within Israel excludes Israel’s minority citizens, including the Druze who fight in the Israel Defense Forces, from being equal citizens within the state. The message sent was clearly an additional exclusion of Israeli Arabs who, while enjoying certain benefits that minority groups do not in other countries, including representation in the parliament, are clearly victims of discrimination. The reduction in the status of Arabic which was once an “official” language of the state sends another negative and exclusionary message.

Discriminatory and exclusive language have harmed our people through the centuries. It is shameful that the “Jewish State” should use language of this kind.

But, there is another reason why I consider the passage of this law as tragic and I referred to it earlier and in my sermon.

As long as the term Jewish State was not defined, there was always the option to “spin” the term in a very positive way: a state whose symbols were Jewish, which was dedicated to supporting and caring for endangered Jews throughout the world and one which endorsed Jewish values among them the belief in the equality of all people. That may not have been everyone’s interpretation and I respect that. But, as long as it wasn’t “codified” in law, there was at least the option to interpret it this way.

Now, with the passage of the law, the amorphous term has been defined and in a way which, I believe, is contrary to the principles of our faith and will be dangerous and harmful to the State.

It is certainly a sad moment in the history of the State of Israel.

A personal thought on this historic day:

As a rabbi, I have given many sermons on the importance of Jerusalem to our people and our faith and how shameful it is that the US does not recognize Jerusalem as Israel’s capital. After all, a nation should be able to decide on its own capital.

But, watching today’s ceremony, I found myself terribly troubled and could not feel any of the euphoria or satisfaction that so many in Israel and in the Jewish world seem to be feeling.

Hearing the speakers praise President Trump as standing for moral values, hearing Prime Minister Netanyahu and Israel praised as following the highest traditions of human rights and justice and hearing Israel praised as a place where all religions are respected (as long as you’re not a non-Orthodox Jew) and hearing a Minister who said recently that Jews were going to hell and that Islam was by its nature an obscenely  immoral tradition offer a prayer (in the name of Jesus, by the way) just were impossible for me to tolerate.

And all of this while dozens of Palestinians were being killed and hundreds wounded on the Gaza border.

Yes, Jerusalem absolutely should be the capital of Israel (I believe of both states) and yes, the embassy should be there  but not now and not this way.

 

THIS NIGHT WILL LAST FOREVER

 

Towards the end of this week, we observe the great spring holiday.

Then, a night later, we observe Pesach.

Seriously, it’s great to have baseball back.

So, in honor of that great spring holiday of opening day, let me begin with a baseball quotation.

When the Boston Red Sox won the World Series in 2007, three years after having won for the first time in 86 years, the chairman of the team, Tom Werner, was asked whether this World Series championship felt different than the one before. And, Tom Werner said these beautiful words: “2004 was for our parents and our grandparents…this one is for us and our children.”

Those words touched me deeply and made me think about my own life.

As many of you know, I recently published a book which I had been working on for 15 years. It was a book of personal stories and sermons but it really focused on looking back and was, in fact, my way of honoring the memory of my parents and my grandparents. In many ways, I felt that my late parents were pushing me to finish that project. It really was for them.

I am now thinking about writing another book, while I’m not sure what it will be. One thing I know is that it will be for me and the future.

One idea I have is to write a book about Pesach. There are, of course, a seemingly infinite number of books about this most wonderful and most important of all our holidays and I have to find the niche. But, I think it’s there somewhere.

If I do write about Pesach, there is an idea that I thought of a while ago that I know will find its way into a prominent place into the book and I want to share that idea with you this morning. I taught it before from the bima, many years ago, but I want to teach it again because to me, it represents the great meaning of the Seder night, a meaning which we don’t always consider or are even aware of.

I’ll begin with a question: what are the most important words of the haggadah? I am sure that there are at least as many answers to that question as there are people in this room: avadim hayinu, dayenu, ha lachma anya and so many others. But, I want to share my answer with you and you may be surprised because the words I think are the most important seem so incidental.

We say these words 6 times during the ritual sections of the Seder. They sound so simple. The words are: halaila hazeh, this night.

We say these words during the introduction to the 4 questions and during each of the questions themselves. Mah nishtana halaila hazeh which I like to translate as: Wow! This night, halaila hazeh, is different from all other nights and in each question, we compare halaila hazeh, this night, to all other nights.

And then in the blessing immediately before the 2^nd cup of wine, we say that God brought us out of Egypt and brought us halaila zeh, brought us together on this night to eat matza and maror, unleavened bread and bitter herbs.

Why do I think these two words are so important?

Here is why. In Exodus, chapter 12, we read the instructions from God to Moses and Aaron preparing the people for the night of the Exodus. In verse 12, we read v’avarti bieretz mitrayim balaila hazeh. I will pass through Egypt on this night, the night of the Exodus. These words were said, according to the text 2 weeks before the Exodus and so God should have said: “that night” rather than “this night” and that’s what the English says. But, the Hebrew says: “this night”.

That is strange. And, what is very strange is that the phrase Halaila hazeh, this night, is only used in the Torah to describe one particular night, the night of the Exodus.

The night of the Exodus is the only “this night” in the Torah. And those words are so important that the Torah tells us that God calls the night of the Exodus halaila hazeh. In verse 42 of the same chapter, the English says: “that same night is the lord’s one of vigil for all the children of Israel throughout the age”. But, look at the Hebrew. Hu Halayah Hazeh L’ado–nai, which I will translate as: “the night of the Exodus for God is “this night”. For God, and therefore for us, the night of the Exodus has a special name: “this night”.

So, I believe that when we say these words at the Seder, we are not talking about this night of Passover 5778, we are talking about the “this night”, the night of the Exodus. When we sit at the Seder table, we are not supposed to just think of ourselves or, as some read, display ourselves as freed slaves, we are to think of the Exodus as still happening and we are part of it.

This night is unique in that it is an eternal night, one which we step back into each year, one which stands apart from time as we always experience it. The word eternal does not only mean everlasting, it also means “outside of time” and this is an eternal night not subject to the natural flow of time.

The Seder night is when we take our place with our ancestors in the first experience of closeness with God, the first time we were together, as it were. As we begin to count the Omer, we count towards the holiday of Shavuot which celebrates the moment when we entered into a covenant with God at Mt. Sinai. But this night, before the counting of the omer begins, halayla hazeh, this very special night, is the night of beginning the relationship. It is night of “falling in love” and we are all part of the glorious, miraculous beginning of the relationship.

That is why some people have the tradition at the Seder of reading from Song of Songs: the great love song which the rabbis interpret as a love song between the people of Israel and God.

And that is why, whenever I think of this idea, I think of a beautiful love song written by Billy Joel called: This Night. Part of the melody of that song was based on a Beethoven Sonata and Billy Joel did give Beethoven credit as one of the writers, but the lyrics were his and contain the words: “This Night is ours, it’s only you and I… this night will Last Forever”.

That part of the song could have been written about the Seder night.

So, halaila hazeh, this night, this special night of family, friends, food, song, wine, study, ritual and joy is even more than that. It is a night which lasts forever. It is a night when past, present and future all come together in one glorious moment.

For many things in Judaism, we can say: “That one was for our ancestors and this one is for us”.

Not the Seder night.

God redeemed us and our ancestors from Egypt says the Haggada.

This one is for all of us, we and our ancestors and our descendants are all sitting together at the table at the same time.

And what a glorious night it is.

 

 

A NEW BOOK

And so, we begin the book of Vayikra, the book of Leviticus.

The first half of the book, contains, in so many ways, too much information about a tradition whose time passed centuries ago. One might ask: why do we need so much detail about the sacrificial tradition?

It is a legitimate question. Even though so many of our traditions have their roots in the sacrificial system: the Ner Tamid -the Eternal light- the Musaf service, the shankbone on the Seder plate just to name a few, we still don’t seem to need to read all these details.

And yet, we read them because they are part of our Torah and, in fact, despite the archaic details, the book holds a unique place in our tradition. It is well known that from Talmudic times right through to today in some circles that young children began the study of Torah with the book of Leviticus. They didn’t start from Bereshit, from creation, but from Vayikra, from Leviticus.

Why?

One Talmudic rabbi offers an answer. Rav Assi said: “Surely children begin with Vayikra because children are pure and the sacrifices are pure, therefore let the young children come in purity to study purity.”

On a simplest level, I understand Rav Assi as saying that there is a childlike element to the sacrificial system which children can best understand: “I will give you something if you will be my friend”.

But, many understand him as saying something deeper. I read a quotation online attributed to Rabbi Ari Israel who wrote: “Youth, who represent our past, present and future are first taught the book of purity and spirituality. Children, filled with optimism, can readily look at the world with hope. They start out sans any preconceived biases. God is pure. Children are pure. Leviticus is pure. Let them all find each other and holiness can spring forth.”

And so, according to this intepretation, the children understand more than the adults because, in their naïve optimism, they can see further or more deeply.

This is a beautiful thought. It is truly beautiful.

I don’t know when Rabbi Israel wrote this but I assume it was not recently.

I say that because our children today are not filled with optimism. They have seen too much in their young lives. They have read too many stories. They have seen too many news reports. They are not naïve. They know quite a bit and they don’t have confidence that theirs parents and grandparents, no matter how good our intentions, no matter how much we love them, have done enough to stem the horrible tide that has taken the lives of so many of their contemporaries.

And so, they closed their books and took to the street to say to us that their time of innocence and hope has been threatened and that they must be the ones to move our nation to open a new book. We must open a book which is not filled with violence, one which tells us to open our eyes to suffering and make wise decisions now, a book which seeks holiness and wholeness in a nation by doing all we can to putting an end to the horrendous plague of gun violence.

And, they have something to say to all of us.

Far from being naïve, these young people are saying to each and every one of us, that we are the naïve ones. We have sacrificed our moral compass to political expediency. We are guilty of allowing endless political squabbles focusing on technicalities to drag on interminably while more die.

I know the problem is too big to solve with good will alone. I know the epidemic won’t be stopped with catchy slogans or symbolic actions.

But, the young people know that too.

They know that walking out of school won’t solve the problem. But, they are telling us all loudly and clearly that, for their sakes, in memory of the victims and in the name of everyone whose future lies ahead: Dayenu. It’s enough. It’s time to act.

It is long since time to open that new book. And, far from telling our children to get out the way, it is time to let our children lead us to do what we, the “responsible” ones, need to do.

I’d like to ask all the young people here who walked out of class this past Wednesday and those who couldn’t do so but supported those who did to stand up so that we can recognize you and thank you. (A spontaneous burst of applause from the congregation as many middle school and high school students stood up.)

Thank God, you’ll be voting in a few short years.

More than saying thank you, we promise you to your face that we respect you, we hear you and we will act.

May you go from strength to strength and teach us what we must learn.