In our lives and in our home, we are enamored with animals. My wife, Ellen, and I volunteer at the Humane Society of Huron Valley. I am a volunteer zoo educator at the Toledo (Ohio) Zoo. Our living and dining rooms are full of animal figurines of different sizes and materials that we have collected from our trips and found in small town stores.

But all of these are secondary to the relationships that we have built with the living animals who have shared our home with us. 

And now, for the first time in 23 years, we do not have an animal friend living with us. 

Sadly, a few days before Pesach, we had to say goodbye to our beloved dog, Sami. Sami was 16 years old and obviously in significant discomfort. At first, we had planned to have her undergo an examination under anesthesia to determine what might be the cause of her pain but, as you will read, we realized that was not the best course of action. 

Sami was the third Dobrusin dog. Our first dog, Silky, was actually my “step-dog” as Ellen had adopted her shortly before we met. Silky was a Chocolate Lab-German Short Hair Pointer mix and she was so smart and so loyal. She adapted herself first to my presence and then, with her loving heart, watched as our family grew and she took on the role of protecting our two kids whom she loved. 

After Silky’s death in 2001, we were dog-less for a few months. We knew we would be adopting another rescue, but we weren’t prepared for the sudden decision to bring the beautiful and sweet yellow lab, Benny, into our home. 

I saw Benny during a trip I took to the Humane Society “just to look at dogs”. But, when I saw him, I knew immediately that he was the yellow lab we were thinking we would like to adopt, and he came home a week later. 

Benny was such a gentleman. He just wanted to be a dog. Unlike with Silky, we could leave any food or anything out and he wouldn’t touch it. He remained in the other room while we ate, not asking for any “human food”. He never tried, as Silky had done successfully almost every night, to climb up onto our bed to sleep. Benny was so well behaved and so calm that he loved to go to the local hospice where he was a therapy dog and cheered so many saddened hearts. 

After Benny’s death, we were unsure whether we would adopt another dog. But then, our daughter saw a picture of a dog on a local shelter website, and we liked what we saw. The people from the shelter brought her to our house and she jumped up on the old chair that Benny used to sit on, heaved a great sigh, and closed her eyes. That was all it took. 

Sami was such a wonderful companion for the 13 years she was with us. She grew up from a goofy, clumsy young dog who could slide off the bed with her legs behind her at a 180-degree angle to a mature and later senior dog who was so settled and so comfortable. 

There is a beautiful statement in Pirke Avot, Ethics of the Fathers, which teaches that Shammai taught that a person should greet everyone he or she meets bisayvar paneem yafot,with a cheerful disposition. Sami was the epitome of Shammai’s statement. 

She really didn’t like other dogs, but Sami immediately loved every person she met. She would walk with me down the street with a big smile and it grew bigger when someone would stop and ask to say hi to her. People would always stop me and tell me how happy she looked, and her smile was infectious. 

While she didn’t have dog friends, she made friends throughout the neighborhood. My daily walk would take her by Trader Joe’s where many of the staff knew her and to the lovely pet store (a shout out to the great people at The Pet Emporium) where she would get her treats every day. She had a great friend in one of the other stores and always looked for the mail carrier who gave her such good scratches. 

But, when the walk was over and home was in sight, Sami always raced to get inside and jump back on her sofa. She knew how safe home was for her and she couldn’t wait to get back to the warmth and security of the house. 

Sami started to slow down noticeably a few months ago and as time went along, her smile started to dim. She didn’t pay as much attention to people who came to the house and did not always want to walk. There were some other concerning symptoms which I won’t go into here, but we were watching her very closely. 

We brought her to the vet and arranged for an exploratory procedure which would take place a week after our visit. But, a few days before the planned procedure, I was walking her, and she just did not look right. I looked at her to see what was wrong and she looked back at me and right then, I knew what she was telling me. Ellen was watching from the window and we both, almost simultaneously, came to the same conclusion. 

That evening, after we had called the vet to make an appointment for the next morning, Sami was laying quietly on the sofa. For the past few days, she had been reluctant to have anyone sitting too close to her. But, this night was different. She suddenly did something she hadn’t done in weeks, turning over on her back and looking for a tummy rub. We are sure she understood and was saying thank you. 

The house is not the same. We keep expecting to see Sami looking out the front window waiting for us to get back home. We keep thinking that we her gentle snoring at the end of the bed. We must remind ourselves that we don’t have to account for her two or three daily walks in planning our schedule. 

We love you Sami and we miss you so dearly. We know that your spirit, like those of Silky and Benny, our four cats, Lewy, Jimmy, Ozzie and Spot, and the many rats that our daughter adopted as pets, fills our home with so much more presence than the animal figurines that we can still see. They are all still with us.

Their memory is for a blessing for all they brought to our lives. 

Please also listen to the episode entitled A Special Tribute on my podcast at wrestlinganddreaming.podbean.com 

         Yes, I saw it. And so did millions of others. And, I assume, not one of them came away disappointed. In fact, I would say that most of those came away with a life-long memory which changed them, even in a small way. 

         I am referring to last week’s solar eclipse whose path of totality spread over much of the central United States and within an easy drive of tens of millions. 

         We saw the eclipse at Bowling Green State University along with a crowd of more than 5,000. The event at the football stadium was wonderful with demonstrations, explanations, games and music but all fell into the background as the main event approached. And, at the moment of totality, the crowd burst into applause and then immediately quieted as people took in this awesome moment. 

         I am very much an “armchair” astronomer in the sense that I love to seek out astronomical phenomena and have had the privilege to see meteor showers, transits of the sun, the planets and distant galaxies through telescopes and just the beauty of a nighttime sky away from any light pollution. But, this event, a total solar eclipse was the most remarkable of all. 

         While I wouldn’t compare the personal impact of the eclipse to the moment of the birth of my children, there was a similar piece to each of them. When the “big moment” came, it was overwhelming and almost too much to take in. But it is a moment I will never forget.

         I knew the eclipse was coming and I knew what to expect with it. But, nonetheless I was astounded- or perhaps relived- that it came right on the moment when it was expected and lasted just as long as was expected. The combination of the dependable and predictable cycles of the universe and the wisdom with which human beings can know and understand how those cycles will work to the smallest fraction of a second is undeniable proof to me of a universe which has been created by God purposefully and deliberately. 

         And it is further proof that one of the most meaningful ways we can worship our creator is by respecting and appreciating with wonder not only the majestic moments such as a solar eclipse but also the simple miracles of life which surround us every day. 

         A solar eclipse can only happen on a new moon, when we can not see any of the moon’s surface because all of the light of the sun is directed at the back or “dark” side of the moon. If the moon’s orbit were perfectly coordinated with the plane of the earth, we would have a solar eclipse every lunar cycle, almost every month, but we do not because, in fact, the orbits do not line up perfectly due to the tilt of the earth and the course of the orbit. 

         Similarly, were those orbits completely coordinated, we would have a lunar eclipse every month. But, of course, we do not and, weather permitting, we are in fact treated to the sight of the full moon every lunar cycle as the light of the sun is reflected onto the moon as it is closely, but not perfectly, aligned with the earth.

         Next Monday evening, we will look up to the sky and see the full moon as we gather for the Pesach Seder. 

         It is the same sight we saw 7 months ago when we sat in the Sukkah on the first night of Sukkot. It is a reminder that our ancestors found great meaning in gathering by the light of the full moon and it is a chance for us to consider how we ourselves and the world has changed since we sat in the sukkah. 

         So much has changed for the worse in so many ways. But the one thing that has not changed is the way the natural world operates and provides for opportunities for wonder and for hope. 

         Seeing the full moon should also remind us that this was the same full moon our ancestors saw as they ate from the Pesach sacrifice preparing to leave Egypt. As we sit at the Seder, we are on a spiritual level, experiencing that same eternal night celebrating the Exodus as if we were part of that journey and taking with us the lessons learned and making them part of our lives as we seek to repair this broken world. 

         One of the most fascinating aspects of the solar eclipse is that the relationship between the size of the moon and the sun and their relative distance from earth is such that, from our perspective, the much smaller moon covers the much larger sun completely, leaving enough room on the edges for us to see the glorious corona around the sun. 

It is ironic that the magnificent moment of the moon’s impact on our lives through the solar eclipse comes at the time that the moon is the darkest and not noticeable in the sky. Perhaps this is a lesson to us to look for the positive and life-enhancing moments that come about in the least expected places. It is a lesson as well to know that our lives are not affected only by obvious, powerful aspects of our world but by the subtle and simple miracles that surround us always. 

Hag Sameach for a meaningful, wondrous Pesach.  

Reading today of the death of Senator Joe Lieberman, I thought about the impact of his candidacy for the Vice Presidency in 2000. Shortly after hearing the news, I wrote this piece for the Ann Arbor News. It appeared in the paper on August,20, 2000. It is interesting to read and consider twenty-four years later.

For the better part of the previous week, I had been waiting for the news of Al Gore’s selection of his running mate. Part of my interest comes naturally from my interest in politics. But, a big part of the reason for my fascination with this process was that Senator Joseph Lieberman’s name had been prominently mentioned.

When I heard of his selection, I was stunned momentarily. Then, I began to feel elation which still hasn’t subsided.

How important this decision will be in the long run is unclear. What is clear for me, as an observant Jew, a Jewish parent and a rabbi is that this day will forever remain in my mind as a historic day of joy and deep appreciation for the blessings of this country.

This isn’t about political opinions. As I said to my congregation a few days after the choice was made, it is truly terrific that the citizens of this country have the opportunity to vote for, or vote against, a Jewish man for vice president. Win or lose, this is a tremendous moment for American Jews and a moment of promise for Americans everywhere. 

I want you to know why I am so happy. But, first, let me tell you two aspects of the discussion following this milestone which troubles me. 

First, as important as I believe it is for a person to be religiously observant and as much as faith and religious ritual can add to a person’s life, we must be careful not to assume that because a person is religiously observant, he or she automatically becomes a role model, let alone a proper candidate for elected office.

Religious observance and faith can lead us to a proper balance recognizing both the great potential and the limitations of human beings. Religious observance can lead us to a life of ethics and morality. But, religious faith can also be insincere, and even sincere faith can produce an arrogance which blinds a person to the fact that there are different paths to God and different sources for ethical life. The true test of human beings must be how they live, what decisions they make in their life, what priorities they set and how ethical is their behavior.

I certainly have no reason to think that Senator Lieberman is anything but an honorable, ethical, competent individual. But, no one should vote for or against a candidate simply because he or she claims to be religiously observant. With Senator Lieberman or any candidate of faith, we must ask the difficult questions concerning their stand on the issues, their honesty and sincerity and their ability to lead and govern.

Secondly, I rejoice in the fact that people will learn more about Jewish observance from watching Senator Lieberman. Already there is a fascination about what he will do and won’t do on the Sabbath, what he will eat and won’t eat, and what home rituals he would observe should he be elected. 

This is a great opportunity for Americans to learn more about Jewish traditions but no one should expect Senator Lieberman to represent Judaism to the nation. If elected, he will be the vice president, not the “first Jew”. His observance, while a matter of interest to the nation, is no one’s business but his. 

Therefore, I hope he would be cautious to remember that his Jewishness, while affecting his daily life and influencing the ethical and moral decisions he makes, must remain in the background to his role as a candidate and, if elected, as vice president.

With these two disclaimers in mind, I believe that Senator Lieberman’s selection to be one of the most important moments in the American Jewish community and our nation as a whole have experienced in recent years. 

I am thrilled that Vice President Gore did not allow Senator Lieberman’s heritage or his religious commitment to stand in the way of picking the person he felt could best serve as his running mate. His choice shows a trust in the fairness and openness of the American people.

Our children, ages seven and five, won’t understand the words or the meaning of the moment but I want them to know that, once again, our nation has proven that anything is possible for them. Nothing will stand in their way. Their self-definition and public identification as Jews will be respected, and they will be judged for their ability and their talents, not their religious heritage.

That brings us to the most important aspect of this entire story. Inasmuch as there has been in the past significant anti-Semitism in this country and pockets of anti-Semitism remain, Jews enjoyed involvement at all levels of our society before Senator Lieberman’s choice. Now that a Jew has a place on the national ticket of a major party, it would seem no barriers remain for Jews. Can the same be said for others?

Senator Lieberman’s selection must be followed by many barrier-breaking actions. Barriers must be broken throughout our society where individuals are exclude from any segment of society or from full and equal participation in society because of race, religion, gender or any other criteria. We must work for the day when all of the barriers fall, and as a reflection of that, when the major parties’ national ticket will routinely include those who have have been excluded, because of gender, race, sexual orientation, financial resources or any reason.

God willing, the day is coming when Americans can vote for, or against, a candidate of any background. Our children would then inherit a nation of fairness and equality and they, and our nation, will be that much more blessed.

I truly rejoiced when I heard the news. Win or lose, the future won’t be the same. But, I hope that long before Election Day, the “novelty” will have worn off and, after the election, Joseph Lieberman will be referred to as the winning or losing vice presidential candidate, not the winning or losing Jewish vice presidential candidate. And then, I pray that we will see more and more people from varied background and communities nominated for regional, state and national office and referred to in the only way that matters: as Americans.

Then, the promise of this day will truly have been fulfilled.

Reading today of the death of Senator Joe Lieberman, I thought about the impact of his candidacy for the Vice Presidency in 2000. Shortly after hearing the news, I wrote this piece for the Ann Arbor News. It appeared in the paper on August,20, 2000. It is interesting to read and consider twenty-four years later.

For the better part of the previous week, I had been waiting for the news of Al Gore’s selection of his running mate. Part of my interest comes naturally from my interest in politics. But, a big part of the reason for my fascination with this process was that Senator Joseph Lieberman’s name had been prominently mentioned.

When I heard of his selection, I was stunned momentarily. Then, I began to feel elation which still hasn’t subsided.

How important this decision will be in the long run is unclear. What is clear for me, as an observant Jew, a Jewish parent and a rabbi is that this day will forever remain in my mind as a historic day of joy and deep appreciation for the blessings of this country.

This isn’t about political opinions. As I said to my congregation a few days after the choice was made, it is truly terrific that the citizens of this country have the opportunity to vote for, or vote against, a Jewish man for vice president. Win or lose, this is a tremendous moment for American Jews and a moment of promise for Americans everywhere.

I want you to know why I am so happy. But, first, let me tell you two aspects of the discussion following this milestone which troubles me.

First, as important as I believe it is for a person to be religiously observant and as much as faith and religious ritual can add to a person’s life, we must be careful not to assume that because a person is religiously observant, he or she automatically becomes a role model, let alone a proper candidate for elected office.

Religious observance and faith can lead us to a proper balance recognizing both the great potential and the limitations of human beings. Religious observance can lead us to a life of ethics and morality. But, religious faith can also be insincere, and even sincere faith can produce an arrogance which blinds a person to the fact that there are different paths to God and different sources for ethical life. The true test of human beings must be how they live, what decisions they make in their life, what priorities they set and how ethical is their behavior.

I certainly have no reason to think that Senator Lieberman is anything but an honorable, ethical, competent individual. But, no one should vote for or against a candidate simply because he or she claims to be religiously observant. With Senator Lieberman or any candidate of faith, we must ask the difficult questions concerning their stand on the issues, their honesty and sincerity and their ability to lead and govern.

Secondly, I rejoice in the fact that people will learn more about Jewish observance from watching Senator Lieberman. Already there is a fascination about what he will do and won’t do on the Sabbath, what he will eat and won’t eat, and what home rituals he would observe should he be elected.

This is a great opportunity for Americans to learn more about Jewish traditions but no one should expect Senator Lieberman to represent Judaism to the nation. If elected, he will be the vice president, not the “first Jew”. His observance, while a matter of interest to the nation, is no one’s business but his.

Therefore, I hope he would be cautious to remember that his Jewishness, while affecting his daily life and influencing the ethical and moral decisions he makes, must remain in the background to his role as a candidate and, if elected, as vice president.

With these two disclaimers in mind, I believe that Senator Lieberman’s selection to be one of the most important moments in the American Jewish community and our nation as a whole have experienced in recent years.

I am thrilled that Vice President Gore did not allow Senator Lieberman’s heritage or his religious commitment to stand in the way of picking the person he felt could best serve as his running mate. His choice shows a trust in the fairness and openness of the American people.

Our children, ages seven and five, won’t understand the words or the meaning of the moment but I want them to know that, once again, our nation has proven that anything is possible for them. Nothing will stand in their way. Their self-definition and public identification as Jews will be respected, and they will be judged for their ability and their talents, not their religious heritage.

That brings us to the most important aspect of this entire story. Inasmuch as there has been in the past significant anti-Semitism in this country and pockets of anti-Semitism remain, Jews enjoyed involvement at all levels of our society before Senator Lieberman’s choice. Now that a Jew has a place on the national ticket of a major party, it would seem no barriers remain for Jews. Can the same be said for others?

Senator Lieberman’s selection must be followed by many barrier-breaking actions. Barriers must be broken throughout our society where individuals are exclude from any segment of society or from full and equal participation in society because of race, religion, gender or any other criteria. We must work for the day when all of the barriers fall, and as a reflection of that, when the major parties’ national ticket will routinely include those who have have been excluded, because of gender, race, sexual orientation, financial resources or any reason.

God willing, the day is coming when Americans can vote for, or against, a candidate of any background. Our children would then inherit a nation of fairness and equality and they, and our nation, will be that much more blessed.

I truly rejoiced when I heard the news. Win or lose, the future won’t be the same. But, I hope that long before Election Day, the “novelty” will have worn off and, after the election, Joseph Lieberman will be referred to as the winning or losing vice presidential candidate, not the winning or losing Jewish vice presidential candidate. And then, I pray that we will see more and more people from varied background and communities nominated for regional, state and national office and referred to in the only way that matters: as Americans.

Then, the promise of this day will truly have been fulfilled.

I shared this piece on my podcast, Wrestling and Dreaming. You can hear the podcast at wrestlinganddreaming.podbean.com or other sources for podcasts.

         This Saturday evening begins the celebration of Purim, the happiest holiday on the Jewish calendar. Purim is a time for loud celebrations both in the synagogue and in homes, celebrations which include costumes, noisemakers, excessive eating (and in some settings, drinking), bad jokes and general merrymaking. 

         So, it is natural to ask the question: Should we be celebrating Purim this year in the “usual way”? Given all of the sadness surrounding us: the rise of anti-Semitism, the horrific October 7 attacks in Israel and the war in Gaza, perhaps we should eliminate Purim celebrations this year.

         I would argue that while we might tone done some of the celebrations a bit, we should still celebrate Purim and have an appropriate amount of fun during the holiday. It will be a respite from the sadness and fear which has surrounded Jews in recent months and remind our children- and ourselves- that our tradition values joy as it values concern for each other and for the world in general. 

         But I do think there is one thing that we must do this Purim. It is always a major part of the observance of the holiday, but this year calls for particular attention to this most significant tradition. We should pay close attention to the reading of Megillat Esther, the biblical book of Esther. 

         The account of the Jews of Shushan’s victory over Haman, and the story of the courage of Esther and Mordecai is told in great detail and we sometimes pay too much attention to drowning out Haman’s name and making jokes about some of the absurdities in the story as it is told. There are some critical questions raised by a close reading of the Megilla and, this year especially, we should pay attention to those questions and consider them seriously. 

         I am going to pose three questions based on the story in the book of Esther and I encourage you to take some time before, during or after the holiday to consider them seriously and wrestle with some of the issues they raise. 

         First, while Haman’s vendetta against the Jews stems from Mordecai’s refusal to bow down to him, Haman approaches the king with this argument based on lies, half-truths and facts taken out of context: 

         “There is a certain people, scattered and dispersed among the other peoples in all the provinces of your realm, whose laws are different from those of any other people and who do not obey the king’s laws and it is not in Your Majesty’s interest to tolerate them.” (Esther 3:8)

         I would ask you to think about these questions: What are the lies, half-truths and out of context facts that are used today to fuel anti-Semitism? Is it important for Jews, to actively challenge those arguments with facts or is the anti-Semitism we experience today simply spread by hate-filled people who have no desire to change their way of thinking about Jews making any attempt to discourage such thinking only a frustrating waste of time and energy?

         My second question focuses on one of the most meaningful verses in the entire book. Mordecai reminds Esther that she should not deny being a Jew as she will not be able to escape the fate of her people: 

         “Do not imagine that you, of all the Jews, will escape with your life by being in the king’s palace.” (Esther 4:13)

         This verse inspires these questions: How are you feeling today about expressing your Jewish identity in public? Are you tempted to hide your identity as the climate of anti-Semitism worsens or does this make you more determined to identify publicly as a Jew? Will you feel uncomfortable buying Pesach foods in supermarkets or bringing matzah sandwiches to work or school or will you be even more visible in your observance of the holiday in defiance of those who hate? 

         Finally, I offer one last question. In chapter 9 of Megillat Esther, we read of the actions taken after Haman’s execution. We read: 

         “The rest of the Jews, those in the king’s provinces, likewise mustered and fought for their lives. They disposed of their enemies, killing seventy-five thousand of their foes; but they did not lay hands on the spoil. That was on the thirteenth day of the month of Adar and they rested on the fourteenth day and made it a day of feasting and merrymaking”.

         This verse may have troubled you in the past as it certainly has troubled me. But, how are you reading this verse this year? What does this verse have to say to us given the Hamas attacks and the war in Gaza? Do you understand and appreciate it today more than in the past or does it trouble you even more deeply? 

         I hope that you find these questions meaningful and that you will take time to consider your personal answers in light of today’s world.  

CREATION IN THE PRESENT TENSE

The time of miracles is upon us. With the approach of the month of Adar Sheni, the 2nd month of Adar in this leap year, we stand at a pivotal point in the calendar. Behinds us are the darkest days of winter, ahead the happiness that comes from the celebration of Purim, the redemption of Pesach, the revelation of Shavuot, not to mention the warming sun and, of course, baseball season.

Truly, this is the time of miracles.

When we seek to praise God for the miracles around us, we turn to the words of the Hallel, the Psalms of Praise. But, there are two Hallels in our tradition: the collection of psalms said during the service on festivals and Hallel Hagadol, the great Hall, psalm 136.

If you look at Psalm 136, you will see a list of 26 statements, many of which are references to acts which God has done which merit our praise. They range from the great acts of creation, to the miracles of the Exodus, to the simple statement at the end of the psalm: notayn lechem lichal basar, that God gives food to all of the creatures, for God’s hesed, God’s steadfast love is eternal.

A verse from this psalm is used as the basis for a beautiful midrash that appears in our daily prayers. Before the saying of the shema during schaharit, we say: Hamihadesh bituvo bichal yom tameed maaseh bereshit: God renews in God’s goodness each day the acts of creation. The proof text for this statement is found in Psalm 136: we should give praise l’oseh orim gedolim, to the one who makes great lights, not who made great lights, but who makes great lights proving that God is still creating the world, still creating the heavenly lights. As our tradition says about the giving of the Torah, creation is also an eternal event, one which occurs each and every day.

In the Talmudic tractate of Hagigah, we read a short statement whose context is puzzling but is deeply inspiring. Rabbi Yose said: “Woe to those creations which see but do not know what they see, which stand but don’t know upon what they stand”.

He might be referring to some species of animals but I don’t think so. I believe he is referring to those whose vision of the glory of creation is limited, whose appreciation of the grandeur of the earth and the entire universe is lacking. Rabbi Yose tells us all to look carefully and we will see.

What will we see? We will see that miracles don’t come only in the spring, miracles occur every day with the recreation of the world around us. And, miracles of a different sort are given the energy to continue when we recreate them each day.

This Shabbat, we read a portion of the Torah which contains enormous detail as it describes the completion of the work of the building of the Mishkan, the portable sanctuary in the wilderness. Frankly, for those who have read previous Torah portions, it is quite boring as all that it does is repeat in the past tense the list of the elements of the Mishkan that had been prescribed in previous parshiyot.

So, the creation of these items are all worded in the past tense. While the purpose of the Mishkan might be lasting, the objects that were in it could only be created once. Once made, they were finished.

Most human creations are created only once. However, the things are truly important must be created again and again: our love for those nearest to us, our commitment to improving the world, the values and priorities on which we base our lives. These aspects of our life which are the closest to divine and they. must be recreated, reemphasized, renewed each and every day.

Psalm 136 is a guide. It begins with the ancient acts of creation and redemption, offering praise to God who created the universe, split the sea and fed us in the wilderness. It ends with a simple statement of praise to God who feeds the entire world and who maintains the world in which we live.

Regarding feeding the world, our tradition reminds us that God did not make bread grow from the earth but gave us wheat to bake into bread so that we can be partners with God in creation.

As we approach this time of miracles, may we strive to appreciate that the miracle of creation continues and that we, as part of that miracle, owe God not only our praise but also our continued work at doing the little things which perfect the world in which we live and give meaning to our own little corner of the world.

         Several years ago, I published a book entitled The Long Way Around: Stories and Sermons from a Life’s Journey. The book was a memoir and the sermons which were inspired by the experiences of my life. Writing the book was a process lasting many years and it was very satisfying to finally see it in print. The book is still available on Amazon. 

         When I retired from the full-time pulpit rabbinate in 2018, one of my goals was to write another book. I had two different ideas for books and began to work on them. But I turned my attention to other pursuits: the production of a weekly podcast, teaching adult education classes and volunteer work which had become very meaningful. As a result, I limited my writing to the occasional sermon I gave when filling in for another rabbi and relatively infrequent postings on this blog.

         Lately, I have begun to feel the “writing bug” again and I have decided, as we say in Hebrew b’Ii neder (no promises), to pursue one of those book ideas that I had considered and see whether a second book comes out of the process. 

         My idea for the small book is to present and discuss the texts which most significantly inspired me in my work as a rabbi. While important in the rabbinic context, these texts do not only serve rabbis, but I believe they also can be inspirational to everyone as they consider their jobs, their relationships, their thoughts about God and the ongoing questions we all have about how to best live our lives in this world. 

         The selection of texts is eclectic. Some texts are well known while some are obscure. Some lead to obvious lessons while some yield important ideas only after a significant amount of midrash. Some are from traditional Jewish sources, others come from sources far removed from Torah and Talmud and have their origin in other areas such as movies or popular music. They are united in that each is meaningful in its own way and provided inspiration and meaning to my life as a rabbi, a husband, a father, a friend, a human being.

         So, I am going to begin this project and, occasionally, I will share some of the texts and my commentary on this blog. I invite your reaction to these postings and to the idea for the book, in general. 

         This week’s edition of my podcast features one of the texts that I will include in the book. The text is a commentary on a verse in this week’s Torah portion by Ish Yehudi, the 20^thcentury German Rabbi Joseph Tzvi Carlebach. The verse in question is part of the process of consecration of the priests to serve in the mishkan, the traveling sanctuary in the wilderness. In Exodus 29:20, we read that God commanded: “Slaughter the ram and take some of its blood and put it on the ridge of Aaron’s right ear and on the ridges of his sons’ right ears and on the thumbs of their right hands and on the big toes of their right feet.”

         It doesn’t seem that this verse would yield significant lessons for life but that is the genius of Torah commentators: finding important messages in the most mundane of texts and Ish Yehudi rises to the occasion with his commentary.

         He writes: “The ear, the hand and the foot must be excellent and distinguished in each leader of Israel. The ear to hear the cries of Jews so that the leader can know and understand the needs and wishes of Israel. The hand to give blessing to all. And the feet to be ready to run to help anyone who is in need.”

         I love that text for two reasons. First, it is a marvelously creative interpretation of a rather uninspiring text. 

         But, more importantly, the text teaches us something critically essential: the importance of listening. 

         I first encountered this text after I had been a rabbi for more than 15 years. I was satisfied with much of the work I had done but I knew that there were aspects of the role of rabbi that I needed to improve upon, but I was searching for a place to start. This verse helped me to realize one of those areas that needed improvement. 

         While I considered myself sufficiently proficient at being at services and meetings (getting there by my feet) and giving people what I felt they needed (that’s the hand part), this verse made me question whether I was as good a listener as I should be, and the answer was: “no”.

         I realized that I wasn’t listening to people as well as I should: cutting off critical discussions because I was needed someplace else, missing subtle verbal clues about what people were really saying to me, not making eye contact and not asking questions which needed to be asked about what people were saying. 

         So, I was determined to change and while I never came close to being a perfect listener, I did find myself listening more intently, interrupting far less frequently and willing to be late someplace else if the conversation demanded more time. 

         And the lesson I learned from the commentary of the Ish Yehudi is a lesson for all in every part of our lives. 

         Truly listening to our partners, our children, our friends, our employees, is one of the greatest gifts we can give and one of the most important responsibilities of a human being. It is also one which we are most likely to take less seriously. So, we all must do better. We must not only be where we are needed (our feet) and do what is needed (our hands) but we must take the time to truly listen to those with whom we are in any kind of relationship to fulfill our responsibility as human beings.

         Let us all take that message to heart. 

         But that’s not the end of the story. The commentary leaves me with one additional thought. 

         Ish Yehudi mentions hearing the cries of the Jewish people and that is essential for a rabbi and for any Jew.

         But God created us with two ears, and I believe that rabbis must use that second ear to hear the cries of those outside of the Jewish community, to hear the cries of anguish from those who are victims of violence, innocent victims of war and of those generally in need. Leaders of the Jewish people have a particular responsibility to hear our people’s cries but that other ear must be attuned to others in the world, and we must respond to those cries as well.

         And this applies to all of us. We are inclined not to hear the cries of the “other”. But there is no “other” when there are tears of pain. We can not ignore the cries we hear. This is particularly relevant, as I discuss at length in my podcast, as we consider the war in Gaza.

We must listen and let what we hear inspire our hands and our feet to go and do good work that needs to be done to quiet the cries that we hear. 

         May we all be better- and more universal- listeners. 

         I look forward to your responses to the idea of the book (title suggestions are welcome) and your thoughts on this piece. 

This past Shabbat, I delivered a d’var Torah in an area synagogue. The d’var Torah was based upon the same texts that I shared in my podcast episode this past week. You can hear that edition of my podcast at wrestlinganddreaming.podbean.com I shared some memories from my days in Junior Congregation learning from our beloved teacher Harry Kraft z”L which I will invite you to hear on the podcast. I will omit them here because they are much more effective as “oral Torah”.

The d’var Torah reflected on a difficulty in understanding a verse in the Torah. In the introduction to Shirat Hayam, the Song of the Sea, in Exodus chapter 15, we read: Az Yashir Moshe u’bnai Yisrael: “Then Moses and the children of Israel sang this song to God”. The question is: How did the people know what to sing?

The rabbis discuss this question in a text in the Talmudic tractate of Sotah. Three opinions are presented. The third of which is that the people sang along with Moses word for word, apparently through a miraculous prophetic ability.

But, the other two are more interesting. Rabbi Akiva states that the people only repeated the first two words of the song over and over again after each phrase that Moses recited. The people sang: Ashira L’adonai. “I will sing out to God.” All they had to do was repeat those two words.

The second opinion, that of Rabbi Eliezer the son of Rabbi Yossi Hagalili, is that the people repeated the very words that Moses sang phrase by phrase. They said different phrases but only after hearing them from Moses.

So, whether they repeated one phrase or said different phrases, they only sang what Moses told them to sing.

Did they ever grow up and sing on their own?

According to one rabbi, they did.

In a later text, Yalkut Shimoni, Rabbi Avin HaLevi said that they learned to sing on their own and forty years later, they did. In a verse in the book of Numbers, we read about a song about a well: “Az Yashir Yisrael” “Then Israel sang”. They sang on their own, without Moses’ lead.

I imagine Moshe Rabbenu, our consummate teacher, standing on the sidelines, listening to the voice of the people of Israel and feeling nachas, satisfaction, at the people now grown up and sharing their own words of praise.

In my years as a pulpit rabbi, working with bar and bat mitzvah students was one of my favorite parts of the job. I always tried to impress upon the young people how one of the most important parts of the bar or bat mitzvah service was the d’var Torah. They had the opportunity to teach Torah to the congregation. Instead of merely repeating the words that previous generations had chanted – the blessings, the reading of the Torah and the haftarah- they had the chance to move forward and, as it were, sing on their own. Hearing the chanting of sacred words in the manner of our ancestors is critical for continuity. But, hearing their own thoughts is critical for growth. I reminded them that if they had a personal commentary on the texts they read or if they shared their own personal opinion on an issue, not everyone would agree. But, hearing their voice was so important for the future because it gave people an insight into how at least one young person was thinking.

I concluded my d’var Torah with a reflection on a phenomenon taking place in the Jewish community today. I am not painting with a broad brush. I know that there are many exceptions to what I am about to describe but it is a reality that has been documented over and over again. It was the subject of a piece in the New York Times just two days ago and it is a reality in many Jewish families today.

I speak of the reality that many of our young people see the war in Gaza from a completely different perspective than their parents and grandparents do. Many are asking probing questions that older Jews are not asking. Many are learning from sources of information many of us quickly dismiss. And, many are questioning assumptions many of us take for granted.

I know that hearing these opinions can cause dismay, frustration or even anger. But, as difficult as it may be, I believe we need to listen to these voices. We need to validate our children and grandchildren’s right to hold their opinions. We need to listen to their concerns and their perspective. We need to make sure they hear our perspectives, and patiently but clearly explain why we feel as passionately about the issues as they do even if we see things completely differently. We can not let this issue draw a wedge between us and we need to be careful not to be quick to label them. We may not agree at all but we must be careful not to speak in words or tones which will alienate them from our tradition and our community.

Again, this is not meant to overgeneralize. They are many older Jews who have serious questions about Israel’s actions and many younger Jews who are passionate in their complete support of Israel.

But, the phenomenon can not be ignored.

We may not always sing the same words but we are still part of the same people.

As you may know, I record a weekly podcast entitled: Wrestling and Dreaming, Engaging Discussions on Judaism. You can access the podcast at wrestlinganddreaming.podbean.com and other sources for podcasts.

In this week’s edition, I discuss one of the most perplexing aspects of the Torah’s story of the Exodus. Why did God “harden Pharaoh’s heart” so that he would not listen to Moses’ plea to “let my people go”? Why was Pharaoh not given “free will” to make the decision on his own?

I invite you to listen to the podcast to hear the message in its entirety but I want to share here the major points that I raised.

First, I shared one of the ways in which traditional Torah commentators tried to explain this phrase while claiming that the king still had free will. I find those commentaries to be largely unsatisfying.

I then gave my own comment on this idea. While I certainly believe that we have free will and that God does not “micromanage” our lives, it is clear that the Torah is written from a different perspective at least regarding the Exodus. The Exodus from Egypt is presented as God’s plan that God had disclosed to Abraham hundreds of years before when God told him that his descendants would be slaves for 400 years and would leave with “great signs and wonders”. God has pre-planned all the details of the Exodus with the goal of bringing these “great signs and wonders” to the world.

In order to make that happen, God clearly uses Pharaoh is a tool in this story. Pharoah’s role in the “script” is to refuse to listen to Moses so that God would have reason to bring signs of power and strength-the plagues and the splitting of the sea- in order to make God’s reputation and name great to all who witnessed it- Egyptians and Hebrews alike.

Had Pharaoh agreed to Moses’ demands from the beginning, these expressions of power would never materialize. So, from the Torah’s perspective, there is no reason to make excuses for God’s “hardening Pharaoh’s heart”. It is an essential part of the story and it was all part of God’s plan to make God’s power known in the world.

But, unlike Pharoah, we are not captive to any script. We decide whether to be compassionate in any given situation and, in that spirit, there is one commentary which I particularly find meaningful. Many commentators point out that for the first several plagues, we read: “Pharaoh’s heart was hardened”. It is only after several plagues that we read: “God hardened Pharoah’s heart”. These commentaries point out that originally it was Pharaoh who hardened his own heart but that only after God saw that this was Pharaoh’s choice did God then make it impossible for Pharaoh to change his approach.

The lesson here is that when we act in a particular way, positively or negatively, we gather momentum to continue to act in that way. Whether we attribute it to God helping us go in the direction we choose to go or just see it as a matter of human nature, the truth is that one action or attitude leads to a similar action or attitude as we become accustomed to acting in a particular way.

Compassion, the opposite of hard heartedness, is one of the most foundational of all human emotions and one of the most vital. However, there may be certain times when we might decide that compassion should not guide our actions. For example, if survival as an individual or a nation is at stake, we might find that focusing on compassion would make us less able to do what is necessary to protect ourselves and those dear to us.

But, that being said, once we begin to minimize the importance of compassion, we run the risk that Pharaoh faced: becoming so accustomed to acting hard-heartedly that it becomes our modus operandi- the natural way in which we live our lives under all circumstances. We have to be extraordinarily careful for once we have decided that our lives are better without compassion, even in one instance, we find ourselves on a slippery slope which leads us to becoming truly hard-hearted and without any sense of compassion.

This is the lesson that we must learn, as individuals, as communities, and as nations. We suspend our inclination to be compassionate at a great cost.

         We are approaching the end of the holiday of Hanukkah. As you prepare to light the 8^thcandle tonight, it’s time for a question about the holiday that you might never have considered. It is a rather quirky question which some might consider trivial, but it has given rabbis throughout the centuries an opportunity for thinking about the nature of what we call “miracles” and the meaning the holiday has for us.

         Here is the question: According to the traditional story of Hanukkah, the Maccabees found a small jug of oil sealed with the seal of the High Priest indicating its appropriateness for lighting the menorah in the Temple. However, as we all know, the story teaches that there was only enough oil in the jug to burn for one day. A miracle took place and the oil burned for 8 days. So, given that, why do we light the menorah for 8 days in recognition of the miracle? It would seem that there were only 7 days of miracles as there was enough oil to burn naturally for one day.

         I love this question and I am fascinated by the answers that rabbis have given over the years. I am only going to share two of the answers here. I present a few others on my podcast this week which you can hear at wrestlinganddreaming.podbean.com and I invite you to listen to the episode entitled “Seven or Eight” which I posted this morning. But, even in my podcast, I can only offer some of the many answers that have been presented over the years.

         Before I offer the two answers which I find most meaningful, it is important to point out that the idea of celebrating Hanukkah for 8 days is explained independently of the oil story in the much earlier texts of the books of Maccabees in the Apocrypha.

         The dedication of the Temple in the time of Solomon lasted for 8 days so it would make sense that the “re-dedication” would also last 8 days. In addition, the second book of Maccabees connects the 8 day celebration with the fact that the Maccabees wanted to celebrate Sukkot which they had missed a few months before because of the war. So, they celebrated Sukkot for 8 days and then declared that future celebrations of the re-dedication would also last 8 days.

         But, to return to the question, here are two answers to the question as to why we celebrate the miracle of the oil for 8 days.

         First answer: some rabbis teach that 7 days of Hanukkah are for the miracle of the oil and the 8^th is to celebrate the military victory of the Maccabees which also was a miracle.

         This is really a critical thought because it must be viewed in the context of the Talmudic (and later) rabbis who adamantly and deliberately and the focus of the holiday from the celebration of a military victory to the celebration of a purely divine miracle of making 1 day of oil burn for 8 days.

         The rabbis had reasons for making this shift. It focused attention on God rather than on human power and, in an era of foreign domination, it was likely more prudent to downplay the idea of political rebellion the Maccabees represented. But, the story of the Maccabee’s faith and courage can not be forgotten and thus the mentioning of the Maccabees in the context of this question, even if it is “one” versus “seven”, is a critical reminder that we do not depend on divine miracles. Human beings must act rather than merely depend upon God.

         Another answer to the question focuses on the oil itself and claims that the very fact that a pure jug of oil was found after the desecration of the Temple was, in and of itself, a miracle. So, we light one light for the fact that the oil existed and then 7 lights for the miracle of its endurance.

         I love this answer because it reminds us that when we look for “miracles” around us and look for the things which make life significant and meaningful, we can often find them in the aspects of our life which are readily visible, which we might otherwise take for granted. 

         It is the very presence of those things always around us which make our lives meaningful and which can be the most spiritually uplifting and sacred.

         May the meaning of the celebration of Hanukkah continue to uplift us in the days ahead and inspire us to bring light to a world which so desperately needs light.