From The Bimah: Jewish Lessons For Life

I was out having a coffee last week with a friend. In our musings about the vagaries of life, the phrase, “If only” come up in conversation. How would our lives be different “if only?” Would they be better? Worse? If only we had done this and not that, or NOT done this or that? Our micro and macro decisions effect not only the trajectory of our lives, but the lives our family, friends, community and perhaps beyond. How different would our world be if for example Drew Bledsoe had not been injured? If the Challenger had not exploded? If Noah had argued with God? If Pharoh had decided to kill the girls? When and how does “If only” become, “If not now, when?”As always, Torah has a way of framing and addressing these philosophical questions. Looking forward to exploring with you on Shabbat morning “if, only” through the lens of society, Biblical text, and personal reflection.

February 8, 2025

What is the greatest miracle in Jewish history? Many would answer it is the one we read about this Shabbat – the splitting of the sea. Rarely, though, do we stop to notice another, perhaps equally astounding, miracle that happened when our ancestors reached the shore – they all broke out into song together. How did this happen? What did it look like? Why should we care?The vision of simultaneous song endures as an example of striking unity among our people. It is also fleeting. Today, division runs deep and unity remains fleeting. Does this song, or the other song from which Shabbat Shira gets its name, the song of Devorah, give us any insight helpful to our modern experience which is characterized by anything but simultaneous song? Join us tomorrow morning as we unpack what the Torah is trying to tell us about the possibility or impossibility of lasting unity (source sheethere).

February 1, 2025

There is a fascinating paradox at the core of human experience: we know what is required to live healthy, happy lives and yet, we often make choices that directly contradict our own well-being. This is well-documented. For example, the consequences of smoking cigarettes have been studied intensively, and the results of those studies have been widely publicized. And yet, experts estimate that there are still1.1 billion smokers world-wide, a number which has remained constant despite intensive efforts to protect public health. In other words, knowing what is healthy and what is not is not necessarily predictive of whether or not we will be able to actualize our own best interests.That's where our Torah is so important. As we open Exodus, we see a pattern that we know all too well. Pharaoh in the midst of a plague is open to change. With locusts devouring the land or under cover of darkness, Pharaoh repents and offers to change his behavior for the better. But as soon as the plague recedes, Pharaoh reverts t

Shimon The Righteous would say that the world stands upon three things: upon Torah, upon Avodah - the Temple Service, and upon G’milut Hasadim - acts of loving kindness. Since I am finishing my fifth month working with the teen community here at Temple Emanuel I thought that I would humbly reflect upon three stories that illustrate these three pillars of Jewish life, which point our compass as we continue to establish our teen community.

If you have not already done so, please take a couple of moments to watch this clip of the most famous part of Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde’s sermon at a prayer service this past Tuesday, the day after the inauguration, at the Washington National Cathedral. In class we will watch this clip together before our study and conversation. Here are some questions we will consider together: What do you think of her message? What does it say about our nation now that Bishop Budde’s message—have mercy—can ignite so much emotion and controversy? How do you think it felt to be Bishop Budde delivering that message in that moment to the new President, to the nation, and to the world? How do Jewish sources help us interpret this moment? Tomorrow we will look at two prophets who speak truth to power: Nathan, who tells King David that he was immoral; and Jeremiah, who is nearly killed by a mob for saying that if the Judaeans do not change their ways, Babylon will destroy the Temple and exile the people. Does speaking truth

For 469 days, ever since October 7, every morning, and every evening, at our daily minyan, we pray for the IDF, that God should guard and protect Israel’s courageous and heroic soldiers. We pray that God return our hostages safely to their families. We say Mourner’s Kaddish as a community, as part of am Yisrael, for Israel’s fallen soldiers. Occasionally, somebody will ask: how much longer? How much longer will we offer these prayers? No one knows for sure, but the general answer has to be something like: We will keep praying for the IDF for as long as Israel is at war. We will keep praying for the hostages as long as the hostages are stuck in Gaza. And we will keep saying Kaddish as long as soldiers keep dying in combat. Just this week, 5 more IDF soldiers were killed in northern Gaza. If you read the article in the Times of Israel, it just breaks your heart. You see pictures of these five idealistic, noble, beautiful young people. So incredibly, heartbreakingly young: Cpt. Yair Yakov Shushan, 23; S

This week we begin the Exodus story which offers humanity a one-two punch. First, a cruel new Pharaoh who demonizes a vulnerable and marginalized minority and commands “all his people, saying: Every boy that is born you shall throw into the Nile, but let every girl live.” Exodus 1-22. In other words, baby-killing is state policy. Infanticide is the law of the land. Second, in the face of such cruelty, in all of Egypt, only two people, Shifrah and Puah, stand up to resist. At most two in a whole land fight against manifest cruelty. The rest of the country went along. Why only two? Where was everybody else? How to explain indifference to manifest immorality? In class we will not only read the story of Shifra and Puah, but also a piece of stunning biblical scholarship by an Israeli scholar named Judy Klitsner which sees the Exodus story as what she calls the “subversive sequel” to the Tower of Babel story in Genesis. Brilliant insight which will leave us thinking: what does all of this mean to us now?

There is a new form of loss in the world, and it is spreading like wildfire. We know what it is like to lose a person we love. Our mother dies. Our father dies. Our grandparent or sibling or friend dies. There is a Hebrew word for that, and it comes from the Joseph story. After the brothers sold Joseph into slavery, older brother Reuben observes hayeled einenu, Joseph is no more. And when that happens, the person we love dies and is no more, it is usually sad, sometimes tragic, and always a huge, paradigm-shifting change. The one we love is no more. How will we do life without the one we love? But we are set up for it. Our tradition has equipped us with the rituals that will help us get through it. We have shiva. We have sheloshim. We have minyan. We have kaddish. We have yahrtzeit. We have the words to say and the deeds to do in the comfort of a community that enable us both to mourn our loss and also affirm our life. But now there is a new form of loss. We don’t have the rituals and tradition

How is it with your soul? In her book on evangelical Christianity, Circle of Hope, Eliza Griswold shares the centrality of that question in helping people understand one another. How is it with your soul? Do I wake up angry and aggrieved, and spend my energy honking the horn, sending flaming emails, taking offense, looking for a fight? Do I wake up feeling grateful for the good in my life? Do I wake up rattled and unsettled or centered and anchored? What shapes our soul? What shapes our inner life? Can we control it? Can we intentionally become less angry, more grateful, less rattled, more serene? Tomorrow morning we will look at the inner life of Joseph and David as they are dying—an abject lesson in how our deeds shape our souls, and how our souls shape our deeds.

January 4, 2025

Earlier in the year, Taffy Brodesser-Akner wrote about her father's friend who was kidnapped at knife-point 50 years ago. It was a powerful piece--both for the thoughtful discussion of this original trauma and its impact on her and on her family friend. But the real story wasn't the kidnapping, nor the way the kidnapping re-ignited memories of her own lived traumas. The real story was that her article inspired countless emails from total strangers who reached out to share their own stories of trauma. Six months after her original article, Taffy published a second reflection titled, "I Published a Story about Trauma. I Heard About Everyone Else's." As humans, we are desperate to share our stories. And, when we tell our stories it doesn't just give us the opportunity to connect, those stories can have a healing affect on our emotional well-being and on the trajectory of our lives. There is a whole school of psychotherapy called narrative theory and practice whereby mental health practitioners help people to p

One of the most magnetic moments drawing us to shul is the observance of a yahrtzeit, the anniversary of our loved one’s passing, which offers us a precious opportunity to show up again for our beloved departed, to say a few words about them, and to recite Kaddish in their memory. Ordinary people who do not show up at shul all that much the rest of the year show up for their loved one’s yahrtzeit. That is through all the seasons. That is through the snow and the cold and the ice. And they do that for years, for decades, sometimes even remembering their loved one in death far longer than they were blessed to have them in life. And when somebody comes to mark their loved one’s yahrtzeit, a thing we often say is: may you continue to be your loved one’s living legacy. May your father’s beautiful values live on in you. May your mother’s beautiful values live on in you. We say it. We mean it. It is beautiful and true. I have been saying it, and I have been receiving it when others say it to me, for many yea

I have a thought experiment for you. In honor of Hanukkah, which begins Wednesday night, find a photograph of you lighting Hanukkah candles with your family from 25 years ago. Take a good long look at that old photo. How does it make you feel? For many of us, it can be complicated. On the one hand, there is a certain wistful beauty to it. Our children were so young and small and cute. We were so much younger. Our parents were alive, standing with our children, three generations lighting candles. What a blessing. On the other hand, there can be a certain wistful melancholy to it. Our children are grown and gone and out of the house. We don’t see them every day like we used to. Our parents have passed. We were not only younger back then but also healthier. Before the back pain. Before the hip pointer. Back when we used to be able to run and play tennis whenever we wanted and climb up and down stairs without even thinking about it. An old photo is a mixed bag. My late father in love used to say: “The

Immediately ahead are seven years of great abundance in all the land of Egypt. After them will come seven years of famine, and all the abundance in the land of Egypt will be forgotten. (Genesis 41: 29-30) Truer words were never spoken. Joseph’s interpretation of how lean years swallow up fat years, how bad times swallow up good times, how seventy years of life and health get swallowed up by a decade of dementia, when we struggle to remember what our loved one used to be like—his words were true for ancient Egypt, and they are true for us. In his commentary on Joseph’s interpretation, Rashi picks up on this note of swallowing. Bad swallows good. What have you done for me lately? The recency bias is so powerful. Like the thin ears of corn that swallow the fat ears of corn, like the scrawny cows that swallow the robust cows, today’s truth crowds out yesterday’s truth. In sports, in the economy, in culture, the fact that a team used to win, that the economy used to be strong, that a singer used to belt out num

The volume of outrage in our world has hit a crescendo. All the time I hear questions like, “how can you bear to be around someone who voted like that?!” or “how can you stand working with people who are so anti-Zionist or who are so pro-Israel?” As if people who do not rage against those they disagree with are somehow condoning or supporting evil perspectives. Young people, already stressed by the pressures of their own lives, feel pressured to respond to hateful social media posts and/or to present content that will fight against what they see as evil lies. Everything is pitched as though the conversation is an existential battle between good and evil and each one of us is either fighting for good or conceding to forces of evil. We saw this so sharply this week. When Luigi Mangione murdered Brian Thompson in broad daylight, the story on the street and on social media wasn’t about a horrific crime against humanity. People lionized Luigi, they asked him on dates, they offered to be his alibi, they fundrai

The murder last week of CEO Brian Thompson on the streets of New York in broad daylight inspired large-scale celebration. The article from the Times and social media posts show delight in his murder; the celebration of his murderer as a hero. What is wrong with us? How could thousands of Americans celebrate murder? There is an ugliness and hate in our nation now. Is there any way to heal it? Our reading this week deals with violence in a violent place, Shechem: the rape of Dinah, the revenge of Simon and Levi. Violence often leads to more violence. Hate to more hate. Ugliness to more ugliness. But are those cycles inevitable? What do we learn from this violent story about how to heal the hate in our world now, if healing is even possible? In the wake of Brian Thompson’s murder, much has been written and spoken about anger, outrage, fury at the health insurance industry’s denials and delays which have led to death and dying during people’s most vulnerable times. Does our Torah offer us a better way to respo

On a Tuesday in late October, 2022, Jared Goff, a quarterback for the Detroit Lions, was summoned to a meeting in the office of his coach Dan Campbell. The summons gave Jared Goff a pit in his stomach. He figured he was going to be benched or released—fired. Some version of bad news felt inevitable. Goff had begun his career with the Los Angeles Rams, who had traded him to the Detroit Lions for the Lions’ former quarterback, Matthew Stafford. In his first year, Stafford led the Rams to a Super Bowl victory. But Goff’s first year for the Lions was a disaster. The team went 3-13-1. His second season started out just as bad: one win, six losses, including an ugly loss that Sunday in which Goff played terribly. Hence the summons to the coach’s office. When he got to the coach’s office, to Goff’s surprise, Coach Campbell did not have bad news. He had a good question. Jared, you are a much better player than the way you have been playing. What do you think is going on? What do you think you might do di

Is everything going to be okay? We live with that question every day. Is everything going to be okay with Israel? December 7, marks 14 months of war, and the situation is still murky, unresolved and painful for all. This week when he was in dialogue with Michelle, Donniel Hartman was real, and real was not upbeat. Is everything going to be okay with our country? We are a 50-50 nation. Both halves have deep convictions and deep anxieties. The side that is not in power is worried. Is everything going to be okay with ourselves and our loved ones? When we face serious challenges—relational, emotional, physical, financial, professional—will we emerge okay on the other end? What kind of prayer is helpful when we worry whether everything is going to be okay? The Torah offers us a primer of two different models of prayer, same person, same anxiety, same dread fear, twenty years apart. Young Jacob running away from home worries that Esau will kill him. Older Jacob coming back home to Canaan worries that Esau will