From The Bimah: Jewish Lessons For Life

Listen to a fantastic Thanksgiving weekend sermon with Rabbi Michelle Robinson

Last week, I came across a fascinating article in the New York Times Magazine. Kim Tingley, in her article “‘Nature’s Swiss Army Knife’: What can we Learn from Venom ?” writes about the incredible potential of highly toxic reptile and insect venom to provide pharmaceutical miracles. It turns out that reptile and inspect venom contains hundreds, even thousands of molecules, which each have the ability to act in powerful ways on the human body. In the aggregate, the venom can have disastrous consequences. But applied strategically and sparingly, these compounds can make a world of difference. Take, for example, the wildly popular weight-loss drugs Ozempic, Wegovy, Mounjaro, and Zepbound. These drugs were created from research into a venomous reptile called the Gila monster which lives mostly underground in southern Arizona and northern Mexico. It’s a very striking lizard—typically they have a black head and matching black tongue, black legs, and a tiger-like pattern of orange and black down their back and tail.

Dear friends, There is a fascinating paradox in our Torah reading this week. On the one hand, we've spent these last weeks reading about the trials and tribulations of our ancestors. In our Talmud class, we've discussed how loss, trauma, and pain shape their lives. We've seen how they suffer from dislocation, dashed hopes, and painful interpersonal dynamics. And yet, at the end of their lives, the Torah focuses not on the challenges they've endured but on the complete and total blessing of their lives. We are taught that each and every one of Sarah's 127 years was equally good. We are taught that God blessed Abraham in everything. How can this be? Is it possible that Sarah's years of infertility and strife were as good as the years she spent showering her son, Isaac, with love? Could it be that God's blessing for Abraham included dislocation, war, and the dissolution of the family he so yearned for? Or is it possible that the blessing and goodness that our ancestors experienced was less about what objecti

What does Naftali Herstik, a pre-eminent cantor at the Great Synagogue in Jerusalem for 30 years, have in common with Bobby Allison, who was one of the greatest race car drivers in American history, who won 85 NASCAR races over 30 years? One is an all-time great cantor. The other is an all-time great race car driver. They both recently passed away. But they share something important in common in how they lived which speaks to one of the greatest mysteries of the Torah—the meaning of the binding of Isaac, akeidat Yitzchak, in our portion this morning. This terrifying story is famously incomprehensible. God commands Abraham to bind his own son Isaac and offer him up as a burnt offering. How could God command such a thing? How could Abraham have been prepared to do it? Perhaps the wisest word I ever heard about this story was from Rabbi Simon Greenberg, a great teacher at the Seminary, who taught rabbinical students: don’t even try to teach this story. It makes no sense. Teach something else. But then

We are plumb in the middle of two of the hardest stories in the Torah. Genesis 16:1-16 tells of Sarai’s continued inability to get pregnant, which leads her to assign her servant Hagar (literally the stranger) to Abram so that she might conceive a child with Abram who would somehow be reckoned as Sarai’s child. When Abram and Hagar have relations, she gets pregnant right away. It does not go well. The two women hurt one another. “Abraham cohabited with Hagar and she conceived; and when she (Hagar) saw that she had conceived, her mistress (Sarai) was lowered in her (Hagar’s) esteem.” 16:4. Which led to: “Then Sarai treated her (Hagar) harshly, and she ran away from her.” 16:6. That was in last week’s reading. This week tells the familiar story (the Torah reading for Rosh Hashanah day 1) of the birth of Isaac, which leads Sarah to direct Abraham to expel Hagar and Ishmael from their home into the wilderness. 21: 9-21. Not Sarah’s finest moment: “Cast out that slave woman and her son, for the son of that slave s

November 9, 2024

A consequential week, in America and in Israel. How can Torah help us become better versions of ourselves? How can Torah help us become better citizens here and better lovers and supporters of Israel? This week we begin the Abraham story. Why Abraham? Why did God pick him? We know that God picked him, but we have no idea as to why. In his essay A Palace in Flames, the late Rabbi Jonathan Sacks offers three explanations based on three different midrashic traditions. One, Abraham was an iconoclast. He fought against existing thinking. His friends, family and neighbors worshipped idols. He smashed idols. They are undeserving of our praise. He had the courage to stand alone. Two, Abraham was a philosopher. He thought deeply and clearly about reality. With his powers of rational thought he understood that idols did not create the world. Three, Abraham was an activist. He saw a world on fire, a world struggling with evil, and he was determined to be a force for justice and righteousness. He knew that God needed

On the morning of Kol Nidrei—Friday, October 11 to be exact—my colleagues and I were doing a Kabbalat Shabbat service with our youngest learners, our preschool children who range in age from 15 months to 5 years old.  Yom Kippur was in the air. Kol Nidrei with all its solemnity, was in 9 hours.  How to convey Kol Nidrei intensity to our youngest learners? So I asked them: what is your favorite Jewish holiday?  One hand after another shot up.  The first young child answered:  Halloween!  The second learner spoke up: Halloween! And so it would go.  Surprisingly, not a single child said Yom Kippur was their favorite Jewish holiday.  No three-year-old said I just love Unetaneh Tokef.  The clear choice for favorite Jewish holiday of our youngest learners is Halloween. I have been thinking about their response, and while of course Halloween is not a Jewish holiday, in a deep way, they are right.  Holidays are supposed to be joyful. What is more joyful than Halloween the way we practice it today?  It’s about parents

The biblical character Lot presents a unique challenge. He appears in three portions, Noach this week, Lekh L’kha next week, and Va-yera two weeks from now. He is a supporting actor in multiple chapters in Genesis: chapters 11, 12, 13, 14, and 19. And yet no one ever talks about him. We don’t mine his story. We avoid him. There is good reason why we stay away from Lot. The end of his story is gross, in fact doubly gross. Incomprehensibly, he offers his two virgin daughters to the rapists of Sodom in a bizarre attempt to protect the visitor/angels from being raped. After God destroys Sodom, and Lot and his daughters escape to a cave, those daughters get him drunk, sleep with him, get pregnant, and thereby create the nations of the Moabites and Ammonites. Yuck. The cringe factor of these two concluding Lot stories explains why we never talk about Lot. But Lot has a lot to teach us. What do we learn from the early and middle parts of his story that can help explain its unspeakable end? Lot’s story is a caut

The question always is, what’s next? And the answer is, let’s be together. What’s next? This is a question that weighs on me in every facet of my life. My son Avishai, who many of you know well after his many years at Hebrew school here and around at services, for a long time would have the same question for us when we first woke up. “What’s for dinner?” And, truthfully, we hardly ever knew. It’s hard enough to keep of track of who is getting who to where they need to be when. So the thought of what any combination of us will be eating, 12 hours later, is impossibly daunting. Despite our best efforts to have a routine for the five of us, we find ourselves taking it one day at a time, one hour at a time, one moment at a time. My phone is constantly reminding me, what’s next. Meetings, appointments, commitments - I feel very busy. And when I speak to my friends in my age group and demographic, they also project as being very busy. We sometimes wear busy-ness as a badge of honor, proof that we are worthy of t

How are we to understand the death of the leader of Hamas, and the mastermind and architect of October 7, Yahya Sinwar? Does his death mean that an end to the war, and the beginning of the day after, is closer? Or should Israel’s military continue the fight? What will Sinwar’s death mean for our hostages? These questions are hugely important and above my pay grade. Our question this morning is how do Jewish values help us interpret this moment?

Sukkot October 18, 2024

When I was growing up, we spent a lot of time with my Grandpa Gene feeding the geese. My Mom kept a 50 lb. bag of birdseed in the car, and, even when Sir Grandfather, as he liked to be called, was not feeling well, we would drive to the pond, and he would sit and watch from the front seat as we tossed out birdseed to grateful honks. My grandfather also had this superpower. He could spot any flock of birds in the sky and would just know exactly the number of birds in an instant. He would look up and say 39 or 17 or 22 and we would start counting and a minute later, we would confirm his internal knowing. I loved my grandfather, and I loved the time we spent together, but I did not love birds. My mom and sister spent hours learning the different names and calls and colorings of all the local birds, but not me. I did not want to learn more. If someone would say to me, “wow, that’s a beautiful bird—do you know what kind it is?” I would always say definitively, “yes, that’s a mongor.” If they really didn’t know,

October 12, 2024

One quiet Shabbat morning in August, a long-time member comes in and says, Rabbi, I turn 93 today.  Can I have an Aliyah?  I said of course. We’d love to give you an Aliyah.   Just want you to know one thing. You are a youngster. A youngster?  I’m turning 93 today.  How is that a youngster? I pointed in the direction of a woman who was sitting with her children, grandchildren and extended mishpacha.  I said we are doing an Aliyah today for that woman surrounded by her family because she just turned 103. Without skipping a beat, he says:  Is she single? That’s what I want to talk about today.   The good stuff.  The lightness, the laughter, the loveliness, that have been so hard to come by this past year.  There has obviously been a deep heaviness all year.  And we are not done with that heaviness.   The wars are ongoing. Our worry is ongoing.  The heartbreak caused by Helene and Milton is ongoing.  And yet, we are not wired to live in heaviness indefinitely.  We cannot live in heaviness indefinitely. We crave

October 11, 2024

Rabbi David Wolpe tells a classic story of speaking to a group of American Jews  in Tulsa, Oklahoma at their JCC about God.  He was trying to make the case that God loves them.  But he could see that his words were not resonating.  Being the seasoned speaker that he is, he decided to take a bit of a gamble.  He stopped his prepared remarks and said:  If you think God loves you, please rise.  In the entire large amphitheater which sat hundreds of people, exactly one person stood up.  So Rabbi Wolpe tried again.  If you think God loves you, please stand up.  Nobody else got up.  Just the one man standing.  At last Rabbi Wolpe turned to that man and said, Sir, you believe that God loves you? I do indeed, he said.  What is your name?  Oral Roberts. Oral Roberts was a Christian televangelist.  He was the only one in the Jewish Community Center that believed that God loves us. That lack of ease with God is built into our very name: Israel, the one who struggles with God.  This story happened years before October 7

As the horrors of October 7th were unfolding, a common reaction was “ein milim,” no words. But it is not surprising that Hebrew poetry soon appeared that gave expression to the nation’s raw feelings and emotions. Our teacher Rachel Korazim, our member Michael Bohnen and Heather Silverman of California have recently published a moving anthology of those poems which they have translated to English. Their book, Shiva: Poems of October 7, is available on Amazon, and all royalties go to the Israel Trauma Coalition for their work with victims of that terrible day and its aftermath. This Shabbat morning, October 5, Michael leads us in a discussion of a selection of those poems. They cover a wide range of reactions to tragedy, including poems about: • A voice mail message left on October 7 • A depiction of terror • Challenging God • Praying for the return of a child taken hostage • Answering a child’s questions about death • A soldier emotionally impacted by his service returns home • A now sad poem of hope by He

Years ago, I was talking with our preschool learners, 3- and 4-year-olds, about God. Not sure what I was thinking that day. I was a young rabbi, fresh out of the Seminary. So I turned to very young learners and asked: have you ever seen God? As you might predict, it did not go well. There was a long, awkward silence. Nobody raised their hand. Nobody said a word. I did not know how to get out of this jam. And then mercifully one child at last, sheepishly, raised her hand. I have seen God, she said. You did? You saw God? When did you see God? I saw God at Logan Airport when we came back from vacation. Logan Airport? Where at Logan Airport? In the bathroom. In the bathroom? How did you see God in the bathroom? I was on the potty. When I got up from the potty, God flushed my toilet. How do we see what we see? How do we know what we know? In his new book How to Know a Person, David Brooks offers the following thought experiment. Imagine that you are in a bedroom with your eyes closed. You are

October 3, 2024