Pesach Yizkor Compilation 2017, 2018, 2019

by Motzen | Apr 7, 2020 | Sermons

Please find 3 old Pesach drashas/ sermons for you to read from home this Pesach. They are all Yizkor sermons though Yizkor will not be said until the final day of Pesach on April 16^th. I hope to send a new sermon for that time.

Pesach Yizkor 2019 – Notre Dame’s Caretakers Failed. Will We?

“I learned that Notre-Dame was burning on Monday night when a stranger — an older man — stopped me on the street. A shrieking ambulance had just sped past us. He pointed to a plume of smoke in the distance, and said: “It’s going to Notre-Dame. Notre-Dame is on fire.”

So begins an article by Pamela Druckerman of the New York Times, titled, We Were the Caretakers of Notre Dame. We Failed.

She continues: “The French don’t spend much time in churches. Though most of the population is nominally Catholic, France is one of the least religious countries in Europe. Urbane, intellectual Parisians often dismiss religion as archaic and unenlightened. A Parisian writer once assured me that God died in the late 1960s.

And yet, the fire at Notre-Dame feels as if it has struck everyone here. Drone footage of the fire showed the cross-shaped building entirely in flames. When President Emmanuel Macron came on national TV around 11:30 p.m., with the still-burning structure behind him, he called it “the cathedral of all the French, even those who were never here.”

It’s partly that, at 856 years old, Notre-Dame has witnessed much of French history. It’s where Henry VI was crowned, and Napoleon became emperor… Though most Parisians don’t visit often — and some never do — Notre-Dame is more than just a tourist attraction or a historic monument. It sits in the middle of the city, walking distance from practically everywhere, on the bank of the river that divides the city. Residents might not have fully realized it until Monday, but I think it reassured them to know that at the heart of their highly planned city was someplace entirely non-rational and non-Cartesian. Notre-Dame’s hulking, Gothic presence has long suggested that there is something mysterious and unknowable at the center of it all.”

Druckerman concludes with the lament: “There’s … a shared sadness and disappointment that, with the extensive damage, we’ve failed, as a civilization, to be the caretakers of something priceless.” End quote

It’s a building, of course, and in light of the terrible atrocities that took place this past week in Sri Lanka, in some ways it feels morally out of sync to be mourning the destruction of a building when innocent people were cut down, but we do mourn the cathedral of Notre Dame. We mourn because of what this building – and its demise represented, namely, as Druckerman put it, “our failure, as a civilization, to preserve something priceless.”

My colleague, Rabbi Avi Goldstein, drew my attention to the parallel between the cathedral of Notre Dame and Pesach. ((In his (lightly edited) words,)) “Jews regardless of their backgrounds and levels of religious observance observe the Seder. Many, who wouldn’t think twice of eating pork during the year, on Pesach are careful to avoid eating bread at all costs. The dedication to Pesach isn’t just because it’s Thanksgiving without the turkey but with more wine… There is something much deeper here. All Jews, regardless of how secular a life they lead, understand that there’s something unbelievably unique about being Jewish. The Atheistic Jew, the Agnostic Jew, the Hedonistic Jew, the Buddhist Jew, the “leave me alone I’m living the American Dream” Jew, somewhere deep inside understand that there’s something transcendent about the heritage they’ve inherited. It may not find expression throughout the year. Shabbos maybe a day for golf or the mall, they may have forgotten exactly what happened on Shavuot, but that spark finds expression on Seder night. Why? Why is that?

Because the Seder is a magical night. The Seder is the night of Jewish identity. The Seder is the night when we formally transmit our Jewishness to the next generation. In the company of grandparents and grandchildren, with wine stained Maxwell House haggadahs, the charoset recipe that’s been in our family for generations, we tell our kids the Jewish story. Our story. We tell them why we’re Jewish. And why they should stay Jewish. We tell them where we’re from, what we’ve endured throughout the millennia and that we pray that next year we should be in Jerusalem. Like the effect of Notre-Dame’s hulking, Gothic presence on secular Parisians, so too, even for the most secular Jew, the hulking, ancient presence of the Pesach Seder has long reminded us that there is something mysterious and precious about Judaism.”

And very much like that ancient cathedral, our heritage, tragically, seems to also be going up in flames. Yes, we have come out of the ashes of the Holocaust, yes, we have defied all odds with the establishment of a State, and yes, there is Torah knowledge today on levels that are unparalleled in our past. But with an assimilation rate outside of Orthodox Jews, hovering over 70%, with apathy, disinterest, and cynicism, fermenting from within our most observant ranks, relying on some miracle to extinguish this fire seems fanciful. Assuming that our traditions and our faith will survive the inferno on its own seems irresponsible at best.

Experts have made it clear that the destruction of the cathedral could have been prevented. But those charged with its upkeep decided not to put in firewalls, they decided not to put in sprinklers, they decided not to take the necessary steps to prevent its demise. As the EU’s top cultural official said last week, “We are so used to our outstanding cultural heritage in Europe that we tend to forget that it needs constant care and attention.”

We too are so used to our outstanding Jewish heritage, that we tend to forget that it needs constant care and attention. There is no guarantee that those who celebrated the Pesach seder this past year, will celebrate it again in the year to come. We all know people who used to celebrate Pesach and do so no longer.

So how do we do our part in ensuring that this trend gets reversed? What are the fire walls and sprinklers of Judaism? How do we contribute to the safety and the preservation of our beautiful heritage?

This past week, I took my children to an entertainment complex. My six-year-old, Shira, was very excited about the bumper cars and she asked me to watch her. So I stood there watching her and this is what she did. She got in line. There was no line, there weren’t too many people there. The gates opened, she got onto an orange bumper car that was parked right by the exit. The bell rings, engines rev up, and my daughter just sat there in the corner without steering. She just sat there in her orange car for the entire time. Second bell rings, everyone is asked to leave their car. My Shira exits the car and runs to the front of the line to go ride on the bumper cars again. Gate opens and she gets back on the same orange bumper car in the corner and does the same thing once again.

So I finally turn to her and say, “Shira, what are you doing? You just sat in your car in the corner the whole time, and now you’re going back again. What’s the point?”

She explained to me, as only a six-year-old could, that she was sitting in that car in the corner so that when the session was over, she’d be closest to the exit, she’d be able to run out first and therefore be the first in line, so she could get the same car for the next session… brilliant!

But it’s not just six-year-olds on bumper cars who have this childish thinking – we all do! That orange bumper car by the exit is the Shabbos that I experience the same way, every week, every week. That orange bumper car is the prayers that I pray whenever I pray, the same way, every time. That orange bumper car is the Pesach Seder I experience the same way my parents did, every year, exactly the same. I just sit there – and I enjoy sitting there like my daughter enjoyed sitting there – and then I get out until I come back and do it again, in exactly the same fashion.

But there’s no point in just doing it over and over again! In just imitating our past! Preservation needs constant care and attention! It needs our investment of time and energy, not just a rote imitation of what was. The nostalgia will wear off. Nostalgia isn’t enough to keep us going!

I want to share with you a story which I may have shared in the past but it’s certainly worth reviewing. In Chassidic communities they have something called a badchan. A Badchan is a jester. And the jester performs at wedding and special occasions. There is a story that at one of the Gerrer Rebbe’s children’s weddings they had hired a prominent badchan to enhance the simcha. So the badchan began by poking fun at the couple and after a few minutes proceeded to make fun of the Rebbe. Now you see the Rebbe had a very distinctive way of davening. He would shuckle in a very peculiar way, close his eyes, wave his hands- and the badchan, the jester proceeded to imitate the Rebbe perfectly. The whole room was laughing hysterically at his replication of the Rebbe’s prayers. And then all of a sudden, to the jester’s horror, he noticed that the Rebbe, this grand and great rabbi, was crying. This was a chassid’s worst nightmare to insult the Rebbe. He immediately stopped his act and ran up to the Rebbe, threw himself at the Rebbe’s feet and apologized.

“Rebbe, Rebbe,” he cried, “I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to insult you; I was just doing an imitation. Please, please forgive me!”

The Rebbe took the jesters’ hand and held it in his own. He said, “My dear friend I am not insulted that you imitated me. That’s not why I’m crying. I’m crying, because as I watched you perfectly imitate my davening, I realized that so often I too am just going through the motions. I realized that more often than not, I am just imitating myself.”

We’re all just sitting in our orange cars, waiting for the next ride, we’re all just imitating ourselves, we’re all just imitating our past. But to preserve, we need more.

Pesach is the quintessential holiday of memories – Zecher litzias Mitzrayim. Yizkor is the ultimate time to remember – yizkereim Elokeinu l’tova. But memories in Judaism, are not a time to simply get misty-eyed. Memories in Judaism, paradoxically, are fuel for change. V’zocher chasdei avos umeivi go’el livnei v’neihem. G-d remembers our past and changes our future! That’s Jewish memory. Jewish memory is about change, about development, about constantly pushing for more. And to be clear, to preserve our past, we need not necessarily do more, we need to do better, we need to do deeper.

Meaning, I remember the meaningful Seder of my parents and because of that I will make an even more meaningful seder! I remember the charity and the good deeds my parents did, and in their memory, I will give of myself even more! I remember the Shabbos, the prayers, the Judaism, and add to it! That’s how we ensure that our heritage is not consumed in the fires of indifference.  

We are the caretakers of our heritage. It’s beautiful. It’s magnificent. But we dare not take it for granted. We dare not fail those who came before us, nor those, who with G-d’s help, will come after us. And so I ask you on this day dedicated to memory, at this time dedicated to memory, to think about what you already do, Shabbos, Pesach, Yizkor, whatever it may be, and to do it deeper. To ask yourself how I could make these practices more meaningful to me and to my family. To learn more about them to study them, to ask questions and try to understand them.

Our Sages teach us that a parent is never jealous of a child. We know our parents had great nachas in us surpassing them professionally, intellectually, and most certainly they will only have great joy in us surpassing them Jewishly as well. Let us cherish the memories of our past and let us use them to preserve and to build an even greater future.

Pesach Yizkor 2017 – Beyonce and My Mother

Ambition and serenity. Accomplishment and acceptance. Change and stability. Future and present. Creation and cultivation.  

These are but a few of the conflicting pulls and pushes that we find ourselves torn between; a constant charge to change and to conquer on the one hand, and a sense of silence and serenity on the other.

Historically, different cultures embraced one direction over the other. The Western world, for years, has placed progress on its altar of worship. From the Industrial Revolution and onward, it has been one steady climb higher and higher on the ladder of achievement. Just the same, in the Eastern cultures of the world, the present was chosen over the future. They embraced a sense of being over becoming, contentment over desire.

In fact, David Landes, in his book the Wealth and Poverty of Nations, argues that despite the fact that the East was far more advanced than the West, the Industrial Revolution took place in Europe and not in China precisely because the East embraced the here and now, while the West valued moving forward.

In more recent years, the lines have blurred. CEO’s of Fortune 500 companies pride themselves in doing yoga between conference calls, and the Western version of success has taken root across the globe. Lawyers meditate and Buddhists have Twitter accounts. All of us recognize the need for these two all-important directions, the drive for more, and the need to put on the brakes. What we’re challenged with is balancing the two and living a healthy life with the appropriate dose of each.

Rabbi Yehuda HaLevi, author of the Kuzari, argues that this is precisely the purpose of the Torah, to provide our lives with equilibrium. Six days a week we toil, one day a week we rest, allowing ourselves to find the Divinely-ordained balance between future-thinking and appreciating the moment.

Not only does the Torah address this conflict, it addresses them all. Today we celebrate a holiday with good food, singing, and friends, and tomorrow we begin the mourning period of Sefira, a time during which no weddings take place, live music is frowned upon, and haircuts are forbidden. There is Purim and there is Tisha B’av. It’s important to laugh but it’s also important to cry. The laws of Kosher teach us an allowance to indulge but also to restrain. The laws of Taharat HaMishpacha, of Family Purity, are directed at this same tension. The Torah acknowledges the value of everything but seeks to guide us in finding the perfect balance.

And so in this worldview, the laws of the Torah are not an arbitrary set of instructions. They are a blueprint for finding equilibrium in our lives, and through the Mitzvos, through the vast body of Jewish Law we are taught a perspective, an implicit education about the Jewish approach to life. Yes, it is a set of laws, black and white, and sometimes grey. But they are laws that are meant to paint a colorful picture of values and of principals which should make up our worldview.

Let me give you an example. Yesterday, my wife came home from Seven-Mile with hot dog buns. Hot dog buns! What a shanda! It was the first time we had hot dogs during Pesach in my life! Now these hot dog buns were obviously not bread but made out of potato starch. My children, not realizing this, immediately went to the sink to wash their hands before eating what they thought to be bread!

So let me ask you, is it or is it not appropriate to eat potato starch hot dog buns on Pesach? On the one hand, the Torah does not want us eating bread on Pesach; there’s a value being taught, not only a law, so maybe fake bread shouldn’t be eaten either! On the other hand, the Torah dictates what bread is, and potato starch is not bread! 

Yes, I did it eat the hot dog buns, but it’s not so simple when you look at the laws as values and not simply a set of rules.

The Kabbalists take this one step further. They explain that just like individual laws teach us principles, just like Kosher teaches us the need for balance between indulgence and restraint, just like Shabbos teaches us the balance between striving and accepting, so too the laws that relate to men and women, the laws that distinguish between men and women, represent and teach us about the delicate balance between the opposing poles that we began with, between ambition and serenity, between accomplishment and acceptance, between change and stability, between future and present, and between creating and cultivating.

So for example, in Halacha, Jewish Law, men are obligated in saying Shema twice a day, putting on Tefillin, wearing Tzitzis, circumcision, and about ten other Mitzvot that women are exempt from. In Jewish literature, Torah study is emphasized for men and in that same literature, prayer is emphasized for women.

Is that to say that women cannot understand the depth of the Talmud like a man? No, that’s ridiculous. Is that to say that a man cannot pray like a woman? No, that’s equally ridiculous.

What it is perhaps saying is that G-d, in creating two genders, and G-d, in creating differences in the laws that govern those genders, sought to ensure a sense of equilibrium in the world. Prayer is a tool to cultivate a relationship and Torah study, and those aforementioned laws are tools to change the way we think and to transform the physical world. Through the holidays, through the laws, and even through people, G-d created a sense of differentiation to create a sense of balance. Just like abstaining from work on Shabbos brings a sense of ‘being’ and acceptance into our lives, a woman who is exempt from certain laws or who has certain Mitzvot emphasized, brings precisely the same values into our lives, while the men with their emphasis on Mitzvos that change and transform bring their yin to the women’s yang, and together they create a balance in the world.       

And just like we asked with the potato-starch hot dog bun, should the bun be eaten or not? We similarly grapple with what precisely are the values that are meant to be taught through this gender-divide.

There are those who take the values they glean to the extreme, claiming that it is forbidden for women to drive a car, to speak before a man, and to have certain types of jobs. And there are others, on the opposite extreme who argue that there is no value being taught whatsoever, and we must find every way possible for women to do exactly what men do in the religious arena.

And I would argue for something, something admittedly ambiguous, and not so clearly defined, but something in the middle – I believe the Torah is teaching us values, the Torah is teaching us the need for these two forces in our lives, the drive for creating and accomplishing, and the sense of serenity and cultivation, both are needed in the human experience. And just like that is somehow accomplished by working for six days and resting on the seventh, and just like we could technically do more things on Shabbos but we don’t because we want to maintain that spirit, I would posit that we similarly, respect that gender-divide; not adding made-up laws to erase women from our society, but respecting the values that 51% of our nation is supposed to teach us.

Okay, so what does this all mean? I’ve been talking all the way up here, let’s talk in real terms.

Let me ask you a question. Who is the #1 role model for young women in April of 2016?

Beyonce! Of course! Beyonce, for all of you who just came down to earth, is a singer, song-writer, owner of fashion companies, and on the side she does some philanthropy. In some regards, I respect her, I really do. But at the same time, she is not the type of woman that I would want my daughters to look up to. Just to name one example, her modesty, and I am not even talking about the way she dresses! Last week she released an album titled Lemonade, which broadcasted to the world that her husband has been unfaithful. That was essentially the theme of the entire album.        

In Judaism, there are laws of modesty that govern both men and women, but the laws that govern women are certainly more restrictive. Is it to help men? No. It’s to bring into our shared world a heightened sense of sacredness, a deeper respect for sensitivity, that’s the value that modesty teaches us.

You know who my female role model is? (Because by the way, every human has a feminine side as well as masculine, and both need to be cultivated.) You know who my female role model is? It’s my mother.

She’s a professional. She works full-time and even with six rambunctious children jumping off the walls, she brought tons of work home with her. But to me, she exemplified and exemplifies the ideals we’ve been talking about. She taught me in the way she rushed to prepare for Shabbos. She taught me in the way that she would say Tehillim every single day, before nightfall, and carve out some meaningful time with her Creator.

Rabbi Yosef Soloveitchik, known for his mastery of Torah, what we described as masculine in some respects, shared the following telling description of his mother: “I learned [from my mother] that Judaism expresses itself not only in formal compliance with the law but also in a living experience. She taught me that there is a flavor, a scent and warmth to mitzvot. I learned from her the most important thing in life—to feel the presence of the Almighty and the gentle pressure of His hand resting upon my frail shoulders. Without her teachings, which quite often were transmitted to me in silence, I would have grown up a soulless being, dry and insensitive.”

I think we could all relate to that on some level. I once stood at this pulpit and mocked those eulogies that make me ravenously hungry; the eulogies where the rabbi gets up and goes on and on about the kneidlach and the Matzah Balls that old Mrs. Gross used to make. And then the children get up and talk about the Strudels and the Kugels and cakes. And I would sit at these funerals thinking to myself, “Really? Is this really all this woman accomplished in her life?”

Personally, I have a rule that I don’t make any food that takes longer to prepare than it does to eat, which limits me to cereal and toast. (My wife, thank G-d does not have the same policy!) And so my mouth would be watering and I’d be exasperated, silently pleading for these ridiculously trivial eulogies to go on.  

But that’s exactly the point!!

I may value conquest, I may value achievements.

But there are lessons to be learned from making chicken soup, from the patience, from the sense of nurturing for those who will eat it, and the magical way that those foods represent to all of us the holidays, the Shabbos, Judaism itself.

So no, Judaism does not suggest that women belong in the kitchen, nor does it suggest that women are in any way second-class citizens. What it does suggest, broadly-speaking, is that we, men and women, represent different values, and through the laws of the Torah those values find expression.

Within each and every one of us there is an aspect of masculinity and an aspect of femininity. Our goal is to find the balance within by observing the balance from without. The goal is not in any way to stifle the G-d-given talents and abilities that each of us have been blessed with. We spent the past four sermons describing four remarkable women, Donna Mendes Gracias, Miriam the prophetess, Sarah Schenirrer, and Golda Meir. There are so many more we could add to the list. We could add numerous Biblical women who defied any stereotype that we would expect the “patriarchal” Bible to present. Sarah, the not-so-passive matriarch, Devorah, the judge/ warrior/ prophetess, in later years Yehudis, the brave fighter, and the list goes on.

I don’t think the Torah wants men to have a certain profession and women to have a different one. I don’t think the Torah wants us to view women as Heaven forbid, worse than men.

I think the Torah wants us to see value in cultivation, like a pregnant or nursing woman cares for her child. I think the Torah wants us to see the value of things that are intangible and yet holy, like a chicken soup made for Shabbos. I think the Torah wants us to see value in modesty, both physical as well as verbal through the emphasis on Mitzvos that take place in private or in the home and not in the Synagogue. I think the Torah wants us to see the value in patience, in the strength needed to care for a crying child and a hysterical infant. I think the Torah wants us to see the value in acceptance like the mother who accepts her grown child regardless of what he or she has accomplished. I think the Torah wants to give expression to someone that everyone in this room has met and someone that many in this room will be mourning for in just a moment, and that is our mothers. The love, the patience, the stillness, the warmth, the strength, and the stability, that is the Eishes Chayil, the woman of strength; the Jewish mother, the wife, the daughter, the Jewish women, who through our rich tradition, exemplifies these ideals.            

Pesach Yizkor 2018 – Heaven’s Knocking on our Door

Exactly two weeks ago, on March 24^th, somewhere between 1 and 2 million people nationwide demonstrated in support of tighter gun-control laws. March for our Lives, as the demonstration was named, was unique, not only because of the size of the demonstration; one of the largest in American history, but far more significantly because of who organized it. Although some claim that it was organized by special-interest groups, who probably did have a lot to do with putting it all together, there is no denying that a driving force in these protests were teenagers, and that’s something worth celebrating.

Is gun-control the solution to mass shootings? What does the Second Amendment really mean? Are protests even effective in impacting gun control legislation? I don’t know the answer to any of those questions, as important as they are. The reason I am celebrating, and the reason I believe you should celebrate, whether you would like to repeal the second amendment or you’re a card-carrying NRA member is because it’s good to see teenagers, right or wrong, trying to tackle these issues.

This past week was the Yahrtzeit of Rabbi Yosef Dov Soloveitchik, one of the foremost Jewish thinkers of the 20^th century. In one of his most acclaimed papers titled, Kol Dodi Dofeik, he elaborates on a chapter of Shir Hashirim, that we read today. Written by King Solomon, Shir Hashirim is a story of a lover and his beloved which our Sages interpret to be an allegory for the relationship between G-d and the Jewish People.

In the fifth chapter of Shir Hashirim, the beloved, the woman goes to sleep. This, explains our Sages, is meant to represent the Jewish People straying from G-d, allowing their relationship to slide. Nonetheless, the lover, G-d, seeks out the Jewish People.

Writes King Solomon, Kol dodi dofeik, I hear my lover knocking, and He’s saying, pis’chi li, open the door please! Achosi, rayosi, yonosi, tamosi, my sister, my love, my dove, my perfection, please open the door!

But, says the Jewish People, says the woman in the story, huf’shat’ti kutanti, I took off my tunic, I’m lying in bed. I can’t get up now, I’m too tired.

King Solomon describes the woman tossing and turning until she finally does get up but by the time she opens the door, the lover is gone.

The obvious message is that there are times when G-d knocks on our door, and it is incumbent upon us to answer it immediately. To not wait, to not calculate how we should open the door, what we should be wearing… just answer the door! Just show that you heard His knock. Just show Him that you care.

Rav Soloveitchik, in his essay, which I should add was written in the 50’s, explains that G-d, through the establishment of the State of Israel, has been knocking on our collective door. Six knocks to be exact:

The fact that the United States and the Soviet Bloc agreed about something, as they did by voting in favor of the establishment of the State of Israel – that was G-d knocking on our door, letting us know that He is here.

The fact that the tiny defense forces of Israel defeated the mighty armies of the Arab Nations – that was G-d knocking on our door, letting us know that He is here.

The fact that Christians, who for two thousand years have pointed to our homelessness as a proof to us being wrong and are now silenced – that was G-d knocking on our door, letting us know that He is here.

The fact that that Jews had something to take pride in, the fact that the nations recognized that Jewish blood is no longer cheap, and the fact that every Jew knows that he or she has a home – that was G-d knocking on our door, letting us know that He is here.

Since Rabbi Soloveotchik wrote this article, I would add that there is a seventh knock, and that is the incredible success of this young democracy, politically, financially, and otherwise – all of that is G-d knocking on our door, letting us know that He is here.

And the challenge then is to get up from our slumber, from our comfort, from our indifference, and to be moved by G-d’s knocking. To say, “G-d we hear you!” We’re coming to the door, we will change, we will do, naaseh v’nihsma! G-d has not knocked like this since the times of the Exodus. He’s pounding on the door, begging us to wake up.

And yet, these knocks no longer move us. The fact that we live in a Jewish world unrecognizable to our ancestors… we lay in bed and turn over.

Even worse, there are Jews who not only ignore the knocks of Heaven, but they see it as a nuisance. “Why are you waking me up?” they yell. “Having a Jewish State is unethical, immoral, it’s racist!” they say. And they hope that the knocking stops, so they could rest comfortably, undisturbed by their awkward relationship with G-d and even more awkward knowledge of them belonging to a tribe in a post-nationalist world and pretend that no one is at the door.

But G-d still knocks.

He knocks on our collective door as a nation, through the State of Israel, and through the remarkable history of the Jewish People that continues to unfold. And He also knocks on our individual doors, through events that we experience deeply, through news we hear that shakes us, through moments of inspiration that move us, that’s G-d knocking! And He’s waiting, waiting, waiting… Will we answer the door, or will we just sleep on?

That’s why I celebrate those boys and girls who marched in DC and across the country. I applaud them not because they know what they’re doing, not because gun safety can be distilled to slogans, and not because they are right just because they’re the loudest. I applaud them because while their friends are eating Tide pods and snorting latex, while adults are consumed by their work or busy vacationing, these kids noticed that something happened; something happened to some of them directly, like Emma Gonzalez, who lost many friends in the Parkland shooting, something happened and continues to happen to some of them on an ongoing basis, like Naomi Wadler, who witnesses street violence all the time, and some of them just saw what happened from a distance, but they were all moved! They heard a knock on the door, and they got up, and they responded.

In a moment we will be saying Yizkor, and during this sacred time many of you will hear a knock. Not the knock of G-d per say, but the knock of your beloved; of a spouse, of a sibling, of a mother, of a father, of a child. Listen to that soft knock, listen to what it tells you. For some of you it may be a reminder to love your children more deeply. For some of you it may be a call to remember your heritage and the customs and values that your parents lived by. For some of you that knock may be a reminder of an earlier version of yourself; more youthful, more energetic, more optimistic.

All of us will be staying indoors for the first two memorial prayers. The first one we’ll be reciting is for those who died defending the land of Israel. They too are knocking, wondering if they died in vain. They’re hoping that we can still today be moved by the existence of a Jewish State, of millions of Jews living securely. They’re hoping that we too can proudly defend our country and our faith, from external and internal enemies.

The second memorial prayer that we’ll all be saying is for the martyrs of the Holocaust whose knock is getting fainter by the year. I am sure they are wondering, will their memories be limited to monuments, memorials, and platitudes? Or will we answer the door before it’s too late? Will we wake from our slumber and allow the memory of the six million to remind us of our unique place in this world; because while the Holocaust left us with so many unanswered questions, questions of how, and what, and why, one thing that was answered was who – we are the Jewish People, it is a yoke and it is a calling. What a tragedy it would be to let that knock be in vain.

Every day G-d knocks on the door of all of civilization. 

Every day G-d knocks on the door of the Jewish People.

And every day G-d knocks on our own individual door, ever so softly.

Let’s not just listen to those knocks.

Let’s answer the door.

Shabbos HaGadol Message

by Motzen | Apr 3, 2020 | Sermons

Dear Friends, 

Honoring Parents in a Noisy World Parshas Yisro

by Motzen | Feb 18, 2020 | Sermons

Whereas most Mitzvos have gotten easier to perform with time, there is one Mitzvah that has gotten harder and harder. Keeping Kosher in the 21^st century has never been easier with Kosher food everywhere, Shabbos observance has become more acceptable with greater religious tolerance, but Kibbud av V’eim, honoring one’s mother and father, has only gotten harder.  

I would argue that there are a number of reasons for this:

• We live longer. Beginning of the 19^th century, the average life span was 40 years!! Today, in the US, that has roughly doubled to an average life span of 80 years. (For Canadians, you actually get a few more years). Modern medicine and longevity is an incredible blessing, but also a challenge. It’s a blessing in that there are people here who are in their 70, 80, 90, with great-grandchildren, living happily, enjoying the equivalent of two lifetimes. But there also illnesses – terrible illnesses, cancer, Alzheimer’s and more that have to be dealt with.

Whereas earlier generations cared for an elderly parent, elderly being in their 30’s, for a few years. Today, you can spend a lifetime caring for an aging parent. 

• There is a sociological factor and that is that parents have gotten dumber. Just kidding. But common perception is that parents have gotten dumber.

About fifteen years ago, author, John Tierny, described the moment, where after watching the Simpsons with his 6 year old (I don’t know why someone would watch the Simpson’s with a six year old…), his son turned to him and asked, “Why are dads on TV so dumb?” 

Though dads have gotten the brunt of it, there has been a general shift in our perception of both fathers and mothers in the entertainment industry.

The big shift took place in the 80’s and 90’s, when we moved from shows like Leave it to Beaver, Father Knows Best, and the Cosby Show to shows like Roseanne, Married… with Children, and of course, the Simpson’s.

The negative depiction has gone from a trickle to a roar, where now nearly every single parent is depicted as a bumbling, selfish, fool.

I am not one to censor but I literally skip pages from Peppa the Pig (Peppa the Pig is children’s books for three year old’s) because of the way they portray fathers in their books!!!  

In light of this negative messaging that is everywhere, the notion of respecting parents or honoring parents? It’s impossible.

A possible 3^rd factor is that we, as a society, have become more self-aware. It’s not like parents have gotten worse, studies have shown that we’ve actually gotten better. But because of our growing self-awareness, we are more aware of the damage caused by parents

And so, kibbud av v’eim is so difficult and at the same time it is one of the most important Mitzvos! It made it to the top 10 list – the Ten Commandments! Not only that, it makes its way to the G-d tablet! It’s one of two Mitzvos in the entire Torah that comes along with a guaranteed reward for its fulfillment!

The commentators point out a certain irony about this Mitzvah. The one generation that really didn’t need their parents is the one that received the Mitzvah. This generation had manna falling form heaven, water coming from a rock, clothing, according to the Medrashim, that were cared for, everything was taken care of! Who needs parents in the desert? What did parents give their children?

Parents, it seems, gave them only one little thing – life. Life itself. That’s why they were commanded to honor their parents, even if they gave them nothing else.   

And that insight is extremely relevant for us in the 21^st century. Because yes, we are far more aware of our parents’ mistakes than ever before, we will typically have to care for our parents for far longer and that will include incredible challenges. But at the end of the day, our parents gave us life.

How do you repay someone for giving you life?

If someone were to save your life, what would you do? You’d call them at least once a week to thank them, you’d send them gifts as often as you could, you’d think about them all the time, and you would lavish them with honor. Endlessly.

So how do we repay the people who gave us life?!  

And we all know this. I’m not saying anything profound. It’s just that we get distracted. Things get in the way.

Work gets in the way, emotions get in the way – parents frustrate us more than anyone (probably because they remind us of ourselves more than anyone else), a lot of stuff gets in the way.   

We all know intellectually how indebted we are to our parents, but it’s all the static of life that gets in the way of what we’re supposed to do.

There is a beautiful idea found in the Medrashim how the entirety of the world was silent when G-d gave the Torah; the birds stopped chirping, the dogs stopped barking, the water stopped roaring, and the wind stopped howling.

The simple understanding of this Medrash is that the giving of the Torah was so momentous, so epic, that everything and everyone stopped to listen.

R’Shimshon Pincus argues that this is a misunderstanding. He says, no, the world was not silent to hear G-d’s voice. Instead, G-d silenced the world, and when He did so, we were able to hear His voice.

His voice is always there, it’s just that there is so much distortion, so much noise, that gets in the way.

This is true for so many things. There is usually so much distortion that stands between us and the most important things in our life; our children, our parents, and G-d.

That’s what Shabbos is and that’s what prayer is supposed to be. They are there to create a space that allows for the natural connection.

That’s what a date night is with a loved one. There is a natural love that exists between us but we need to clear some space to allow for us to connect.  

For those of us blessed with living parents, we to need to create that quiet space of gratitude. We need to override the distortion of terrible messages from the media, override the distortion of our busy lives, override the distortion of the many emotions that get in the way, and create a space for gratitude, for love, for respect and for honor.

This past week, my wife and I ran a session for our Bar and Bat Mitzvah program. As part of the program we had the students write letters to their parents, expressing their gratitude to them. And while this was going on, I was busy preparing the next part of the session. Until it hit me later how sad that was! When was the last time I wrote a letter to my parents? It takes two minutes to write a quick letter, or to write a short email, but instead I allowed the busyness of life get in the way.

It’s important to note that there are times when we are not obligated to override the distortion. When there is too much pain that stands between us; when a parent was abusive, physically, emotionally or otherwise and full-fledged respect would be too taxing.

Those exceptions aside, most of us can override the distortion, and we must. Because too often, the space for love and respect is created against our will.

That space is created by illness, by a calamity, by a crisis, and that silences all those things that have gotten in the way, and all of a sudden the love that we have shines through.

Sometimes the distortion is silenced by death; sometimes it’s only then that a child can love his or her parent. And that’s terribly tragic.

On Friday, I was speaking to a young mother in our community. She has stage four cancer and she is fighting for her life. Recently, she started telling people what was happening to her. And she described to me how people are treating her totally differently. People who otherwise wouldn’t be so kind are now treating her with so much love. And she correctly observed that they aren’t faking or doing so out of sympathy. It’s just that usually, there is so much that gets in the way.

She asked me to remind all of us of how sad this is. It shouldn’t have to come to that. We don’t need the silence to be created against our will. We can and must create it ourselves.

I’d like to conclude by sharing with you a few paragraphs from a very moving reflection by Lisa Solod, titled, When Alzheimer’s Makes Room for Love (New York Times). It’s extreme both in its pain and in its love, and I think it is very relevant to our discussion.

“I am scratching my mother’s head. Her hair is quite thin now and I no longer bother to make an appointment in the nursing home’s “salon” for a cut. It is just another trauma to her, as is taking a shower. When the aides give her a shower I can hear her screaming all the way down the hall, shrieking like a feral cat.”

“I am scratching the head of the woman who more than once told me she would cut off my arm and beat me with the bloody stump when, as a child, I angered her about something. Now she leans back into my hand like the cat she has become, almost purring, after the horror of the shower and the indignity of being dressed and put into her wheelchair for the day.”

“I am stroking the arm of the woman who yelled at me in the streets of Boston that no one should have a daughter as awful as me. Rubbing and scratching the head of the woman who looked at one of my short stories and said, matter-of-factly, “You might have to admit that this is as good as you will ever get.” I was 22.

Every four months I fly a thousand miles to visit my mother in the nursing home. I sit with her for hours each day for nearly a week and then I fly back home. These visits are tortuous but necessary. Because in the past dozen years my love for her has escalated with each visit, as the woman she once was has de-escalated.

A dozen years ago had I been told I would be scratching the head of, tickling the arm of, sitting with, holding and loving my mother like this, I would have laughed. I avoided contact with her then as much as I could. I refused to see her deterioration, assumed it was the alcohol, the bipolar disorder, the sheer self-absorption she threw across her shoulders like a shawl that was responsible for incoherent late night calls, a refrigerator without food, her refusal to leave the house for fear she would get lost. I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to imagine. Even when I knew, I didn’t want to know.

I sat with a woman who nearly destroyed me. Who told her therapist for 30 years that her children were essentially evil and patently ungrateful.

On the last day of my most recent visit, I tell my mother, “I have to leave now, but I will see you soon.” I talk to her as I do my cat, as though she understands. She opens her eyes and there is a sudden look of panic in them and she says: “Please don’t.”

I am so stunned by her words, by words at all, that I tell her I will stay awhile longer and I do, sitting silently beside her. I hold her hand. She grips mine hard. I sit for another half-hour and then I lean in and kiss her forehead and I tell her, as I have countless dozen times before, “I love you, Mom.” And this time, this time, the woman who hasn’t spoken a sentence that makes any sense in almost two years, looks me straight in the eye and says: “I love you, too.””

We must create silent spaces in our busy lives. Spaces free of negative emotions, free of media-driven distortions, and free of everything else that gets in the way. And in that space, we need to develop respect, honor, and expressions of our deep gratitude for those in our life, and especially for those who gave us life.

Jewish Pride at the White House Parshas Bo

by Motzen | Feb 9, 2020 | Sermons

While Brexit, Kobe Bryant, the Impeachment trial, and the upcoming Superbowl are on the front pages of the news, for the Jewish People, the ‘Deal of the Century’ was front and center.

Will it work, is the first question. Is it pure politics, is the second.

I, like you, am not a geopolitical expert. I, like you, and frankly everyone in the world, recognizes the complexity of the ever-shifting region. But I hope, you and I, despite our politics, whatever they may be, can still appreciate what happened this past week at the White House.

First to explain what the rationale behind this peace plan really was: Obviously Trump’s “Deal of the Century” looked nothing like previous peace plans which involved shuttle diplomacy or long meetings with the Israeli government and the leadership of the Palestinians. This peace plan was presented without the consent of the Palestinians, leading to the obvious question of what chances does this possibly have? It seems at face value to be bizarre.

Clearly, this is a deliberate radical break from previous plans. It’s a squeeze play – the Trump administration with the implicit and explicit support of many Arab countries is basically telling the Palestinians, this may not be a great deal for you, but there is no better alternative. Take it or leave it. But if you leave it, many of your regular Arab supporters aren’t supporting you any longer.

It’s tough and it’s harsh, and that’s exactly why, some argue, it just may work. (https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2020/01/28/trump-peace-plan-is-squeeze-play-against-palestinians-it-might-work/)

Though I hesitate to draw direct comparisons between the parsha and modern-day news as the comparisons tend to be sloppy and inaccurate, it’s hard to ignore the similarities.

Like Pharaoh, the Palestinian leadership seems to have a fetish with the word, no. Like Mahmoud Abbas said this past week, “We say 1000 times; No, no, and no to the deal of the century.”

Which is rather precise. They said no to the 1947 UN Partition plan. They said no to Israel’s request not to attack in 1967. They said no to an Israeli offer to return the Golan Heights in 2000 and they said no to a peace plan later that year that offered the Palestinians their own state with East Jerusalem as capital. No, no, no.

And each time, like the ancient Pharaoh, it did not end well for the no-party. By rejecting the partition plan, they were left with a smaller land than had been offered. By ignoring Israel’s entreaties not to attack in ’67, Jordan lost control of the West Bank. By rejecting the incredible offers of 2000, many of the most peace-loving Israelis became completely disillusioned to the prospect of peace. You cannot keep on saying no and expect things to work in your favor. (https://www.nytimes.com/2020/01/30/opinion/middle-east-peace-plan.html?action=click&module=Opinion&pgtype=Homepage)

And like ancient Egypt, not everyone agreed with their leadership. In the opening passages of our parsha, we find an open revolt against Pharaoh, his servants beg him to reconsider. But he does not.

And tragically, his servants who were willing to concede, who were willing to make peace with the Jewish People, end up suffering along with everyone else. There’s a reason we spill some wine at our Pesach Seder. Not everyone’s necessarily guilty, but citizens suffer for the stupidity of their leaders. And that’s sad, it’s terribly sad.

There are undoubtedly scores of Arabs living in the West Bank and in Gaza who would gladly strike a deal with Israel but are afraid to open their mouths. There are many who simply don’t know better because of a terrible and toxic education. And that too is terribly sad. Sad that innocent people have to be subject to humiliating checkpoints and sad that people who just want to live normal lives are subject to abject poverty. We too need to spill some wine, acknowledging that Mahmoud Abbas, like Yasser Arafat before him, does not reflect the opinion of all those he represents and that many of them, truly don’t know better, due to no fault of their own.

But the emotions that struck me hardest this past week, were pride and gratitude.

As the Egyptian plagues wrap up, the Torah feels the need to inform us that Moshe was greatly respected by all the Egyptians. It would seem, that the respect Moshe had, in the streets, and even in the Egyptian palace, was an important component of the redemption process.

Which makes a lot of sense – to be free it was not enough for them to not be enslaved, the Jewish People needed to develop a sense of self-respect, a sense of dignity. They needed to transform from being spit upon to becoming a nation of priests. That’s no easy transition. But seeing their leader, seeing Moshe walk through the halls of government and command the utmost respect, I am sure helped them see themselves in a new light.

Sadly, throughout our history, we have not had leaders who could walk through the hallways of government and make demands for the Jewish People. At times this was because our Jewish leaders were not influential enough. But at other times, far more tragically, Jewish leaders were influential, and chose to remain silent.

In the 1940’s, the late, Rabbi Stephen Wise, was president of the World Jewish Congress, president of the American Jewish Congress, a founder and board member of the ACLU and a board member of the NAACP – he was by far the most influential Jew of his time. And yet, in order to maintain his warm relationship with FDR, Rabbi Wise refused to criticize the administration. The Nazi Olympics, the Nuremberg rallies, Kristallnacht, and even after Rabbi Wise got wind of what was really going on in Europe, he not only remained silent but he attacked those who protested, lambasting the group of 500 rabbis who marched on DC in 1943.

Historians suggest that FDR held his personal relationship with Rabbi Wise over his head. Rabbi Wise wanted President Roosevelt to help, but felt that his silence and support would be a more effective way of receiving the help they needed. In a private letter to his son, after sharing that the President sent regards to the rabbi, he wistfully adds, “If only he could help my people.”

But Rabbi Wise did not have the respect of the administration nor the self-respect to speak up when it was so desperately needed. (https://www.tabletmag.com/jewish-arts-and-culture/297806/franklin-roosevelt-holocaust)

Thirty years later, one of the most powerful political advisors in American history, Henry Kissinger, was then the acting Secretary of State. As many historians have pointed out, his influence with President Nixon was outsized. At times, some felt that Kissinger was the President.

In one recently declassified recording, President Nixon describes his nervousness about an upcoming summit between the US and the Soviet Union. Nixon was afraid that Jews would cause problems. If they did, threatened the President, it would be the worst thing that happened to them. Not only that, he said, I would blame the Jews publicly for causing its failure. To which Kissinger replied, “I agree completely. They brought it on themselves.” (https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2013/08/some-new-comments-richard-nixon-subject-jews-and-blacks/311870/)

In another tape, Kissinger is heard saying that helping Soviet Jews emigrate was not an objective of American foreign policy. And then he added, and I quote: “And if they put Jews into gas chambers in the Soviet Union, it is not an American concern. Maybe a humanitarian concern.”  (https://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/17/nyregion/17nyc.html)

Maybe?!

I recently heard a story from Larry Weinberg, a past president of AIPAC. In 1944, he was a soldier in the U.S. 100^th infantry division.  They were in combat in the Vosges Mountains when a fellow soldier came to tell him they had found a Jewish man hiding in the woods who wanted to know if any of the American soldiers were Jewish.  He describes running to meet the man, finding him gaunt and unshaven.  As he got closer, he was filled with emotion, feeling as if he was somehow part of this man’s liberation.   He reached out to the man who asked him in Yiddish if he was a Jew. Larry responded enthusiastically, “Yes, I am a Jew!”  The man came closer, spit in his face and said, “You came too late,” and walked away.

(https://rabbiefremgoldberg.org/israel/trumps-peace-plan-a-historic-day-no-matter-the-outcome/)

And so, with our not so recent history in mind, a history of influential Jews who allowed their own standing with Presidents to blind them to the plight of their brethren, who were not confident enough to stand up for their fellow Jews when they desperately needed them to stand up, Jews who were too late – I find it incredibly heartening to know that so many Jews do have the confidence today to stand up and speak up; to ignore all the accusations of being a Jew first and an American second, and do whatever they can to help the Jewish People. Now.

Like Moshe proudly walking through the halls of the Egyptian palaces, inspiring confidence in all of the Jewish people, regardless of your politics, there is something uplifting about a White House room filled with Jews, many of them wearing their kippas, who are proudly and confidently speaking up for their Jewish brothers and sisters in Israel. 

Like the Jews in Egypt, when we pray for redemption, we are not just asking for freedom to practice our faith and be our own people, no.

To be truly free means you are not looking over your shoulder, embarrassed of what you do or say or look like.

To be really free means you are not embarrassed to say that Jews across the globe are my family and I love and care for them and I cannot imagine them living in constant fear and danger.

To be free means that you can proudly say, I am a Jew, I am proud to be a Jew; I am proud of the values the Torah teaches us and I love every Jew, regardless of where they live or what they believe because they are my family.

That’s freedom. And I find myself feeling incredibly privileged to live in a time in which this is so.  

So I return to the questions we started with: Will this peace plan be successful? Is this just political maneuvering, going after votes in Florida and trying to stay in office in Israel?

I don’t know.

None of that impacts my feelings this week. Feelings that justice was served; that you cannot say no over and over again and expect a positive outcome. Feelings of sympathy to the many Arabs who don’t deserve this in any way, shape or form. Feelings of pride. Proud that we are able to embrace who we are in the highest halls of government. And finally, feelings of hope; hope that our self-confidence translates into a deepening connection to our faith, and like in Egypt, that our Jewish pride is a step forward in bringing about the ultimate redemption, a time of true and lasting peace. May we see it speedily in our days.

The Importance of Tension Parshas Vaera

by Motzen | Jan 27, 2020 | Sermons

…

In April 1963, Martin Luther King was arrested in Birmingham, Alabama. He had been leading sit-ins and marches, which were “conveniently” made illegal after he arrived in town. Shortly after he was arrested, a number of white clergymen, pastors, bishops, and yes, a rabbi, wrote an open letter denouncing the protests. In a response written on paper that was smuggled into jail, King wrote what became known as the Letter from Birmingham Jail.

There are many themes in that letter but there is one that I would like to highlight, and that is tension. Martin Luther King was a big proponent of tension. To quote a few lines from that letter: “I must confess,” he writes, “that over the last few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in the stride toward freedom is not …the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate who is more devoted to “order” than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice.”

He continues, “Shallow understanding from people of goodwill is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.”

You see, Martin Luther King dreamt of a world filled with tension; filled with people of different faiths and different countries, with convictions that were certainly worth dying for. A world in which ideas are debated and discussed and ultimately, resolved. Not a world where apathy reigns supreme; where we just shrug our indifferent shoulders and scroll on to the next item. No, Martin Luther King’s utopian dream was one of peace, but not of the passive kind. It was peace that was filled to the brim with friction and justice.  

Now, Martin Luther King, as you all know, was heavily influenced by the Bible, by the Torah. His prose in many places are paraphrases of the prophets. And of course, of all the Biblical narratives, it is the story of the Exodus – this week’s Parsha, what Zach just read from the Torah, that influenced so much of the soul of the civil rights movement.

One thing that I find a little challenging about the Exodus narrative is the morality Ten Plagues. You know, it’s not like G-d needed the ten plagues to force Pharaoh’s hand to get the Jewish People out of Egypt. He’s G-d after all! He could’ve just taken the Jewish People out of Egypt… We didn’t need Moshe to come back to the palace time and time again only to hear, “No, no, no I will not let them go!” And we didn’t need all the Egyptian people suffering like they did. Yes, there was an educational element for the Jewish People to witness G-d’s power, but we are a peace-loving people. Oseh shalom bimromov, G-d is a G-d of peace. What’s going on here? What is the real purpose for the drawn-out drama of the ten plagues?

Perhaps – who knows for sure, but perhaps G-d wanted tension. Perhaps leaving Egypt without any tension would have been peaceful! But it would be a negative peace, sorely lacking justice. And the truth is this is precisely what G-d tells Abraham a few hundred years prior, when He lays out a vision of the slavery and the subsequent Exodus. “Your children” G-d say, “will be slaves in a foreign country, and I will then take them out. V’gam es hagoy asher ya’avodu, and in regards to the nation that enslaves them, dan anochi, I will judge them!” Justice and confrontation was always an integral part of the plan.

And so – Moshe is sent to Pharaoh, to engage him in debate. And plague after plague, the Egyptian belief system is challenged, from the supremacy of the Nile to the inborn holiness of the firstborn, every one of their ideas is put to the test. And then, and only then, is the Exodus complete.

It is complete because it came about through the clash of two worldviews that were forced to confront one another. The exodus was complete because those who were guilty were punished and those who weren’t were saved. Tension, G-d was teaching us, is not to be avoided, it is to be welcomed. It is important, it is crucial.

And Zach, I think this is a very relevant lesson for you. Because Zach, you have been blessed, you really have. You have awesome parents. They are adored by so many people in this room and beyond, and for good reason. They are kind, they are principled, and they are earnest. Your parents are community-minded; despite their busy professional lives they have both been and are incredibly active in the shul…

… you’ve been blessed with amazing talents – you’re a great actor, you’re a cook, you’re an exceptionally talented writer, I’ve seen up close at our Bar Mitzvah program how you’re a natural leader, you’re articulate, you’re intelligent.

But here’s the deal, Zach – you could close your eyes right now, with all that support and all those talents, and you can just coast to success in life. Because you won the lottery. Great family, great DNA, great talents. It’s all there for you to coast on. You could lead a successful life without having to try all that hard. Really.

But if you do so, while you may succeed, you will also be failing. Because if the Exodus taught us one thing, it is that a life without tension is not worth living, it is not a life. Some people’s role in life is to overcome tension and some people’s role in life is to find that tension. Because the truth is, the tension is always there. Only that some people are given the opportunity to ignore it. But when we do so, when we coast in life, when our objective is just to get by, just to be decent, just to relax, we do so at our own peril.

To quote Dr. King once again: “We… are not the creators of tension. We merely bring to the surface the hidden tension that is already alive. We bring it out in the open, where it can be seen and dealt with. Like a boil that can never be cured so long as it is covered up but must be opened with all its ugliness to the natural medicines of air and light, injustice must be exposed, with all the tension its exposure creates, to the light of human conscience and the air of national opinion before it can be cured.”

What he says about racism, is true about so much else. The tension is there; we get to choose if we want to bring it to the fore.

Recently, I’ve been thinking a lot about Judaism and what it is that excites me about it. I love our traditions, our faith, I really do. Those of you who know me, know that. The typical reasons that I hear from other people who love Judaism are things like, the serenity of Shabbat, the warmth of community, or the comfort of tradition. And I’ll be honest, none of that talks to me. They’re nice, but they’re not compelling. You know what is? You know what I realized really gets me?

The idea that every day I am blessed with waking up I need to justify my existence, that yesterday’s success is not a hook on which to hang my future, that if I’m not growing then I’m not living.

The Jewish idea that we are to never accept the status quo and we are to challenge not only ourselves and all our convictions but also to question the world around us, the way things are run, questioning our leaders, and according to our faith, questioning even G-d Himself.

The fact that there are a lot of commandments in Judaism and yes, that could be overwhelming, but it also ensures that we are never there, that there’s always something to aspire to. It’s the tension of Judaism that excites me.

What the Exodus from Egypt, Yetziat Mitzrayim taught us is that the tension-filled life is the only life worth living. Rav Tzadok Hakohen, one of the great Jewish thinkers of the 20^th century, suggests that the Hebrew word for Egypt – Mitzrayim alludes to this very idea. Mitzrayim, he suggests, is made up of two words – MEITZAR which means a narrow place, and YAM, an ocean, the symbol of expansiveness. What our experience in Egypt, in Mitzrayim teaches us is that in order to experience any form of expansiveness, of freedom, of success, we need to first experience the straits, the tension, the friction of a challenged life.

And the beauty is that we are commanded to remember the Exodus every day of our life. That this drama is a never-ending cycle of friction and resolution; of unbelievable growth and then realizing that there’s still so much more to do.  

That’s my blessing for you Zach, and really for all of us. That we live a good comfortable life, yes. But also, that we live a life of tension. That when we have a question, we don’t ignore it. We grapple with it, and we don’t move on until we’ve resolved it. That when we feel like we’ve made it, with our family life, with our connection to our faith, with our relationship to G-d, with our personal growth, that we realize that we’ve only just started, and we dig deep and we ask ourselves, what’s next? That we sensitize ourselves to hear that rumble and roar that emanates daily from our soul, thirsting for more and not being content with resting on our laurels.   

May you, Zach, and may we all merit to experience our own personal Exodus, our own personal Yetziat Mitzrayim; both the Meitzar and the Yam, the tension and expansiveness, the friction and the freedom, every day of our lives.  Mazel Tov!  

From the Archives: Judaism and Racism – Parshas Vaera 2018

by Motzen | Jan 24, 2020 | Sermons

Today’s topic is Judaism and racism. Let me begin by saying that this will be a very long talk. I hope the guy davening mussaf keeps that in mind.

Racism and Judaism is an important topic and therefore one that I would like to address honestly. Now, of course you should expect all topics that I discuss to be addressed honestly, but to be quite honest, in perusing the world wide web, I think it’s safe to say that much of the Jewish treatment of this topic is either polemics or apologetics. It’s either Orthodox apologetics cherry-picking Torah sources or it’s Jews of other denominations and sometimes Orthodox ones blatantly ignoring Torah sources and making up ideas that are not found in our tradition.

I could just get up here, as I imagine some of you though I would, and say, Judaism does not believe in racism, but some Jews are racist, and be done with. But if we are going to have an honest conversation, then let’s be honest. So I will be sharing sources, some that we are more comfortable with and some, less so.

And with that introduction, let’s begin, is Judaism racist?

I believe the answer is, it depends and it depends.

It depends first and foremost on how you define racism. And it also depends on which school of though you identify with.

Let’s begin with a definition of racism. According to the Oxford dictionary, racism can be defined in two ways: One, “Prejudice, discrimination, or antagonism directed against someone of a different race based on the belief that one’s own race is superior.”

I do not believe that any Jewish source would endorse that form of racism. As we’ll see, that form of racism would not only be not endorse but is prohibited on a number of counts.

But there’s another definition, one that is closely related, and that is this: “The belief that all members of each race possess characteristics, abilities, or qualities specific to that race especially so as to distinguish it as inferior or superior to another race or races.”

So the second definition is a belief that races are different, and maybe even superior to the next; a racial theory. The other, is acting out on those theories, by discriminating or antagonizing other races. And obviously there is a fine line, a dangerously fine line, between those two definitions.   

With two working definitions in mind, a theory of race and acting on it, in mind let’s go through the sources. And let me preface, there are a lot of Jewish sources that say a lot of things. Our tradition though has been one where there are accepted authorities and the minority views have been left to academia alone. So I will be sharing with you classical, mainstream views only.

The first is that of Maimonides, the Rambam. In the final section of the laws of Shmittah, he writes the following moving statement: כל איש ואיש מכל באי העולם

Any individual in the world (Earlier in the section he referred to Jews by name. Here, he is clearly speaking about all of humankind.) אשר נדבה רוחו אותו והבינו מדעו להבדל לעמוד לפני יי לשרתו ולעובדו לדעה את יי והלך ישר כמו שעשהו האלהים

Any individual in the world whose spirit awakened them, whose wisdom guided them, to separate themselves, to stand before G-d, to serve G-d, to know G-d, and to grow in an upright fashion, just like G-d created them…

הרי זה נתקדש קדש קדשים ויהיה י”י חלקו ונחלתו לעולם ולעולמי עולמים ויזכה לו בעה”ז 

Such a person is sanctified, kodesh kodoshim, holy of holies. G-d will be his portion in the world to come and in this world…”

The Rambam, quite clearly states, that the highest level of spiritual greatness is achievable by any man or women, of any race and of any background. Kol ish v’ish, anyone at all, can become kodesh kodoshim, holy of holies.

This is a view endorsed in the works of Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, who numerous times, where the Torah seems like it is discriminating against one race, specifically, the children of Cham, the inhabitants of Canaan, Rav Hirsch creatively interprets each section to be in line with the meritocracy that Rambam is promoting. You are not born into greatness. You must achieve it. And anyone and everyone is welcome to try.

This view is not even talking about conversion and its obvious implication that regardless of race one is accepted fully into the Jewish fold. According to the Rambam, a non-Jew can achieve the highest levels of spiritual superiority. This view is certainly not racist at all.

However, there is another view, in its most extreme form, it is expressed by Rabbi Yehuda HaLevi, the author of a book known as the Kuzari. He writes (section 1) that the Jewish people possess what I will loosely translate as a spiritual gene. Some intangible spiritual capacity that gets passed on from generation to generation. We have it, he writes, and non-Jews do not. And because we have it, it sets apart from all nations. We are, according to this view, spiritually superior.¹

This view is racist, at least according to the second definition, that racism is the belief that different races have different qualities, especially a belief that deems one race superior to the next. This is it.

But there are two qualifications. The first is that Rav Yehuda HaLevi is not distinguishing the Jews by race. Race is defined as a group with distinct physical features or a shared set of qualities, history, or language. Rabbi Yehuda HaLevi’s point is that the spiritual gene transcends all of that. Whether you look like this or that, whether you are a practicing Jew or not, whether you know an iota of Jewish history or speak the language, you are a Jew. Judaism, Rabbi Yehuda HaLevi, is arguing transcends all forms of physical description.

But stating that we have, as Jews, a superior spiritual gene is close enough to racism that we could ignore that last point.   

But here’s the second point, if we were to ask the author, Rabbi Yehuda HaLevi, what is the role of the Jewish People in the world? Why did G-d make us spiritually superior? To answer this question, he shares the following analogy (section 1:43) and says, “The Jewish People are the heart of mankind.”

You see, Rav Yehuda HaLevi, in describing the Jewish People as a heart, means to say that we are connected to the other nations; the hands, the legs, the eyes. And in describing the Jewish People as a heart he means to say that we are here to give to the other nations.

So yes, Rabbi Yehuda HaLevi believes that Jews are superior. But in the sense that they are tasked with providing life, in this case, spiritual life, to all the nations of the world. This is one of the most original sources that speak of the Jewish People being a light onto the nations. So while he does promote a theory of race, it is the furthest from a classic example of racism.²  

And so is Judaism racist? The answer is yes, with some important qualifications. According to one view, and a view that is promoted by many of the mystically-inclined, and according to one definition of the term, the answer is yes. Judaism, according to this view, does believe that Jews are a superior race. But where this theory differs from every other theory of race is the implication of its superiority. Whereas every racist group who believes they are superior see the other group or groups as undeserving; underserving of land, undeserving of education, or in the extreme, undeserving of life. Rabbi Yehuda HaLevi’s view of superiority demands of the Jewish People to care more, to give more, and to be more, especially as it relates to others! We are the heart of the human race!

Moving on, are there Biblical sources that indicate that certain skin colors are more beautiful than others? Once again, the answer is, it depends. In one of the most famous episodes that invoke one’s skin color, Moshe’s brother and sister describe Moshe’s wife as being a Kushite, which literally means black. What they mean by that though varies widely.

Rashi suggests that ‘black’ is a euphemism for ‘beauty.’ Others, such as Chizkiya ben Monoach, the Chizkuni, understand that they were saying the exact opposite. That the color of her skin made her less than attractive.

Now ,is it appropriate to say that the cultural norms of the commentators’ society influenced their writings? I think so. To say that this commentator, writing in 13^th century France, had associated the color of one’s skin with beauty based on the cultural norms of one’s time tells us a lot about him. And even if we were to accept this racist approach as the only approach, it still only informs us of the cultural norms of Moshe’s time and how Miriam perceived black people. It does not tell us in any way how the Torah defines beauty.   

As an aside, an important aside, even if the Torah was speaking negatively about black skin, the Torah was certainly not endorsing white beauty! Jewish Caucasians did not exist! If this entire shul would go back in time to the times of the Exodus, those who look like me, pale skin and all, would have a far harder time blending in with the Jewish People than those in this room who are black! Let’s be honest here. We don’t have pictures but I am confident that my blonde-haired, green eyed daughter looked nothing like Sarah, Rebbecca, or Rachel.

Either way, I don’t see how the Torah is defining for us as a universal truth, as to what is beautiful and what is not. At the most, the narrative is to be understood in the context of cultural norms. 

And so, does Judaism promote a theory of race? Some say yes, and some say no. The Torah has laws that distinguish between one race and another, is that predicated on a theory of superiority and inferiority? Some say yes, and some say no. And does the Torah imply that the color of the skin is associated with beauty or the lack thereof? Some say yes, and some say no. 

But now I want to share with you some things that are agreed upon by all; by every single Jewish authority throughout all of time.

Is one allowed to speak negatively about an individual or a group of people? According to every Torah source, the answer is no. Unequivocally.

Is one allowed to make a person feel bad, inferior, or unwanted? According to every Torah source, the answer is no. Unequivocally.

Is one allowed to judge an individual or a group, based on the color of their skin? And again, according to every Torah source, the answer is no. Unequivocally.

I’m embarrassed that it has to be said, but it has to be said; there is no place for racial comments, for racial slurs (!), and for racial practices in Judaism. And yet, I hear it all the time. Some of the comments are extreme and some of it is “benign” but all of it should be 100% unacceptable. And it’s not. Because let’s be honest, you could make a racist joke among a group of Orthodox Jews and people will either laugh or at the very least, you could get away with it. And that’s unacceptable.

Even according to the most “racist” theory in Jewish thought, the idea is for us to care more, not less!

But let’s get a little more personal and a little more practical.

This Shabbos, we are celebrating Jews of Color. Jews of Color include Jews African-American Jews, Asian Jews, Hispanic Jews and Jews of other non-”white” backgrounds. Some Jews of Color or converts, many, many are not. But it really doesn’t matter³. Because there is nothing in the Torah that defines the look or the culture of a Jew. You could eat kugel or cornbread, you could listen to reggae or k-pop, you could wear a pollera colora or a turban, and still be a Jew. I am about as Ashkenzai as it gets; I have Polish and Hungarian blood running through me. And I like my culture, I really do; I like the food, I like the music, and I like the way I look. But it’s a culture and it’s an ethnicity. That’s all it is. There is nothing distinctly Jewish about our music, our dress, our food preferences, or our complexion. And us Ashkenazic Jews sometimes forget that. In essence, a Shabbos dedicated to Jews of Color is celebrating Judaism; a multi-cultural group of people of shared beliefs and/ or shared ancestry.   

But let’s get even more personal. There is a crime issue in our immediate community. And as far as I could tell from what I’ve read from police reports, virtually all of those crimes were perpetrated by black youth. Now let’s keep in mind, while let’s just say 95% of those crimes were perpetrated by black youth, not even close to 5% of black people caused those crimes. But let’s just say, you’re walking down the street, it’s late at night, and you see a black man. Do you cross the street to avoid him or do you keep on walking?

Let me share with you a personal story. This past Tuesday night there was a rash of violent crimes in the immediate area. In Cross Country, a man entered a home illegally and proceeded to tie the homeowner up so he could rob the house. A little while later, three men attacked two men on the street and took their belongings. The alleged perpetrators were all described as black.

I knew this. I read the news. Wednesday morning I was on my way to shul at approximately 6 AM. It was dark outside and the streets are virtually empty at that time. As I was heading to my car, I saw a tall black man walking my way, and I froze.

I froze for almost a milli-second before I realized that it was my neighbor from down the block who was walking his cute little dog. But you know what, and this hurts me to share it, but I know that he saw me freeze. I could tell from the way he said good morning. I could tell. And that hurt. It hurt him and it hurt me.  

And so I ask you, as a community, how do we balance our security needs, our legitimate security needs, with the Torah’s demand for kindness, for being welcoming, and for being caring?

It goes without saying that racist slurs or putting down entire communities is not only counterproductive but is completely and patently against Jewish law. It is unequivocally forbidden. As Jews, and really as humans, our concern when walking down the street must be not only about when to take out your pepper spray or how quickly you should run away. Our concern when walking down the street must also be to try to say hello, to say good day, to make sure that you are fulfilling your role as a member of the Jewish faith, and maybe even the Jewish race, the role of looking out and care for others, of being the heart of the world.

As a community, our concern cannot be limited to building walls and investing in better and better security. Those things are extremely important but for every dollar we invest into Shomrim or NWCP, should we not be investing a fraction of that for programs that help rehabilitate the youth that are perpetrating these crimes? Should we not be joining hands with the black community in one way or another to bridge the tremendous divide that stands between us? Is that not a true reflection of genuine Jewish values? 

I’ve been talking for a while and I’m going to wrap it up and tell you what I hope you take away from what I said. I hope you walk away from this talk with the following ideas: Yes, there is a strand of thought in normative Judaism that distinguishes between races. But even according to that view, the role of this so called spiritual gene is not a license to be an arrogant or disparaging individual. It is an obligation to be a heart or a light to all people of all walks of life. According to all views speaking negatively, making people uncomfortable, and even judging entire groups of people as one, all of that is blatantly against Jewish Law.

I hope you walk away from this walk recognizing that culture and religion are not the same thing. It is as compatible to be an American Jew as it is to be an Indian Jew. And historically, it is the Caucasian Jew that is novel and not the other way around.

I hope that after this talk, every time you think about protecting yourself, you also think about how caring you are for others; be it with a hello, or with participation or donations to the many organizations that are looking out for those less fortunate; our neighbors. Or in the words of Rabbi Yehuda HaLevi, our hands, or feet, or eyes.

But I also hope you walk away with hope. Because despite all the negativity, I am filled with hope. Thank G-d, there have been many who have taken steps in the right direction. To name a few,

Former councilwoman, Riki Spector, was beaten a few years ago by two black teenagers. Today, she is an advocate for those same kids. She helped enroll them in U-Empower, one of many programs that empower underprivileged youth in Baltimore by giving them jobs, mentoring them, while ensuring that they stay drug-free and in school.

A group from Shomrim recently started meeting with a black pastor from downtown to help work together on tackling crime, to share best practices and to create a bond.   

And a synagogue in Pikesville decided to dedicate a Shabbos to having open and frank conversations about race, racism, and what it looks like for a Jewish community. (That would be us.)

And so I am hopeful for a better tomorrow. Because it all starts with a conversation. Studies have shown that the most efficient way to break down walls between groups is through dialogue, getting to know one another. That’s what we’re doing today, and that’s what I hope you continue to do tomorrow.

I’ll conclude (for real) with a story (shared with permission).

A little while ago, one of my children was trying to describe someone from shul. My daughter said, “You know, the woman who wears a cool scarf on her hair.” I didn’t know who she was talking about. A number of people wear scarves. “You know, she always smiles.” A lot of people smile. “You know, she has a baby.” Thank G-d, there are a lot of babies here. And finally she said, “You know, her skin is dark.”

That was the fourth attempt she made at describing this person. Twenty years ago, ten years ago, I am confident that a child, and certainly a Jewish child, would have first said, they are black and they would have probably used a different word. Thank G-d, we live in a time that that is no longer the case. Our skin color, our culture, is a feature, one of many that make us who we are.

May we merit a day that “people will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.” May we merit a day when the Biblical and Jewish belief of Tzelem Elokim, of man, of all of mankind, being created in G-d’s image, in its myriad of shapes and colors, is acknowledged and practiced by all.

¹Rabbi Yehuda HaLevi suggests that a convert cannot experience prophecy for this reason as he or she is lacking this spiritual gene. The irony, of course, is that his book was written as a dialogue between a potential convert, the King of Kazar, and a rabbi. It’s worth noting that others who identify with this spiritual ‘gene’ understand that at conversion, the convert adopts a spiritual gene. This is mentioned explicitly by the Ohr HaChaim and by the Maharal.  

²Ironically, it is the Rambam, in his introduction to Cheilek, where he explains that the world was created for the intellectually elite and the role of those who are not is to provide for the elite. Not a racist theory but an extremely elitist one.

³ Rav Moshe Feinstein, the leading Halachic authority in America in the last century, in the midst of a complex responsa about the Jewish status of a group from Ethiopia, writes the following: “And I suffered great anguish because I have heard there are those in Israel who are not drawing them close in spiritual matters and are causing, G-d forbid, that they might be lost from Judaism. And it seems to me these people are behaving so only because the color of the Falashas’ skin is black. It is obvious that one must draw them close, not only because they are no worse than the rest of the Jews – because there is no distinction in practical application of the law because they are black …”