by Ner Tamid | Oct 6, 2024 | Sermons
Who is the most important person in this room today? This is not a trick question. …
The most important person in this room this morning is not the chazzan and not the rabbi, it’s a volunteer, and his name is… Watch this, I am about to give someone an all-out panic attack. The most important person in shul this morning is Aaron Polun.
Aaron is the Baal Tokeiah; he will be blowing the Shofar at our shul. That is the only Biblical obligation we have today. We could skip the sermon, the chazzan can get hoarse, and we will be just fine. But if Aaron does not blow that Shofar, we are in trouble.
Ironically, the Shofar is the hardest part of the services to connect to. We may feel nostalgic hearing the Shofar; it may be exciting to see how long the Tekiah Gedola will last, but in terms of the meaning and symbolism of the Shofar blasts? It’s quite hard to connect to.
Last week, Aaron brought this up to me, and asked me what he should be thinking about when he blows the shofar. It was such a refreshing question. It’s not just the technical elements that need to be met; he wanted to properly represent the congregation with his intentions, with kavannah. I shared with him a classic thought from the Baal Shem Tov, the father of the Chassidic movement. The Baal Shem Tov explains that the Shofar is a primal scream. We do not always have the words, we sometimes don’t even have the thoughts, but there is pain, there is yearning, and it wants to be expressed. The Shofar is the tool to convey that call from deep deep within.
I suggested to him that when he blows the shofar he should think about all the silent screams that fill this room and fill the world and bring them to Hashem. I suggested that he look at our new Bima cover with the names of all those murdered since October 7th and think about the cries of their families, to think about the cries of the tens of men, women, and children, still in captivity, the cries of the mothers and fathers and spouses and children whose loved one is on the front line. The cries of the people, many of whom stifled their own cry, because they felt it would be small-minded to cry while so much was going on in Israel, but instead of going away, their silent cry grew louder and louder. That’s what I told Aaron to think about when he blows the shofar for our congregation.
But two days ago, I realized made a mistake. Yes, a primal cry is one of the symbolisms of the shofar blast, but I do not think that’s what you or any of us should be thinking about as the shofar is blown today.
There is another symbolism, suggested by the Vilna Gaon. It’s a symbolism that I struggle to connect to, but I’m hoping that maybe if I share this with you, we could help each other experience what I believe to be the true meaning of the shofar this year.
Hayom haras Olam. Today we celebrate G-d creating the world. The Hebrew term for world is olam. Kabbalists explain that this word olam is related to the word he’elem, which means hiddenness. And that’s because when G-d created the world, He hid. Why He hid is a discussion for another time but hide He did.
What G-d hiding means is that we do not see G-d’s hand or presence in this world; instead, we see chaos and injustice. Good people suffer. The undeserving prosper. It’s a world which screams at every corner, leis din v’leis dayan! There is no justice, there is no judge! Not only is the G-dliness of the world hidden away, but the G-dliness that exists within each and every one of us is also hidden; the precious soul that is a refraction of G-d Himself is concealed in a physical, lustful, material body. It’s as if G-d took a huge thick blanket and covered Himself.
When people are going through difficult times; when they have prayed and prayed and G-d did not answer their prayers, when people who are so sweet and good go through such hardships, and they ask me, how could G-d do this to me? It breaks my heart emotionally. But philosophically, it’s hard to say this out loud, but it makes sense. We live in a world of he’elem, of hiddenness. When G-d created the world, He went into hiding. And when we were exiled from the land of Israel 2000 years ago, G-d, so to speak, placed another even thicker blanket over Himself. Ha’hastara sheb’soch ha’hasatara. Basic Jewish philosophy will tell you that we do not get to see justice in this world.
As Jews we believe, as one of our principles of faith, that there will be a time when that blanket will be removed. When the light of G-d will illuminate the world. Evil will be punished; the righteous will be given their due reward; we will not be seduced by the artificial flashing lights of our modern world. We call that time Mashiach, or the Messianic Era. But until that time, we wait. Achakeh lo b’chol yom she’yavo.
This past Friday, a hole was ripped in those blankets of concealment.
The façade of a world without G-d, a world without justice, was pierced.
Hassan Nasrallah, the head of Hezbollah, was the mastermind and spiritual force behind countless murders of both Israeli and American citizens since the 1980’s. He was an anti-Zionist, an antisemite, an anti-anyone who was not a devout Shiite Muslim; he wreaked havoc on the world. And now he is gone. His cronies are gone. His beeper-wearing minions are gone.
That is not a he’elem reality; that is a Messianic reality. As Jews, we do not expect to see justice in this world until the time of Mashiach. But the light of Mashiach shined through.
Now I know this makes me sound like a fanatic. We don’t discuss Mashiach in polite society. It’s a belief we keep in the back of our mind and in the back of the siddur. But wait until I’m done; then you’ll really call me a fanatic. Because I realized that it was not just one hole in that 2000-year blanket of hiddenness. No. There is an explosion of Messianic light bursting through; there are other holes in the blanket that I have been ignoring.
Returning to the land of Israel, is that not Messianic? And for us to not only live in our homeland, but to have developed one of the most impressive economies and militaries, and straight-out-of-a-movie military spy agencies, is that not a gaping hole in the façade of G-d’s hiddenness?!
October 7th was horrendous and heartbreaking. But it was also the given, that is what we are supposed to expect in a pre-Messianic era where injustice reigns supreme. It fit very neatly in 2000 years of history of enemies attacking Jews. But for the Jewish People to stand up and dust themselves off? For the Jewish People to say, We will dance again?! For Iran to attack Israel not once but twice with a barrage of hundreds of missiles and the only casualties to be an Arab and a Druze girl?!
We are not living in the Messianic Era, but the Messianic light at the end of the exile-tunnel is bright as can be. The blanket G-d used to conceal Himself is shredding into pieces.
And once you start looking for it, you can see this Messianic light in the craziest of places. Even some of the cultural shifts that are on the one hand so disturbing are also bringing in G-d’s light. For example, there is nothing that annoys me more than the ‘trophy for trying’ mentality our society has adopted. It infantilizes our youth and does not prepare them for the real world. But there is also something Divine, a taste of a Messianic world, that is shining through this cultural shift –
You see, though we cannot see her or feel her, each one of us possesses a soul. That soul is purer than pure, it is described as a piece of G-d. And no matter what we do, no matter how far we fall, no matter what sins we’ve committed, that soul remains, at its core, pure as can be. That soul represents that unbreakable bond with G-d. G-d loves us, accepts us, and cares for us, no matter what.
It’s very hard for many of us to swallow that. Does G-d really love me? Does G-d really see the good in me despite all the times I’ve ignored Him? Come on.
For most of history those questions prevented us from feeling that acceptance. But in the Messianic world, there is a trophy waiting for us all; v’ameich kulam tzadikim. And to be clear, some will get very big trophies, some will get very small trophies. If we waste our life away, if we ignore our soul, there are consequences. But the bond, the love, the acceptance from Hashem, whether we keep every Mitzvah or keep none at all, that bond is everlasting. So yes, we have some bizarre cultural shifts going on around us, but can you see the Messianic light mixed in? Can you see it shining through?
Now if I am correct in my fanaticism, that G-d is giving us a sneak-peek of the times of Mashiach, He probably wants us to do something in return. Don’t you think?
If G-d is shining a Messianic light onto us, we should probably shine a Messianic light back to Him.
What that means is very simple – the only really big difference between now and the Messianic era is one emotion – simcha, joy. In Shir Hamaalos we say, Az yimalei s’chok pinu, “Then” – in the Messianic Era – “our mouths will be filled with laughter.” In a world in which we see justice, in a world in which we feel G-d’s loving embrace, that’s a world in which we could experience true joy.
But if G-d is acting Messianic now, then perhaps we could do the same.
We have spent so much time this past year crying. We have spent so many hours wringing our hands at the state of antisemitism. We have anxiously paced our homes wondering what will be in Israel and what is the future of America. But I don’t think that’s what G-d wants from us.
There is a story told of the Baal Shem Tov. He lived in the 18th century, during a time when the lights of Mashiach were also shining through, but in a very different way. The societal changes he experienced in his life inspired him to start a movement, and one of the salient features of this movement was not so coincidently, the emotion and expression of simcha.
It was a controversial movement and the Baal Shem Tov was constantly defending himself and his followers. One day he was asked why it was that his followers were always dancing and singing, how they could always be happy in such a dark world. The Baal Shem Tov replied with a parable:
There was once a musician who came to a village and started playing on a street corner. This musician was something else; his music was uplifting and lively, beautiful music like they never heard before. People walking by stopped in their tracks. Within a few moments, there was a dance flash mob in the middle of the street.
And then a deaf man walked by. He looked at the town people jumping up and down and shook his head. “The whole city has lost their mind.” And he walked away.
Said the Baal Shem Tov, “Just because most people are deaf to the beautiful music of the world, does not mean my chassidim should stop dancing. Just because they could see what others fail to see does not mean they should not be in a perpetual state of joy.”
Kierkegaard wrote: “It takes moral courage to grieve; it takes religious courage to rejoice.” But today, in October of 2024, I don’t think we need that much courage. We need to just open our eyes and ears.
If you are alive today, then you have witnessed G-d busting through that dark blanket with a flourishing State of Israel; you have seen the light of a Jewish spy agency that is playing out stories straight out of the Bible; you have seen bright justice in a world of darkness.
Just yesterday I saw a very prominent man post the following on Twitter: “[I am a] fiercely Jewish atheist willing to wrap [tefillin]. What’s the bare minimum of prayer involved… in case [the] religious aspect of my belief system is wrong?”
He, like so many, is seeing G-d like we’ve never seen before. He, like so many, is bursting with pride to be a Jew, to be part of a remarkable, uplifting, persevering, and tough-as-nails nation that has truly woken up from a 2000-year slumber. When the Nazis attacked my great-grandparents they put their heads down. But now? We Will Dance Again! Ashreinu mah tov chelkeinu! Look around! There is light everywhere!
And to be abundantly clear, I do not know if we will experience the Messianic era tomorrow or even in my lifetime. But the walls between this world and the next are crumbling, there is light shining through, music bursting forth, and we’d be crazy ignore it.
Over the next hour and a half, we could choose to scream a primal scream. We could focus on all the prayers that speak to the scary judgment of Rosh Hashana, or we could be b’simcha, in a state of Messianic joy, by focusing on the many prayers that thank G-d for choosing us, me and you, as His people, for no reason at all.
Over the next three days, we could find all the ways our family members are failing us, or we could be b’simcha, in a state of Messianic joy, by focusing on how they support us.
Over the next ten days, we could focus on all the reasons we are not doing well enough and be crushed by our shame, or we could be b’simcha, in a state of Messianic joy, by reminding ourselves that G-d loves us no matter what, and to allow ourselves to feel that embrace.
Over the next year, we could choose to march along like we have for 2000 years. Or we could say, no! This is different. G-d is acting differently. And I too will do the same.
So, Aaron, you want to know what to think about as you blow the Shofar? It is not a primal scream. We are well past that. The shofar, in the Hebrew year 5785, is the sound of a trumpet. Nagein b’teruah. It is music, it is song, it is joy. It is light. It is an echo of the most famous shofar, the tekiah gedolah, that will burst through the remaining darkness and banish whatever hiddenness is left.
Ladies and gentlemen, let’s dedicate this year to simcha. Enough tears! Enough kvetching! Enough crying! Let us embrace the light-filed chutzpah of the Messianic era that is shining through our people. Let’s not dance again sometime in the future. Let’s dance again right now. Let’s dance again today.
I do not mean that figuratively. I mean that literally.
I cannot think of a more appropriate way to set the stage for the blowing of the shofar this year. Please join me…
by Ner Tamid | Sep 29, 2024 | Sermons
How do you enter a Rosh Hashana like this one?
Hamas, Hezbollah, Harvard.
So much loss, so much hate, so much pulling us down.
It’s like we’re waking into this holiday season through a pile of sticky mud.
And if we weren’t beaten down enough, tonight we begin the Selichos season – two weeks of saying, I’m sorry. Ashamnu, we have been guilty. Bagadnu, we have betrayed.
To add insult to injury, a year like this could have inspired us to do so much more, but it didn’t. Which makes the chest-beating all that much heavier.
So do we walk into Rosh Hashana hunched over? Beaten down? Broken?
No. Not at all.
Rav Kook makes an amazing observation. The very first viduy-confession found in the Torah is actually not a chest-beating, shoulder-sagging, viduy. It’s positive. It’s uplifting. It is even self-congratulatory.
Writes Rav Kook, “Just as there is great value to the repair of the soul through the confession of sins … there is also great value through the confession of our positive deeds, in order to gladden the heart and strengthen the paths of life in the way of God.”
One of his followers went ahead and rewrote the classic Viduy in this positive spirit.
Instead of Ashamanu, Ahavnu – We have loved,
Instead of Bagadnu, Bachinu- we have cried,
Insteda of Gazalnu, Gamalnu- we have given back,
Dibarnu yofi- we have spoken great things!
He’’emanu- We have believed,
v’Hish’tadalnu- and we tried to give our best effort,
Zacharnu- we have remembered,
Chibaknu- we have embraced…
Ladies and gentlemen, that is the Viduy we need this year. I am not suggesting we switch the traditional text, but I am suggesting that our mindset, as we go into the year ahead, a year filled with so much uncertainty, is a mindset of pride. We have so much to celebrate. We have accomplished so much this past year.
I just want to take a few moments to list a few public accomplishments that took place in these four walls, with our shul:
On October 13th, we hosted a community-wide rocking Friday night minyan, to support soldiers like Arky Staiman who begged us to do so.
On October 14th, we hosted a community-wide program with B’nai Jacob Sharei Zion, Shomrei, and Ohel Moshe that was attended by 400 people, giving the community much-needed chizuk and unity.
On October 15th, we produced and distributed hundreds of We Stand with Israel signs that you can still see all over Baltimore.
On October 21st, we plastered our back wall with pictures of hostages – if not the first, one of the first shuls to do so.
On October 29th, we co-sponsored a rally in downtown Baltimore, letting the world know we are proud of our support for Israel.
On November 2nd, hundreds of shul members chipped in to pay for the Bar Mitzvah of a young boy from Sderot, who was homeless, placing a smile on his face for the first time in a month.
On November 4th, 170 people started learning Bava Kama in memory of Eliyahu Harush, giving much-needed comfort to his young widow, Hodaya.
On November 27th, we sent a video to the Bar Mitzvah boy, wishing him Mazel Tov from Baltimore, letting him know there were people who cared about him.
We’re going to skip December. I had a Bar Mitzvah in December so we were a little busy…
But in January, we hosted a comedy night that was a fundraiser for Israel. In February, we hosted a soldier, Yoshi Rosenbluth, to share with us his experience on the battlefront. We also hosted a presentation from Zaka, the organization that helps care for the dead in Israel. We brought in Hodaya Harush, to see with her own tear-filled eyes, what was done in her husband’s memory. And then we sent her and her precious children to Disney World for much needed respite.
We hosted Dance Parties for the women of the community, to inject some joy and energy into a year of sadness.
We had not one but two Moshav concerts, each packed to the brim, bringing a taste of Israel and an uplift to Baltimore.
An endless stream of members visited Israel, to volunteer, to learn, to give comfort. They came back to our community, shared their stories and lifted us higher.
We hosted Jen Airley who stole our breath.
We chipped in to buy three mobile shuls for soldiers in Gaza.
We dedicated all of Tisha B’av to the situation in Israel, most specifically an event for women that filled our entire social hall.
Okay, then I went away for two months… (It’s in my contract, I promise)
And this past week, we hosted an incredible lecture by Shabbos Kestenbaum to learn more about the antisemitism plaguing our campuses.
And all of the above is just the public accomplishments. I can’t begin to imagine what went on behind closed doors.
But here’s just a little glimpse – There must have been over $150,000 that went through my pulpit fund this year, supporting Israel, and also supporting many people in this community.
The kindness – the amount of Shabbos invitations, of people extending themselves, informally, through meal trains, and through our Ner Tamid chats is breathtaking.
The volunteerism in this shul was off the charts! So much of what you see here every time you walk through the doors is only made possible by a growing team of incredible volunteers. From the CSS team welcoming you at the shuls entrance, to the food you eat at the kiddush. The chesed that we collectively engaged in is remarkable.
You know how many extra prayers were said in these walls? Thousands of extra chapters of Tehilim every day after davening. Even though everyone is always in a rush, no one left, no one speak. We begged G-d to watch out for acheinu kol beis Yisroel. And that is aside from the extra tefilos that all of you said over the past ten months.
And then there is my pride and joy – something I have been accused of talking about ad nauseum – the amount of Torah learning in our shul this year. Wow.
137 men, women, and teens completed Bava Kamma – a difficult and long tractate of the Talmud.
And then the vast majority continued learning daily. How many people here are doing Daf Yomi? How many people are doing Mishna Yomi? How many are doing Nach Yomi? Amud Yomi?
In Rav Kook’s positive Viduy, instead of Tainu, we have gone astray, the text reads, Ta’amnu Sefer- we have learned your books. Yes, we have.
***
A new member of our shul shared an observation with me.
And once we’re talking about new members and this past year’s accomplishments, it’s worth noting that 49 membership units joined Ner Tamid this year.
This new member, Ari Weiss, complained. He said, “Rabbi, all the Torah learning initiatives are nice, but they’re not for everyone. Some people may be intimidated by all the Hebrew text. Some people may not be into learning Navi, Mishna, or Talmud. You need to find a daily learning opportunity that is for everyone. That is your tagline after all, isn’t it? Something for Everyone.”
And Ari didn’t just complain; he did research and eventually we settled on a form of Torah learning that is indeed ‘for everyone.’ We settled on this book – Master Your Words, Master Your Life (https://a.co/d/4DKYPGL). It discusses the laws and ideas behind Lashon Hara and how to speak more positively about one another. In a world filled with so much toxicity, I cannot think of something more important to be learning each day. It is split up into daily learning, each day’s learning is a short page, which should take you between 30 seconds to two minutes to read.
It gets better – Ari and his wife, Michal, in their generosity bought a whole bunch of these books for you, for free.
There is a new cycle beginning this Thursday. This is your last chance to take part in the incredible spiritual revolution of Ner Tamid. And I promise you this is the last time I will pitch any learning program this year…
Who wants a copy? They are available for anyone who is not currently learning on a daily basis. Hands up. If we run out, a generous sponsor has offered to buy more.
***
Rav Kook’s Viduy concludes with the words:
Nisinu- We have tried,
Tzadaknu, lifamim- We have been righteous, sometimes,
Karanu b’shimcha- we have called out in Your Name!
Ratzinu- We have wanted to do more
Samachnu- we have rejoiced,
Tamachnu- we have supported one another.
Friends, we have so much to be proud of. Let’s walk into this new year with our heads held high. And may G-d bless us all with a year of profound growth, true peace, and blessings.
by Ner Tamid | Sep 22, 2024 | Sermons
Before every Bar and Bat Mitzvah I meet with the family to discuss their big day. At the end of our conversation, I often turn to the boy or girl and ask them if they have any questions for me. They usually meekly shake their head no and say a silent prayer that the meeting should quickly come to an end. But Simcha Schwartz surprised me and said, “Yes, I do.” And he went on to ask me an amazing question from this week’s Parsha:
We read something called the Tochacha today – it is a long list of curses that will befall the Jewish People if they do not obey the Torah. And Simcha, who studied his Torah portion, said, “That’s not fair! Our great-great-great-great-great-grandparents accepted the Torah at Sinai. They are responsible to keep it. But what does that have to do with me? I never accepted the Torah? How can I compelled to keep something that I never agreed to? Why would I get punished for breaking an agreement that I never made?”
It’s a good question, no? Why are we obligated to keep the Torah? Because my great-grandparents did? Because a mohel gave me a bris when I was 8 days-old and had no say in the matter?
Simcha, I want to share with you an answer, which at first may seem like a stretch, but bear with me until I am done. Deal?
Rav Yaakov Weinberg of blessed memory, one of the Roshei Yeshiva of Ner Yisroel asked this same question – you are in good company. And he shared the following answer:
You have been Simcha Schwartz since you were born. Was there ever any point when you were someone else? No, of course not. You started off as baby Simcha, and then you grew and grew. And now you’re 13-year-old Simcha.
But that’s not entirely accurate. The molecules, the particles of your skin and bone, almost none of them are the same ones you were born with. Those molecules are dying off and regenerating every moment. The heart that you were born with is not really the same heart. And the brain and the blood from your brain is not the same either. And yet, you still consider yourself the same person. When you look at a baby picture, you say, “Look, that’s me!”
The same is true for the Jewish People. Were we at Sinai? Did we accept the Torah? Yes, we did. The Jewish People did. And although the particular molecules that stood there are no longer, we are a continuation of them, we are the same, we are one. I am bound by my ancestor’s agreement the same way I am bound by decisions I made twenty years ago even though the physical matter of Sruli Motzen from twenty years ago is no longer.
Now you may be thinking to yourself, I don’t want to be part of this mega-Jewish Person thing. I want to be on my own; I want to be my own person. Well first of all, too bad. Molecules do not get a say in the matter and neither do you. But before you jump to any conclusions, I’d like to point out that this ‘being part of a Jewish nation’ goes in two directions. We are connected vertically to the very first Jews who committed to this incredible enterprise called Judaism, but we are also connected horizontally, to every Jew across the world, who will give the shirt off their back to help you.
Let me share with you two stories that will help you understand how significant this is:
If you travel through Tel Aviv right now, you will see signs from the municipality of Sderot. One of the most amazing stories that is not being told is what is happening with the significant amount of displaced people in Israel. The northern cities are empty and many in the south are still unable to return home. Where are these displaced people? They have been welcomed with open arms by their fellow Jews. For almost a year! So much so that the government of Sderot felt the need to take out huge billboards thanking the people of Tel Aviv for welcoming them with open arms.
This could only happen on such a large scale because the Jewish People see themselves as one, as a family, as one unit. Ingrained in every Jew is the notion that we are connected; acheinu kol beis Yisroel. And you, Simcha, have received this education from your parents. Your father’s career is focused on feeding Jews; what greater form of togetherness than that! And your mother has been an exemplary volunteer at our shul since the day she joined. Your family Is not living life in a vacuum; they see themselves as part of a community.
Story # 2- On Thursday, I had the honor of spending some time with Motty and Shiri Twito. Their son, Eyal, who spent some time volunteering at Ohr Chadash Academy in 2019, was tragically killed in January when he and some fellow soldiers were hit by an RPG. Motty and Shiri were in town to help fundraise for an organization that helped them with their grief. They described to me how they refused to speak to anyone after the death of their beloved son. They could not bring themselves to experiencing any joy, it was an exceptionally dark time. But then this organization, with their Shabbatons full of inspiration and meeting others in a similar situation, really changed everything.
Beautiful, right?
It gets better. Motty and Shiri are Daati-leumi, religious Zionists. The man who runs the organization they were here to promote is a Chassid. Together, they looked like an odd couple; two strapping, tanned, Jews – tiny kippah on Motti’s head, a little scarf covering a small part of Shiri’s hair. They’re sitting with a Chossid with his long coat and scraggly beard, who is looking out for them, providing them with relief and support.
And it gets even better. You know who got this Chossid started? You know who paid for the very first Shabbaton that he hosted for bereaved families after October 7th? A Satmar Chossid. Satmar is an anti-Zionist group. They object to the existence of a State of Israel. But there’s a Jew in pain – yes, this Jew’s daughter was dancing at a rave festival on Simchas Torah, yes, this Jew’s husband fought for the IDF, yes, this Jew’s father lived on a Kibbutz that was avowedly atheistic, none of that matters. They are Jews and we are connected.
***
Who here wants a good and favorable judgment this High Holiday season? We all do. So let’s take this idea one important step forward. I want to share with you something personal, but I think it is important to share in this context:
When I was in tenth grade, I decided to not speak on Yom Kippur. There is a tradition of not only abstaining from food on Yom Kippur but also abstaining from talking. It is called a Taanis Dibbur – a speech fast. It’s an incredible experience; it feels like a cleansing. We say so many silly words every day; inane conversations, filling the silence, sometimes we gossip or worse. And for 24 hours the only thing that came out of my mouth was prayer.
Then about 15 years ago, I started working for a group that did outreach – meaning, we taught classes and ran services for unaffiliated Jews. Part of my job was to attend Yom Kippur services with this group. There was no way I could maintain this Taanis Dibbur. I had to do Hataras Nedarim, which I did; I annulled the implicit vow to not speak on Yom Kippur. But I was quite disappointed. I really got a lot out of those 25 hours of silence.
I was speaking to a rabbi I was close with, and I shared this with him. I probably thought he’d be like, “Wow, I cannot believe you used to not speak for 25 hours…” But that’s not what he said. You know what he said?
“FOOL! You are a fool!”
“Not speaking for 25 hours is very nice. But when you stand before G-d on Yom Kippur as an individual who does not speak with others, you are standing as an individual who does not speak with others. G-d will judge you alone and that’s a pretty scary thought for G-d to assess your worth in a vacuum.
But this year, you are going to be connecting to your fellow Jew. You might end up talking about sports or politics, but you are connecting to a fellow Jew. And you will stand before G-d in a group of people. He will see you as part of a whole. When He sees you in a group, He judges the group together. And when you dedicate yourself to that group, G-d sees how valuable you are to His children, and that generates a radically different and far more compassionate judgment. You are lucky to be going into the High Holidays with a group of people that you will support and you will connect to.”
The best way to get a favorable judgment this year is to not go inward but to go outward. If you are hosting meals this Yom Tov season, there are so many people who would appreciate an invitation. More effective than the most heartfelt prayers is G-d seeing us share our blessings with others. 3-day-Yom Tov is a scary thing, especially for people living on their own. If you are not hosting meals, pray for others. If you are able to, give more tzedakah to help the many people in our community who are in need. Share their burden. Show G-d that you are part of the whole, that you are not an individual, you are part of the Jewish People. There is no such thing as a lone Jew; the quicker we embrace that, the more we live that, the better off we will be.
Yes, we are held accountable by the commitments of the Jews who came before us. But we are also held tight but the Jews who live around us. The sooner we embrace the reality that we are all connected, the better off we will all be.
by Ner Tamid | Aug 11, 2024 | Sermons
Like many of you, I got a call on Thursday from Baltimore City, begging me to stay indoors due to Tropical Storm Debby. My children’s outdoor camp activities were cancelled due to the possibility of dangerous winds and fallen trees. There was a run on toilet paper at the local supermarket. And a whole bunch of you forgot to turn your notifications off, so we would all get to hear that high-pitched screeching sound letting us know that there was a Tornado watch.
I’m actually kind of happy we had this experience. It gave us a tiny, microscopic, window into what our brothers and sisters in Israel have experienced this past week as they wait to see how Iran and their proxies will act.
But ‘tiny’ and ‘microscopic’ does not do justice to the shared experience. In Israel, they are not worried about a tree falling and taking out the power; they are worried about hundreds of missiles falling from the sky causing devastation.
They are not worried about the thunder that might wake the children who will then come and snuggle in their parents’ warm bed; they are worried about the air raid sirens and how quickly they can get their children to the safe room.
They are not worried about winds; they are worried about all-out war.
And whereas you and I could track Debby as she makes her way up the coast, all of Israel is waiting with bated breath for what Hezbollah and Iran will do without any warning at all.
That was uncomfortable, wasn’t it? That was only five seconds.
There is nothing more unsettling than waiting for the unknown.
To me, one of the most disturbing elements of the past ten months has been the disconnect between us in America and our brothers and sisters in Israel. They are sending their boys off to the front line and we’re sending our boys off to sleepaway camp. They are reliving the destruction of the Temple and the fall of Jerusalem, and we’re watching cute and inspiring videos about their heroes while we go about our day. They are counting bodies, and we’re counting homeruns.
And yes, I know we care, but the gap – the gap between us and them is vast. It’s like we’re two nations, with two entirely different realities.
I’d like to share with you a biographical sketch of a man who lived during a time when we were also two nations experiencing radically different realities; as always, we have a lot to learn from our past.
About 2500 years ago, there lived a man by the name Yeshaya, Isaiah. Yeshaya was born to the aristocracy, a close relative of the king. He was powerful, intelligent, and a brilliant orator – and he was a prophet. He began his prophetic career during one of the high points of the Judean monarchy. At that time, the Jewish People were split into two kingdoms, North and South, Israel and Judah. King Achaz, the Judean King had a mighty army, they had expanded their border all the way down to Eilat. The Temple was flourishing, people were knowledgeable in Torah, all seemed good.
But Yeshaya was a prophet. A prophet’s greatest skillset is to see what no one else sees. Or perhaps more accurately, to see what everyone else is ignoring and to say what no one wants to hear. At this particular time, he did not even need a prophetic vision, he turned to his fellow Jews of the Southern Kingdom and asked them to just look over the border. “Do you not see how the Northern kingdom is falling apart? Do you not see how Assyria is getting stronger each day, and will someday very soon wipe out your brothers and sisters on the other side of the border?”
“Fine,” they said, “we’ll say some Tehillim.”
“And look, Yeshaya, we get it. Bad things may happen, but they’ll survive. We’ll survive. Hakol yihyeh b’seder. Ten chiyuch, hakol l’tovah.” “You think Israel is going to collapse? We’ve never been so powerful! Look at our army! Look at our intelligence!” and the people went on with their lives. Little did they know that there is no guarantee that Israel will not be overtaken by foreign entities. There was no guarantee then, nor is there a guarantee now. They would find out the hard way.
In the meantime, Yeshaya tried again. He pointed to the disparities in society between the haves and the have-nots. He reminded them of the many members of society who are being ignored and not taken care of. And I could just hear the people of Juda responding to him, “Yeshaya, Yeshaya, you’re getting political. You’re a prophet. Stay in your lane.”
He tried one more time – “You guys are doing so many Mitzvos, you’re learning so much Torah. It’s beautiful. But do you ever think about G-d? Do you think He just wants your mechanical actions?! He wants your heart! Do you think He wants offerings? Do you think He wants you to just mumble the words of your prayers?! He wants your emotions! He wants a genuine relationship with you!” But this too fell on deaf ears.
The Book of Isaiah is one of the most popular books in the Jewish canon. But at the time, Isaiah was one of the least popular people in Israel. No one likes to be made uncomfortable. He was blocked by some. Reported on by others. His posts got one or two likes, usually it was that angry face emoji. There was no shortage of eloquent people who were reassuring the Jews of Judea that all would be well. Who would you listen to? Mr. Doomsday or Mr. Inspiration?
Yehsaya did have a short stint of popularity. During one of the darkest times, after the Ten Tribes had been taken away, after Sancheriv the Assyrian general had besieged Jerusalem, Yeshaya returns to the scene. This time he shares a message of hope, reassuring them, letting them know that it may look bleak, but it will all be good. And he was right; Sancheriv ran off and Jerusalem was saved. He shared during those dark days famous visions of lions and lambs, and broken swords.
You see, prophets were contrarians. Their job was to remind us to always feel a little bit uncomfortable. To never feel like we’ve made to the top of the mountain of success. To second-guess our most precious and dear beliefs. When they were too comfortable, he made them uncomfortable, and when they were scared, he reassured them.
I wonder what Yeshaya would tell us today.
I imagine he would turn to the mothers in Israel, preparing their “go-bags” and training their children to run to the maamad, and he would tell them “Don’t worry. V’ashiva shoftayich k’varishona, I will bring justice back to this holy city.” He would tell the sleepless spouses that their husbands will come home; that war will one day be a thing of the past. He would walk through the army barracks giving hugs to the teenagers who are trying to hold it together and remind them how beloved they are to Hashem. The people of Israel need chizuk, they need strength, and that’s what the prophet would give them.
But then he would turn to us, as we plan our summers ahead, as we flip through inspirational video after inspirational video, and he would thunder: “Do you really think you’re doing enough?! How can you sleep when your cousins are in Gaza? How can you eat comfortably when their mothers and fathers haven’t eaten in ten months?”
“I hear you talking about how scared you are in this country, but then you treat American politicians like heroes, and then you go and build houses that scream ‘I am not going anywhere’? Are you really in exile or is this your home?!”
“And yes, your mitzvah observance and Torah learning has never been greater. But G-d does not want actions. Rachman liba ba’i. Hashem wants you. To show up honestly, authentically. No games. No gimmicks. An open and honest and growth-filled relationship.”
“You may not be able to help the fallen and broken in Israel, but is there a shortage of fallen and broken around you? Open your eyes!”
We don’t have prophets nowadays. But we do. Not only because the words we read this morning from Yeshaya so clearly reverberate in our times. But even more deeply, the Talmud says that prophecy lives on through children. Inside each and every one of us there is a child, a voice of idealism, of unbridled self-criticism, and of unself-conscious yearnings. We’ve all heard that voice before. Sometimes we listen to it. More often, like they did to the prophets of old, we ignore it.
This Shabbos is the only Shabbos dedicated to words of prophecy – Shabbos Chazon, the week we listen to Yeshaya of old, but also to the internal Yeshaya, the child inside. After three weeks of mourning, after three weeks of reminding ourselves that things are not where they need to be, the hope is that we are little less guarded, a little more vulnerable, a little more open to hear that inner prophetic voice. And for each us, that voice is saying something else. Each of us are comfortable in our own way. And each of us need to listen to that voice to figure out what we really need to do. Can you hear it? What’s that voice saying? To you.
***
For a while it seemed like the tide had turned, the people embraced Yeshaya and his messages. His daughter married the king of Israel, Chizkiyahu, and Yeshaya was now an official member of the royal family.
But it could not be maintained. Chizkiyahu died. His son Menashe took over. And Yeshaya’s criticisms started grating on too many people and getting in their way of their lives. Our sages teach us that after attempting to sideline Yeshaya was unsuccessful, he was executed by Menashe, his very own grandson.
As I said, those times are not so different than now. Do we listen to the words of the inner prophet and allow him to guide us to personal and collective redemption, or do we kill him with apathy and comfort?
by Ner Tamid | Aug 5, 2024 | Sermons
I sat down this morning and tried to write a eulogy for our teacher, our mentor, our rabbi, and our friend, Rabbi Chaim Landau. While I struggled to find the words to properly encapsulate the impact this one man had on so many, I realized where I was – the chair I was sitting in, the desk I was working on, the walls I was surrounded by – Rabbi Landau’s old office, and I noticed it was filled with ghosts.
I saw the hundreds, maybe thousands, of Bar and Bat Mitzvah boys and girls nervously shifting in their seats as Rabbi Landau spoke to them about their big day ahead. I saw the countless beaming couples discussing the details of their upcoming wedding. I also saw those same couples as they came back to that office time and time again for advice and guidance as they navigated their married life. I saw the maybe hundreds of people who yearned to join the Jewish faith, who Rabbi Landau guided with kindness and compassion. I saw the countless people who sat in those chairs as they poured their heart out to Rabbi Landau, as they went through losses and setbacks. And I watched Rabbi Landau comfort, lift up, and guide all those people.
I left my office and walked the halls of our school wing, and I saw the ghosts of Yeshivat Rambam and Shlongers Yeshiva, two very different institutions, and yet, both welcomed with open arms by the rabbi of Greenspring Valley Synagogue. Hundreds of students connecting to their heritage thanks to the endorsement and encouragement of Rabbi Landau.
I saw the ghosts of the young children, students of the Montessori school that started as one classroom and grew and grew – a brainchild of Rabbi Landau and part of his brilliant vision. I saw Rabbi Landau stopping to say hello to each child of 3,4, or 5 years old. I saw him playing his keyboard in the classrooms and singing as the boys and girls smiled and clapped along.
I went upstairs to the social hall where I saw the ghosts of the people attending the creative gatherings Rabbi Landau would put together, the Omer Lecture Series, Yom Yerushalayim celebrations, and more. I watched as an exceptionally diverse group of community members learned and grew from these unique events.
And then I went to the sanctuary. I heard Rabbi Landau’s loud, booming, British accent bounce off the walls. And I saw the ghosts of thousands of congregants sitting spellbound listening to his passionate and humorous sermons. I watched the strings of their heart stir, the gears in their head turn, as they made resolutions – to be better spouses, better parents, to be better Jews, to be stauncher Zionists, to be good and decent people.
And it occurs to me as I look around this very full room, I was not looking at ghosts.
Those couples who came to Rabbi Landau for counseling, they went back home, they put his advice to practice, their children watched their parents, and now have beautiful families of their own.
The teensy Bar and Bat Mitzvah students felt heard by a man with a beard, a rabbi! And felt a connection to Judaism they were inspired to explore.
The hundreds of men and women who became members of our faith and now have children and grandchildren who are Jewish too.
The schools that started here had and have thousands of students who went on to live lives infused with Torah and Zionism.
The impact Rabbi Chaim Landau made is not the past; it is the present and the future. It is sitting in these pews, and it is all over the world. It is the immeasurable impact that is coursing through the minds, hearts, and souls, of the tens of thousands of people Rabbi Landau touched in his life.
The impact I must add goes far beyond those who walked through these walls. It is an impact still felt in Charleston, West Virginia, where he started his rabbinate, with a creative bang and flourish. It is an impact still felt by the many students he taught in so many of the local schools. It is an impact felt in the dining rooms of the homes he visited. It is an impact still felt by the patients and staff of the University of Maryland Medical Center where his beautiful piano playing filled the entire hospital giving hope and life to those inside.
There are no ghosts. While Moreinu HaRav Chaim’s soul may have returned to his Creator, he left so much chaim, so much life down here on earth. Chaim shel bracha; A life well-lived, a life that has impacted the trajectory of tens of thousands, a life that is still reverberating ever so loudly in this room, in this hallway, and all over the world.
So how did it happen? How did a Brit, a man born in a small seaside village of England, a country known for its cold weather and cold demeanor become such a lover, a hugger – not just a hugger, but a bear-hugger? A man who never seemed to not smile? A man who seemed to always have a skip in his walk, as if he was listening to the classical music he loved? Who was always doing “lovely!” How did it happen?
I learned yesterday that coffee may have had something to do with it.
But there is more.
Our Sages instruct us to become students of Aaron the High Priest. Hevei mitalmidav shel Aharon. Not a student of Moshe, not a student of Rabbi Akiva. There is only one Jewish figure whom we are asked to emulate, and that is Aharon. In what way? Ehov et habriyot, love people. That was not only the leadership quality, it was the life quality that Rabbi Landau exemplified, it was the key to his success.
It was his love for people that caused him to fall in love with the rabbinate as he watched his father spend his days caring for all who needed him, including inmates at the local prisons.
It was his love for people that allowed him to say “Great game! Better luck next time!” after destroying his opponents in racquetball.
It was his love for people that endeared him to complete strangers, fellow dogwalkers on the street, custodians of the hospitals he would visit. He would greet everyone with the cheeriest hello and smile.
As I read through the outpouring of comments on social media about Rabbi Landau, the words, “mentchlich, smile, kindness, non-judgmental” appeared over and over again. In the words of our Sages, Rabbi Landau was a true student of Aharon HaKohein.
I must mention that this love was not a love of softness; it was a love that was mixed with particular strength. Rabbi Landau had the courage to take a stand on matters that were not always popular in a community in which he would often be in the minority, but that did not stop him.
Rabbi Landau had the strength to take a stand on opinions in these walls that were not always so popular, but that did not stop him either.
Probably the last big decision that he encouraged and saw through at Ner Tamid was the removal of this microphone. It was far from popular, Rabbi Landau had to go head-to-head with some of the most powerful people in the shul, but he prevailed. I think it is fair to say that thanks to his courage, strength, and vision, the shul is where it is today.
If I may speak on behalf of the congregation. I would like to thank the Landau family, Sivan, Talia, Dov, Yaella, for sharing your father with us. Yes, there were some perks – his office was filled with candy your mother did not allow at home, some of you may have thought you owned this place. But I am told it’s not easy to have a father who is a rabbi… we thank you and are deeply indebted to you for sharing him.
Most specifically, I want to thank Rebbetzin Mindy Landau. Not only for sharing your husband with us, but for being such an incredible role model of being a dignified person and of standing by your husband through thick and thin. It has been humbling watching you. Rabbi Landau spent two years trying to persuade you to marry him. It was probably the best investment of time and best decision he could have made.
If I could speak personally. When I first joined the shul, I received a lot of questions that all concluded with the words, “like Rabbi Landau.” For example, “Why don’t you have trivia questions like Rabbi Landau? Why don’t you give out chocolate bars like Rabbi Landau? Why don’t you speak at this point of the services like Rabbi Landau?”
And I was scared, not only of the congregants, but of Rabbi Landau. In the rabbi world, it is an open secret that having a rabbi emeritus is a disaster waiting to happen. As the incoming rabbi, you have your own vision but you cannot undo anything that was done in the past for fear of insulting your predecessor. The previous rabbi understandably is constantly judging his successor and it often comes through.
But that is everyone else’s experience. My experience was exactly the opposite. Rabbi Landau encouraged me at every turn to do things my way. When I’d ask him what the shul’s minhag was, he would tell me to do whatever I think is best, repeatedly. He was gracious beyond description. It was almost as if he had no ego, no sense of personal pride. His selflessness was superhuman. He would never sit in the front; he would beg me to stop acknowledging him from the pulpit. He would thank me profusely if I ever asked him to speak – as if I was doing him a favor. Thank you, Rabbi Landau. I hope and pray that I can live up to your example.
It is customary to ask forgiveness from a parent at their funeral. Rabbi Landau was a father to us all. And so, on behalf of the congregation, I ask you forgiveness for not always appreciating what we had and for allowing your sweetness to lower our guard and not always treating you with the reverence you deserved.
I do not think it is coincidence that today is Rosh Chodesh Av, the yahrtzeit of Aharon Hakohein. The world has lost a true student of Aharon; a man bursting with genuine love for every human being. At Ner Tamid I know we will forever say, Hevei mitalmidav she HaRav Chaim Landau, Zecher Tzadik livracha. Be a student of Rabbi Landau! He dedicated his life to us and we in turn will dedicate our lives to him, perpetuating his legacy of love – for all people, for Torah, for Israel, a life of joy and of strong conviction. While G-d has taken back this precious neshama, there is still life, there is still Chaim living on in the hearts and souls of the hundreds and thousands of us that he touched. We are forever his students.
T’hei nishmaso tzrura bitzror hachaim. May his precious soul be bound up in the Eternal Bond of Life.
