by Ner Tamid | Dec 21, 2025 | Sermons
I’ll often hear from Jewish visitors to Baltimore about the strange looking shul at the corner of Fallstaff and Park Heights. The architecture stands out – the light pink Middle Eastern colors, the pointed arches meant to invoke Persian palaces, the shul is obviously a shul for Iranian Jews. The question I’m often asked is, why are Iranian Jews living in Baltimore and how did they get here? But what really puzzles visitors is who this Iranian shul is dedicated to. Across the front façade it reads, The Herman Neuberger Memorial Building. Herman Neuberger is the furthest thing from an Iranian Jew.
Herman Neuberger was born in Wurzburg, Germany. If you were to make a continuum of Jews of all denominations and stripes, you would have German Jews on one end, and Iranian Jews aaaaall the way over here on the other end. Modi likes to make fun of the differences between Ashkenazim and Sefardim, but Yekkes and Iranians, that is next level.
I remember the first Iranian wedding I attended – I came more or less on time. The bride and groom were not there yet. You go to a Yekke wedding on time and you are late.
At a Yekkish wedding everyone’s dancing in perfect rhythm, in a perfectly circular circle, music is calm. At a Persian wedding, it’s like a dance club with rabbis who are belly dancing…
They don’t even eat the same food. A German Jew eats chicken with three pieces of salt, not four. A Persian Jew’s chicken is buried underneath a mountain of rice, buried under turmeric, saffron, sumac, limes, tamarind, cumin.
Try taking seconds at a German Jews house, you get death stares. At an Iranian Jews home if you don’t take triples and take some home for later you have just insulted the host.
You say Good Shabbos to a German Jew, if you look really closely, you’ll notice that he is nodding his head ever so slightly. A Persian Jew? [kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss] SHABBAT SHALOM!!!
So why, ladies and gentlemen, is Ohr Hamirzach, a center for Iranian Jews dedicated to the memory of Rabbi Herman Neurberger, a quintessential German Jew?
One word answer and that is ‘achrayus,’ responsibility.
Whether we take responsibility or not is a key feature of who we are. In my humble opinion, there are two types of people in the world, those who take responsibility and those who do not.
And responsibility is also an exceptionally important value in Judaism. That is the only way to make sense of Yosef’s audacious action after interpreting Pharaoh’s dream. Yosef, a foreign slave, was brought out of jail to interpret Pharoah’s nightmare. Yosef masterfully does so, explaining that the dreams represent the Egyptian economy, bullish for seven years and then a seven-year collapse. But then Yosef goes ahead, pulls out his calculator, and starts to devise an investment plan. He’s pulling out power-points and spreadsheets. What is he doing? What a chutzpah! He was given a task, interpret the dream. Why is he now devising a plan of what needs to be done? That’s not his job?!
The answer is that Yosef was a descendent of Avraham Avinu who was told that Sedom was going to be destroyed. Avraham did not just accept that as a fact even though it came directly from G-d. Instead, he petitioned G-d to save them.
Because as Jews, we believe that we are not passive players in this world. We have achrayus, responsibility to do whatever we can to make the world a better place, whether or not you were asked to do so. So when Yosef, a great-grandson of Avraham, heard that Hashem was telling Pharaoh what He was planning to do, it was unfathomable that this information was shared just to inform Pharaoh. No. Hashem was telling Pharaoh so he could do something about it.
I don’t think we appreciate how radical this idea is. There are other faith groups that do not go to doctors and for good reason. If you believe that G-d is in control and made you ill, then you have no right to fight that. Even many Jews grapple with variations of this idea. They ask, should I not work so hard because I should have faith in G-d that He will provide? Or, as some like to frame it, when does my Hishtadlus end and my Emunah begin?
Now among the classical sources I believe there is only one Jewish source that suggest that we should not exert ourselves fully and instead we should believe in G-d. There are people who apply this to their work ethic and that is fine. However, if that is your philosophical approach you should probably be consistent. I have never heard anyone say, I am not going to go to such a good doctor because I have faith in G-d. Never in my life have I heard a Jew say that. And that’s because the more classical view is that we are expected to on the one hand believe everything comes from Hashem and at the same time believe that we are expected to exert ourselves to the fullest.
That’s why Pharoah is blown away by Yosef. No one in Egypt, in this pagan society would dream of overcoming G-d’s plan. If G-d said there will be hunger, who are we to argue? But Yosef says no, I have achrayus to do something about it.
And this is why Herman Neurberger’s name is on Ohr Hamizrach.
In 1979, the government of Iran was toppled. The Shah fled the country and the Jews were thrown into turmoil. How would they survive under the rule of the antisemitic Ayatollah?
Rabbi Herman Neuberger had forged some connections to Iranian Jews a few years prior. He also had friends in high places in the American government. And so, without anyone asking him to do anything, he made it his business to persuade the state department to accept Iranian Jews as political refugees and he oversaw the immigration of over 1000 Iranian Jews to Baltimore.
Getting the Iranian Jews out of Iran was often a matter of life and death. His children related how, while this was going on, one Seder night, he didn’t join them at the table. He spent the entire night on the phone. He took a quick break before midnight and had a piece of Matzah and then went back to making calls.
He was not related to these people in any way. No one asked him to do this. No one said this is your job. But he saw a problem and understood that he was responsible.
That was what Yosef was doing in Pharaoh’s palace. That’s what the Chashmonaim did when faced with Greek persecution. The Chashmoanim were priests in the Bais Hamikdash. These Jewish children’s books usually depict Yehuda Hamaccabi as a body-builder. He was probably a slightly overweight rabbi with a receding hairline. But he took responsibility. He and his family understood that when you see something, you have to do something. And they did. This past week, a small ray of light coming from the deep darkness of Sydney, Australia, were the heroics of Ahmed el-Ahmad, a Lebanese man who saw the terrorists and could have easily walked away. He didn’t. He ran to the fire. He saved countless lives. He too was a Ba’al Achrayus, a master of responsibility.
***
Did anyone here ask Ayala Pensak to update our bulletin weekly? I didn’t think so.
Did anyone ask Zev Pensak to make our kiddush every single Shabbos?
Did anyone ask Zev to make sure our heating systems are working? That our janitorial staff is on-task?
Did anyone ask the entire Pensak family to cook huge Shabbos meals for the entire shul every few weeks?
Did anyone ask Zev to be on site every day for months to make sure our front lobby came together the way it did?
The answer to all these questions is no. But the Pensak family, learned from their parents, and they are Ba’alei Achrayus. They are people who run into the line of fire, people who do for others, people who respond before anyone asks them to do so.
Shaya, today is your Bar Mitzvah. Aside from being a great brother, a good athlete, an amazing friend, you are curious – at a young age, you came to speak to me about deep theological questions, you are up with the news to know what’s going on in the world. And you are born into this special family of people who take responsibility. I hope and pray you take your many skills and use them as you take responsibility for the world around you.
Now I imagine all of us would like to believe that we should be counted as someone who takes responsibility. I imagine all of us would like to believe that if there was heaven forbid, a terrorist attack, we would be the one to charge the shooter. I imagine all of us would like to believe that if we lived under a tyrannical antisemitic regime, we would take up arms and fight back.
Well, you’re in luck, I created a little test for you to see if you are indeed such a person.
Earlier this morning, I came to shul before anyone was here, went up and down between the rows in this room and dropped tissues. Yes, tissues. Did anyone see them? Did you pick up the tissue you saw?
There are two types of people in the world; those who take responsibility and those who do not.
Yosef, the Chashmonaim, Bondi Beach, those things thankfully don’t happen very often. A ba’al achrayus is always looking around to see what they could do. Is there someone around me who could use a hand? A smile? A hello? Are there a group of people who I could support in some way? A ba’al achrayus does not wait to be asked; he or she steps in on their own.
And so the real litmus test of whether or not we are a person who takes responsibility is when we see something, something small, that is out of place, and instead of just walking by, we stop, we bend down, we pick it up. Next time you do so, please know, that you are walking in the footsteps of our great ones, and that you are a real ba’al achrayus.
by Ner Tamid | Dec 14, 2025 | Sermons
There is not a single element of Chanukah that is not confusing or hotly debated. For example, probably the most famous Talmudic debate of all times is, of course, the one between Shammai and Hillel – one candle on night one, two candles on night two, etc. or, eight on day one, seven on day two, etc. Going up or going down. This tradition of Chanukah debates continues through modern disputes such as, which one is better, latkas or donuts. I was watching a video the other day of such a debate (yes, this is a thing), and the donut defender stated that latkas are for old fashioned people and donuts are for modern Jews. The assumption being that latkas come from Eastern Europe where some of our grandparents ate variations of potatoes for breakfast, lunch, and supper, and donuts come from… Dunkin Donuts.
Now I am a little biased – I happen to be in the latka camp; savory, crispy, potatoes outweigh super sweet dough any day, but biases aside, the guy was totally wrong. The real donut story goes back to at least the 12th century. The Rambam’s father defends the custom of eating sweet fried dough on Chanukah and says it is an ancient custom not be belittled. Jelly donuts in puffy dough goes back to the 15th century. In the very first cookbook to ever be published in the printing press, there is a recipe for what is described as gefullte krapfun, which is apparently German for jelly donut.
Years later, the controversy continues here in Baltimore with an even more hotly debated question – sufganiyot made by Rosendorffs or Parisers?
…
It gets more complicated – If I were to ask you why we eat fried food you would all tell me because of the oil that was found in the Bais HaMikdash by the Maccabees. But even that is not necessarily the case. There is a theory, and brace yourselves, that the reason we eat food fried in oil on Chanukah is to remind us of the tragic and beautiful story of Chana and her seven sons. In Maccabees 2, a book written in 150 BCE, we are told of a woman and her seven sons who are brought before the Greek ruler who demands that they serve an idol. One by one the children refuse, affirming their faith in Hashem, and are subsequently killed by the Greeks. The seventh son, the youngest one, is killed in the most horrific fashion – he is placed in a tremendous pot filled with… burning oil. Dr. Malka Simkovich, a brilliant historian, wonderful human being, and friend, suggests that this story is the reason we eat sufganiyot or latkas on Chanukah. I know, I just killed your appetite.
Here’s another example of confusion – Were the branches of the Menorah rounded or straight? Most of us assume they were round. However, the Lubavitcher Rebbe made a very big deal about the branches being straight; Chabad chassidim take his view very very seriously and will defend this view at all costs. …
All jokes aside, the real genuine controversy of Chanukah, and an important one, is mai Chanukah. That is the question asked by the Talmud in Meseches Shabbos – Mai chanukah? What is chanukah? And the Gemara then shares the classic story that we all know, of Greeks who attempted to stifle religious behavior, of the Maccabees mobilizing the people to rebel against the Greeks, ultimately defeating them, establishing the Hasmonean monarchy, coming back to a desecrated Bais Hamikdash where they find one jug of pure oil that burns for eight days.
But being that it’s Chanukah, it’s much more complicated than that.
Yes, the Maccabees defeated the Greeks in 164 BCE, regained control of the Bais Hamikdash, and created a holiday shortly thereafter. But what that holiday is meant to represent is a mess of contradictory ideas. The following historical overview is also based on the scholarship of Dr. Simkovich. In 143 BCE, a letter was sent to the Jews of Egypt encouraging them to celebrate the holiday of Tabernacles in Kislev. Tabernacles is another word for Sukkos. It seems, that Sukkos could not be celebrated that year due to the Greeks control of the Bais Hamikdash and so every year after, the celebration was about the holiday of Sukkos being made up (eight days, full Hallel, and more). A few years later, another letter is sent to the community in Egypt, this time the holiday of Kislev is described as the Holiday of Purification. This is a little closer to our Chanukah story as it reflects the fact that the Temple was impure and the Jews made it pure. However, 20 years later, yet another letter is sent, this time the holiday of Kislev has nothing to do with the Greeks and Chashmonaim and is described as a holiday commemorating a miracle that took place in the times of Nechemia, some three hundred years prior to the Chanukah story! About 150 years after that, we find Josephus mentioning this holiday which he describes as the holiday of lights but… he doesn’t know why it’s called the holiday of lights!!! The first mention of the miracle of the oil does not appear until the Talmud is written a few hundred years later.
Now, this does not mean the miracle of the oil did not take place. If anything, Josephus supports the fact that there was a miracle involving lights. What it does mean is that many Jews celebrated Chanukah for an entirely different reason than we do.
One of the most notable differences is how the Talmud deemphasizes the military victory and the earlier generations of Chanukah celebrants most certainly focused almost entirely on the military victory of the Hasmoneans. And of course, the question is why? Why did the rabbis deemphasize the military battle and focus instead on the miracle of the lights?
There are many theories – of course. Some suggest the Jews, living under foreign rule, did not want to get in trouble by talking about Jewish military campaigns, some suggest it had to do with Christians who adopted the Chashmonaim as their own heroes and the rabbis wanting to distance themselves from the Christians. But probably the most straightforward explanation is – the Hasmonean dynasty was an epic failure.
Not only did they not maintain the spiritual stature of the first generation of Maccabees, but by the second generation of Hasmonean kings, two brothers were fighting over the throne, and one of them went ahead and invited the Romans to help him. The Romans came along, helped this Hasmonean brother out and then, within a very short amount of time, took over all of Judea, leading directly to the destruction of the Bais Hamikdash and the exile of the Jews.
The rabbis had to tweak the focus of this holiday because the sad and tragic story of the Chasmonai failure is the real Chanukah story.
Now before you accuse me of not only ruining all fried foods for you but also ruining Chanukah, let me tell you why I find the original Chanukah story with its horrific ending to be the most uplifting of all.
All Jewish holidays have a happy ending. Jews were in Egypt, they were freed, let’s celebrate Pesach. Jews were in a scary desert, they were protected, let’s celebrate Sukkos. The Jews were living in an immoral, backward society, they were given the Torah, let’s celebrate Shavuos. The Jews were going to be killed by Haman, they were saved, let’s celebrate Purim.
They are all beautiful stories worthy of celebrating, but almost none of them reflect our day-to-day experiences. Many of our personal life stories do not have happy endings. I was speaking to someone the other day who referenced a very popular podcast by Tzipora Grodko called Stories of Hope. This person contrasted her own life to the life of the guests on Stories of Hope, people with amazingly inspiring stories of overcoming odds and accomplishing great things. The woman I was speaking to did not have a hope-filled story. Now Tzipora Grodko is a gem of a person and it’s a wonderful podcast, so this is not a knock on her, but as I told this woman, I would like to create a podcast in competition with Tzipora’s called Stories of Hopelessness; sharing stories that do not have a happy ending.
I say this somewhat tongue in cheek, but I mean it. Not only because most of our lives are not inspiring. But because there is nothing in our Jewish tradition that suggests that in Olam Hazeh, in this world of exile that we live in, in this pre-messianic era, that our personal stories will have a happy Halmark ending. They don’t. There is nothing wrong with being inspired by stories of hope, but it’s important to remember that we cannot expect our lives to follow this trajectory.
What I personally find incredibly uplifting is our ability, as a people, to recognize this, to say that the Maccabean victory dissolved into a terrible mess, the temple is destroyed, we are exiled all over the world, and yet, we are still able to be connected to our tradition, to Hashem. That we can, in the cold months of the winter, when it’s dark outside, light a little candle, and say that despite all this impurity we are surrounded by, despite all the waves of history trying to extinguish us, we are still holding on. That. Is. Remarkable. And that can inspire me every day of my life, whether I brilliantly succeed or fail miserably; I have a Chanukah story, a tradition that reminds me to hold on.
I imagine many of you have seen the video that was just released; some footage found deep in a tunnel in Gaza of Hersh Goldberg-Polin, Carmel Gat, Eden Yerushalmi, Almog Sarusi, Ori Danino, and Alex Lobanov, celebrating Chanukah. Instead of a real Menorah they have makeshift cups. One of them jokingly asks, where are the donuts? And they joke around how they should have asked their captors to bring them a dreidel. But then one of them asks what Hersh is singing – he is singing Maoz Tzur. Hersh explains that each paragraph of the song describes a different enemy that tried to kill us and was unsuccessful. Eden comments that they should add another verse [to describe the war against Hamas.]
Hersh, Carmel, Eden, Almog, Ori, and Alex never made it out of those tunnels. But tell me their story is not an inspiration. Tell me, this group of strangers who bonded over their common heritage and destiny, to light a flame in the darkest of places, who believed in G-d and in the Jewish People even though they themselves would never see the light of day, tell me that is not the most uplifting, on-brand Chanukah story of all.
Mai Chanukah? What is Chanukah really? It is a story of winning the battle and losing the war, it’s a story of exile, it’s a story filled with confusion, and that is it’s greatness. When we light that Menorah, we can remind ourselves of those hostages who had faith in the darkness, who likely knew their story would not have a happy ending, and were still able to sing a song of faith. That is real life. And that is the real Chanukah story. And I find that incredibly inspiring.
Good Shabbos and Happy Chanukah.
by Ner Tamid | Nov 25, 2025 | Sermons
Good evening, Ner Tamid!
Sometime in the late 18th century, President John Adams wrote a letter to his wife, Abigail.
“I must study politics and war,” he wrote, “that our sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy. Our sons ought to study mathematics and philosophy, geography, natural history and naval architecture, navigation, commerce and agriculture in order to give their children a right to study painting, poetry, music, architecture, statuary, tapestry and porcelain.”
Adams was a wise man with a broad vision. He understood how his actions would pave the way for his children to accomplish more than he did, and their children to accomplish even more.
It is too easy to pat ourselves on the back and say, “Wow, Ner Tamid of 2025 is doing so well thanks to an incredible team of volunteers, thanks to a bold leadership. We are the reason this shul is flourishing.” That’s a small-minded mistake.
The only reason we are flourishing is because we had generations of people who became before us who invested tirelessly and selflessly to make this shul the amazing place it is today. The first generation built, the next generation maintained, and we have the luxury, the inherited luxury to prosper.
Tonight, we acknowledge and thank those people who became before us. To the volunteers throughout these seventy years, to the members of the board throughout those seventy years, to the people who filled the pews throughout those seventy years, we thank you. The merit of all the Tefilah, the Torah, the Chesed that takes place in these walls and through this community is yours for all of eternity. Thank you.
People asked me how we did so well on our campaign. We set out to raise a certain amount and by the end of the campaign, we raised almost double that amount. How did that happen? We turned to our shul community to contribute, but over 700 people from all over took part. Why?
The simple answer is that people recognize that Ner Tamid is burning bright. They see the many people from all walks of life who feel like they have a spiritual and social home, and they want to support that. They see the many people who have a sense of belonging, who would otherwise not have a connection to a Jewish community, and they want to support that. They see the programs and the classes that are unique to this shul, addressing current events, elevating Torah scholarship for women, focusing on Israel, and they want to support that. That’s all true.
But there’s another reason that I’d like to share with you; something a little more mystical.
There is a Gemara in Meseches Shabbos that tells us that every Shabbos, we receive a Neshama Yeseira, an extra soul. Hard to know exactly what that means but it gets even stranger. Rashi comments that because we have an extra soul, we are able to eat more food on Shabbos.
Now Rashi is not a comedian. He is a very serious scholar. What in the world is he talking about that because we have an extra spiritual soul that allows me to have more kugel, more cholent, more turkey salad? What does that mean?
What he means is that G-d created the world with an equilibrium of spirituality and physicality. When there is more spirituality brought into the world, G-d blesses us with more physicality. So yes, when we have a greater soul, we do have a greater capacity to eat.
Over the past two years, in addition to inspiring programming for all ages, in addition to being the most welcoming shul around, there has been a spiritual revolution in this community. The amount of Talmud Torah, the hundreds of people who are learning daily, who are connecting to their heritage throughout their week, attendance in daily minyan, and the amount of chesed performed weekly, all of that has grown exponentially. And I believe that our success in fundraising is a direct outgrowth of this spiritual success. Our shul’s Neshama, our shul’s soul, has expanded, and so too its material fortune.
And with that in mind, I’d like to make an announcement. You see, the shul did not raise $186,000. While we were engaging in fundraising, a group of visionaries in the shul realized that it’s time to invest in the material future of the shul. Like President Adams, they saw more broadly than the present and decided to build for the future. Thanks to the hard work and perseverance of Debrah Dopkin and Rachel Groner, an endowment fund was set up two weeks ago. In that time, a number of extremely generous people came forward, people I’d like to mention by name – Michael and Janet Scherr, Dr. David Maine and Dr. Rachelle Smith Maine, Rachel Groner, and some anonymous donors, and together they dedicated an additional $115,000 to seed our endowment fund. Thank you!
We have a representative from Merril Lynch who will be available during the second half of tonight’s program, who will be happy to discuss the many ways that you can invest in Ner Tamid’s future. I encourage you to speak to him, or speak to me, and help us build a shul that will last for at least another 70 years. Can I count on you?
Now, if my extra soul and extra material theory is correct, this is not just an announcement, this is a charge. If we are now investing materially into our future materially, that means we must invest more seriously into our spiritual future as well. For those who started attending a weekly class over the past two years, is it time to start learning every day? For those who started learning daily, can you squeeze a little more into your schedule to learn just a little more, or a little more deeply? For those who haven’t joined in the daily learning, or who did and then ran out of steam, maybe it’s time to reconsider? For those attending shul weekly, maybe it’s time to attend a day or two during the week? For those, of course, responding to needs as they arise, maybe it’s time to carve some proactive chesed into your daily or weekly schedule?
Our friends from Merril Lynch can’t help you this, but I encourage you to speak to me as soon as you can, we’ll find a time to talk, and we can strategize how to bring more spirituality into your life. Not only for yourself, but to invest in Ner Tamid and the Jewish People’s future.
Can I count on you?
There is a Halacha brought in the Shulchan Aruch that you are supposed to stand up for someone who is 70 years old. After 70 years of experience, after 70 years of Mitzvos, one becomes holy – there is a lot to respect and give honor to.
If you are part of this kehillah, you are holy. You are part of a holy, authentic, growth-driven community. It is an absolute honor to stand on the shoulders of the giants and visionaries who came before us to be the rabbi of this shul as we start this new chapter. A chapter of material growth, a chapter of continued membership growth, and a chapter of holiness. CAN I COUNT ON YOU?
Good. Let’s do this.
I look forward to speaking with every one of you in the near future, not only about the material endowment but the spiritual one, as we pave the way for the future.
by Ner Tamid | Nov 23, 2025 | Sermons
About a decade ago, Ms. Noa Goldman, the principal of our preschool came to my office with a dilemma. It was Parshas Toldos, our parsha, and the children were given coloring pages that told the story of the parsha, and one of the parents was upset. In the coloring page, Eisav was depicted as evil, a bad guy. “A bad guy?!” the parent complained. “You’re telling my child that this man was evil. Who says?” Ms. Noa patiently explained to her that Chazal, our Sages, teach us about all the terrible things he did – he deceived his father, he was a murderer, a philanderer. That makes him a bad person. But this parent wouldn’t have it.
And I understand where this parent was coming from. She is, like me, a millennial. There are a many characteristics that typify millennials; we are labeled as narcissistic and entitled. At the same time, we are also known to be more positive than the generation before us – the negative and pessimistic Generation Xers. But perhaps the characteristic that is most significant is our open-mindedness regarding social and cultural issues, otherwise known as moral relativism.
Moral relativism, first introduced by Baruch Spinoza, in the 17th century, is our calling cry. There is no right, there is no wrong. During the Cold War, presidents could get away with calling the fight against the Soviets as good vs. evil. Try finding those words in a political speech these days. No such thing exists. We sympathize, we justify, and we look for the alternate perspective in everything. Millennials, and the generations that follow us, have a very hard time seeing anything in black and white.
On the one hand, there is something beautiful and G-dly about this nuanced perspective. The Gemara teaches us that the prerequisite for joining the Sanhedrin was the ability to find 49 reasons why an impure rodent, something that is tamei, should be tahor, should be pure. In other words, as the Maharal explains, the ability to see the many shades of grey is a sign of sophistication.
And yet,
Allow me to share with you an article about a criminal, written in Psychology Today, a very popular website:
“…Like so many victims of physical… during childhood, [the criminal] may have experienced an extraordinary sense of helplessness and powerlessness as a boy, stemming mainly from his poor relationship with his exceedingly domineering and controlling father… Such tragic circumstances engender “inferiority feelings” which, in the form of “increased dependency and the intensified feeling of our own littleness and weakness, lead to… aggression … ambition, avarice and envy, coupled with constant “defiance, vengeance, and resentment.”
The author is trying to give the reader some understanding as to why the criminal acted the way he did. The criminal in question is… Adolf Hitler.
While that article is obviously extreme, look no further than one of the most popular movies of the past 5 years, Joker. Joker is a film about a man who commits heinous crimes, murdering people left and right and creating havoc and anarchy. The entire thrust of the movie is to try to help us understand where his behavior stems from.
There’s a part of me that really appreciated that movie. But there’s another part of me that felt disgusted, that felt like we have lost something as a society. In the late 20th century, Friedrich Nietzsche wrote a short piece titled, The Parable of the Madman, about an individual who comes to declare that G-d is dead. He is trying to open the eyes of the people around him to the foolishness of believing in morality, of believing in an objective sense of right and wrong. It’s a parable about himself. In that story the madman, exasperated that no one agrees with him, throws the lantern he is carrying onto the floor and declares, “I have come too early. My time is not yet.” In 2019, at the heyday of Millennialism, and with the superb acting of Joaquin Pheonix, Nietzsche’s time had finally come.
We Jews, believers of the Divine origin of the Torah, do not believe in moral relativism. We believe that G-d Himself taught us what is right and what is wrong, what is good and what is evil. And in such a world view, we find terms that are culturally unacceptable. Concepts like sin, evil, bad. In Kabbalas Shabbos last night, we quoted King David who said, “Ohavei HaShem sinu ra, Those who love G-d, hate evil.” If you really believe in G-d, and you believe that He is the arbiter of good, then that should cause you to abhor what is evil.
That does not mean that we are without nuance.
Yaakov’s stealing of the blessings of Eisav is endorsed wholeheartedly by our sages. And yet, the Medrash tells us that when Eisav cried out, that cry was the creation of a generations-long hatred between Rome and Yisrael, of which we suffered from immensely. Nuance.
Similarly, are other religions evil? No, they are not. As Jews we do not believe that everyone must or even should adopt Judaism as their faith, but we do expect a modicum of decency, it’s called the Noahide laws. Is a person who knows no better by definition bad? No. We have concepts like tinok shenishba, that people who were not educated or properly taught cannot always be held accountable. How do we interact with someone who sins? It depends. Will they listen to our rebuke or not? If yes, then fire away. If not, then we are obligated to hold back and salvage the relationship. There is a lot of nuance in our Halachic tradition.
But none of that grey thinking prevents us from believing that there is an objective right and objective wrong.
What some may call our stuffy sense of right and wrong, what we call the Torah, has stood the test of time. Our Torah was seen as archaic or backward throughout history. In Avraham’s times child sacrifice was fashionable. Aristotle, the most enlightened of all philosophers, endorsed pederasty, intimate relationships between adult men and young boys, because it was a wonderful form of population control. And during a good portion of Western history being anything but Christian was a ticket to the back of the societal bus. Just because our belief in an objective moral system doesn’t sit right, doesn’t mean it is not absolutely true.
Earlier this week, the Saudi crown prince visited the White House. A reporter questioned him on the killing of the journalist, Jamal Khashoggi. I have no idea if the crown prince ordered his execution or not. But if he did, to defend him and even to honor him would be in violation of a Torah prohibition called Chanifa, the prohibition against honoring someone who has committed evil. G-d demands of us not only to live by the Torah’s moral code, but to not even imply that we respect someone who does not do so.
And so, Ms. Noa was right in giving out pictures that depicted Eisav as evil. Evil exists and it is essential, especially in a generation and in a culture that nuances Hitler into a pity-worthy victim of parental abuse, that we stand strong. Because “ohavei Hashem,” those who love G-d, “sinu ra,” are able to state without qualification, that we hate and are disgusted by evil.
by Ner Tamid | Nov 15, 2025 | Sermons
Welcome to the most boring Shabbos of the year!
Hear me out –
We are in the month of Cheshvan. Some called this month Mar Cheshvan, bitter Cheshvan, because in contrast to every other Jewish month, there are no inspiring holidays, no special rituals. Inspiration dies in Cheshvan. Some may say bitter, I prefer boring.
We just read a parsha of which the bulk consists of Eliezer traveling to find a shidduch for Yitzchak. The Torah reports this story not once, but twice, in painstaking detail. Booooring.
And then the main character of the story is Yitzchak. Avraham is the brave and kind revolutionary, Yaakov is the man who overcomes every conceivable challenge, and Yitzchak… Yitzchak does nothing.
He is passive in the Akeidah; he obediently allows his father to bind him up. When it comes to dating, he doesn’t even bother swiping to the right or left, he just sends his servant, Eliezer, to do all the work for him. In next week’s parsha he digs a number of wells – that almost sounds exciting, just that the Torah goes out of its way to inform us that the wells he digs are actually the same exact wells dug by his father. Bo-ring.
You know what else is boring?
Ner Tamid is boring.
There is a new shul opening every few months in Baltimore. And there is something exciting about being ‘new.’ In our backyard there is a minyan called the New Minyan. I heard there’s another shul opening next month called, the Even Newer Minyan (joking). But there are so many new and fresh and exciting Jewish projects and institutions all over this city – which I happen to think is wonderful. Compared to them, an institution that has been around for 70 years – we’re the old minyan, the really old and boring minyan.
So yes, this is the most boring Shabbos of the year, focused on the most boring character, with the most repetition, during the most boring month, in the most boring shul.
Our Sages have a profound take on boring.
There is a Tannaic debate found in the introduction to Ein Yaakov – what is the most important verse in the Torah? One Tanna says it’s Shema, another says it is the verse that speaks of man being created in G-d’s image, yet another says, love your neighbor like yourself. Shimon Ben Pazzi, not a very well-known Tanna, says that the most important verse is, “You shall offer one sheep in the morning, and a second sheep in the afternoon.” What is known as the Korban Tamid, the daily offering. Compared to shema, tzelem Elokim, and loving your neighbor, I would consider a daily sheep as the epitome of baaa-ring. (Sorry)
After quoting the different views, the author of Ein Yaakov declares the opinion of Ben Pazzi to be correct – the most important verse in the Torah is the one that speaks of an offering brought consistently every single day. It is not just the most important verse; it is the essence of Judaism.
Rabbi Sacks explains: “Much of Judaism must seem to outsiders, and sometimes to insiders also, boring, prosaic, mundane, repetitive, routine, obsessed with details, and bereft for the most part of drama or inspiration.”
We can all relate to this. How often do we struggle with Judaism because it doesn’t give us the high and excitement we’re yearning?
Rabbi Sacks continues: “Yet that is precisely what writing the novel, composing the symphony, directing the film, perfecting the killer app, or building a billion-dollar business is, most of the time. It is a matter of hard work, focused attention, and daily rituals. That is where all sustainable greatness comes from.”
Yitzchak may not be a revolutionary or face terrible challenges, but it’s actually much harder to maintain momentum when there is no adrenaline. There may be a lot of repetition in this week’s parsha but the Korban Tamid – which represents repetition – is how we develop new skills and behaviors. Cheshvan may be a month without any special days, but it’s the daily grind that brings out our greatness.
This Shabbos, we are celebrating the engagement of Chana Herzog and Chanan Oshry, we are celebrating the recent birth of a baby girl, Gavriella Esther, to Kochava and Joey Kallan, and the birth and naming of Nova Shiri to Pini and Adrienne Zimmerman. Mazel Tov! All very exciting. These milestones are wonderful and worthy of celebration. But the real joy of marriage is not the exciting engagement party or wedding, it’s the day in and day out, it’s sitting next to your spouse in silence and feeling content, it’s running a household together and always being there for one another. The real joy of parenthood is not the birthday parties. It’s the relationship that develops over years of ups and downs, of hugs and fights and hugs again. Relationships may begin in the state of excitement, but they survive if the parties involved learn the special beauty of boring.
The same is true for a shul. When a shul is around for seven months, that is exciting, but when a shul is around for 70 years, that makes it real. To overcome the inevitable dips of attrition and not fold, to allow for new cultures and social trends to slowly shape a community, to not lose sight of the goal – of being a center and community for Jewish growth for that many years, Ner Tamid like the Korban Tamid speaks to the essence of Judaism.
Before I joined Ner Tamid I would alternate between 4 or five shuls. Sometimes I wanted a little more singing, I went to shul A, sometimes I wanted a more inspiring sermon, I went to shul B, sometimes I didn’t want to see anyone I knew, I went to shul C. It kept things exciting. But for the past 12 years, I have gone to Ner Tamid almost every day of my life, day in and day out. One could argue that it’s boring being part of the same shul for so many years.
But I would disagree.
Though we have maintained the same character over the years, the shul has more than doubled in size over the past few years. At the same time, we have held on to that sense of community, and even family, and that is something I deeply value.
Far more importantly, though we continue to focus on the core values that we focused on 12 years ago, the spiritual engagement has tripled, quadrupled, and more. Weekday minyan is no longer a struggle. From one weekly class to many daily classes, from a handful of people studying Torah to a majority of the congregation doing so daily. The davening gets more and more energized by the month. I have grown together with the shul community and I feel like it’s a part of who I am.
It may be boring to be a member of the oldest shul in the area, it may be boring to be in the same shul for so long, it may not feel as exciting as being somewhere else. But boring, our sages teach us, is where greatness is found. I am grateful to be here every day of the year, I am grateful that each and every one of you have been a part of this, a part of something so exceptionally great. And I am excited to continue to grow our beloved shul together for many years to come.
As you know, tomorrow is our big fundraiser. Ner Tamid has been a rock in the lives of so many, good times, bad times, and everything in between, providing consistent reminders of our values and what we should aspire to. So if I could ask each and every one of you to participate in whatever way you can – even a few dollars. Let’s invest in our beloved shul ensuring that this boring old place will continue to inspire, comfort, and lead for decades to come.
by Ner Tamid | Nov 8, 2025 | Sermons
In the early 13th century, a fire erupted in the Jewish world. Not a literal fire, but a controversy that led to name-calling, attempted excommunications, and the banning of books. The debate revolved around the philosophical bend of the Rambam, Maimonides. Eventually though, the machlokes reached such a pitch that actual book burnings took place in France. Jews, who were opposed to the Rambam, turned to the Christian authorities, claiming his books were heresy, and in 1233, in a public square in Paris, wagonloads of Moreh Nevuchim, the Rambam’s masterful work, were gleefully burned by Dominican monks.
In the late 18th century, a different controversy rocked the Jewish world. An upstart movement, Chassidus, began to sweep across Europe. Many were vehemently opposed to the practices and ideology of this new movement and felt that it was a grave threat to the continuity of Judaism. Once again, name-calling led to excommunications, which led to Jews informing the authorities. At the height of this controversy, opponents of the Chassidim turned to the Russian government, claiming that Rav Shneur Zalman of Liadi, one of the leaders of the Chassidim, was involved in illegal activity and had him thrown in jail on trumped-up charges.
Today, it’s honestly hard to imagine how these movements and ideas were so controversial. The books of the Rambam are found in every Yeshiva. Chassidim and non-Chassidim are best of friends. What happened? How did these groups, who at one point were ready to burn books and throw people in deathly jails, move on and make peace?
There are many factors, and I don’t mean to oversimplify a complex historical process. But there are two people who I’d like to highlight who should receive the lion’s share of credit. The first is Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman, the Ramban. He stood between the breach, lobbied both sides of the Moreh Nevuchim controversy, the rationalists and the mystics, and eventually got everyone to appreciate the concerns of the other side. His diplomacy led to a thaw in the dispute and with time, it faded into the history bin. The second was Rav Shnueur Zalman of Liadi himself. Despite being thrown into jail, he held his followers back from retribution, met with leaders of the other opposition, and within a generation, Chassidim and Misnagdim, were marrying their children to one another.
Today, our Orthodox world is being rocked by a new controversy. It is thankfully not here in the US, but our Orthodox brothers and sisters are fighting bitterly over the question of the Charedi draft. Both sides see the other as an existential threat. Last week, 100,000 Chareidim took to the streets, some of them employing forceful language, and bringing parts of the country to a standstill. The response, much of it from the Daati Leumi community, was fast and heavy. As students of Jewish history, we know how dangerous rhetoric can be.
Who will be our Ramban to negotiate a resolution? Who will be our Rav Shneur Zalman of Liadi to calm his respective side?
Rabbi Moshe Hauer was attempting to bridge that divide. But he is no longer with us.
I can only speak for myself when I say, I have no grand ideas. I can only speak for myself when I say that I struggle mightily to understand the Chareidi position. I can only speak for myself when I say that my heart breaks a thousand times over for the families who have been impacted so devastatingly by the war, and I am filled with infinite gratitude to those who serve. In my humble opinion, every able-bodied individual in Israel should serve in the army or in national service; a wholesale exemption to an entire community is impossible for me to wrap my head around. I also believe the State of Israel must do a better job accommodating the religious needs of the Charedi community – something they have failed to do repeatedly. And I also believe that there must be a group, a limited group, of Torah scholars, made up of Chareidim and non-Chareidim, based on some objective criteria, who are given the opportunity to study Torah undisturbed, because that is a critical component of our Jewish identity.
How do we get there? How do we overcome the entrenched views, fortified by politics and years of mistrust? I don’t have a clue.
But I do know that I have a choice.
I could choose to add fuel to this fire. I could write and post about the flaws of Chareidi society and add hatred to this inferno.
But when I think of the great leaders of our people, the Ramban, Rav Shneur Zalman of Liadi, Rabbi Hauer, I don’t think that’s what I am supposed to be doing.
Instead, not as a resolution, but as a tiny step forward to ensuring the continuity of Am Yisrael, I’d like to share what I admire about Charedi society. This is not in any way an explanation for not serving in the army; not at all. But I hope that if we, especially those of us living outside of Israel who don’t have the same skin in this fight, are able to appreciate the other side just a little more, maybe just maybe by walking in the footsteps of our great leaders, our grandchildren will be able to look back at this time, and as crazy as this may sound, they too will wonder, what was this controversy all about?
So here are a few things I admire:
- I admire their family size. Bringing children into this world is one of the most mind-blowing gifts that G-d gave humankind. While Halacha allows for birth control, Charedi society places a premium on large families. They choose to bring children, a lot of Jewish children, into this world. While those blessed with the ability to bear children in the rest of the Orthodox world weigh considerations like finances and other priorities before having more children, this society is willing to live in two-bedroom apartments, with limited means, so they could bring more life into this world. That’s a choice they make, and it’s a noble one.
- I admire their modesty standards. Two weeks ago, Hindy and I were in Israel, walking on Shabbos from one side of Jerusalem to the other. Invariably we got lost. Many times. Much of our walk took us through Charedi communities. When we stopped a man for directions, he addressed himself to me. When we stopped a woman for directions, she addressed herself to Hindy. That is not my approach to modesty, it is not demanded according to the Shulchan Aruch, and yes, there is an underbelly to some of these practices. But there is certainly what to admire in a group of people who recognize that the sexual mores in the rest of the Orthodox world are far from ideal and who instead strive for greater modesty.
- I admire their aversion to the outside world. I would not be able to handle it. But if I was being honest with myself, I really have to wonder, who is better off, the cultured, news-immersed, me, or the individual, yearning for purity, who refuses to get a smartphone?
- Lastly, I not only admire, but I am envious of their attrition rates. According to some studies, 94% of those raised Charedi identify as being Orthodox whereas 54% of those raised Daati Leumi, Religious Zionist, remain Orthodox. For all the flaws, and there are many, they are doing something right.
There is a puzzling section in our parsha. Lot, Avraham’s nephew, the man who rejected Avraham’s way of life, is saved from the city of Sedom. He is instructed by angels to run to the mountains where he will be safe. Lot refuses. לֹא אוּכַל לְהִמָּלֵט הָהָרָה. I can’t do it. Why not? His life is on the line. Why can’t he make it to the mountain?
The Medrash Rabbah shares a frightening psychological insight. When the angels encouraged Lot to run to the mountain, it wasn’t just any mountain. They were directing him to return to Avraham who lived on that mountain. And of course, Lot could have made it to the mountain. But Lot said to himself: “As long as I live away from Avraham, I could feel good about myself. I am a good person compared to those who live around me. But with Avraham, the great and righteous Avraham, I feel small. I am reminded of all the areas that I am failing in.”
“I know that my life is on the line, but living with Avraham, seeing that commitment to G-d that I don’t live by, I can’t do that. I rather take my chances.”
I have what I’d like to believe to be rational and objective issues with the Charedi lifestyle. But is it possible that part of what fuels my feelings towards this society a little bit of Lot’s discomfort? Is it that I feel judged, not by them, but by myself, because when I see them, it reminds me that I could do more, and I’m not?
I do not plan on changing my lifestyle drastically. I firmly believe in our way of life. It is guided by the Torah and guided by a firm tradition in Jewish thought, and we should not be ashamed of the way we live; we should be proud. But I have room to grow, I have things to learn from Charedim, and I think I, and the world would be better off, if instead of highlighting all the flaws, my Shabbos table and conversations with friends, instead focus on the things we admire.
Rav Yaakov Kaminetsky was one of the leading American Torah scholars of the last generation. Towards the end of his life, he visited Israel. He was quite old and very frail. He was invited to speak in many institutions, but he turned them all down. But there was one place he wanted to speak in, a small, unimportant yeshiva by the name of Kol Yaakov. I never heard of this place, I only know of its existence because Rabbi Frand once shared this story. Apparently, Kol Yaakov was the first yeshiva in Israel to allow both Ashkenazim and Sefardim to study together in a way that respected both of their traditions.
When he got up to speak, he shared the following message:
“My entire life I wanted to greet Moshiach. I now feel that I won’t have this merit; I don’t feel that I’ll live much longer. But if I cannot greet Moshiach, at least I want to be among a group of people that I know for sure, will be among those who greet Moshiach. I know that this Yeshiva will be among those that will greet him.”
We may not greet Mashiach, we may not live to see peace between the different segments of Jews living in Israel, something which I hope our children or grandchildren will merit to see. But if we cannot greet Mashiach, let’s at least be among the group of people who helped pave the way.
