by Ner Tamid | Jan 26, 2025 | Sermons
Chizkiyahu, one of the last kings in ancient Judea, was quoted as saying, אֲפִילּוּ חֶרֶב חַדָּה מוּנַּחַת עַל צַוָּארוֹ שֶׁל אָדָם, אַל יִמְנַע עַצְמוֹ מִן הָרַחֲמִים
“Even with a sharp sword on one’s neck, one should never despair of G-d’s compassion.”
It’s an appropriate sentiment to reflect upon as we await news about the fate of the remaining hostages, and most specifically, the Bibas children. Not that they are more important than anyone else who has been held in captivity, but those two redheaded boys captured the hearts of so many of us. How could you not fall apart when watching the footage of their desperate mother as she tried to shield her children from the barbarians who were kidnapping them?
Though it is not confirmed, and therefore we will not give up hope, but with the release of every hostage that does not include them, it would seem to indicate that these two precious and innocent children are not alive.
As people of faith, as people who believe in a Judge and in justice, it is nearly impossible for us to wrap our heads around this. It’s a question we could ask in so many circumstances, but it’s especially acute when we see children suffer: What did they do wrong? Why did these innocent souls deserve to suffer? Where is G-d?
The Gemara in Sanhedrin describes Moshe grappling with this same question. The horrifically cruel Egyptian taskmasters had a practice. If the Hebrews were unable to supply the correct amount of bricks, the Egyptians would grab an infant and stuff that infant into the walls of the edifices being built. Moshe, upon seeing this, turned an accusatory finger to heaven and cried out, “G-d, how could you?! What did this infant possibly do to deserve such a gruesome death?”
G-d, in this Medrashic telling, picks up His hands and says, “Moshe, if you know better than me, go ahead, do what you think is best.” Moshe rescues one lifeless boy from this wall. This boy, Micha, grows up to be the man behind the golden calf, and an idolatrous cult in the land of Israel.
This Medrash represents the classic answer as to why bad things happen to good people. It does not mean that every child who dies young would have been evil. What it means is that He is G-d, and we are mortal man. Have a little humility; recognize that our little minds – even minds as great as Moshe – cannot begin to understand the complexity of human history; how something that seems so bad is good and vice versa.
And while this answer is undoubtedly the most accurate – who are we to think we could understand G-d’s ways? – it does not always resonate. There are times when we are overcome by the sheer magnitude of evil or by the weight of our pain that simply humbling ourselves is not enough.
In modern history no event reawakened this question more than the Holocaust. The senselessness. The scale. And the sinister nature of unbridled evil on display compelled every believing person to ask, why?
On Monday, the world will observe Holocaust Memorial Day. Perhaps it’s time to move on from the empty slogan of Never Again. Every time I hear those words come out of the mouth of a world leader it sounds more and more like a 4-year-old claiming to never again misbehave. The world has stood by as thousands of innocents were butchered, the world has remained silent as hundreds of women were violated, and the world has been indifferent to the plight of hundreds of hostages. It has happened again.
Perhaps we can gain some solace not from platitudes uttered by politicians, but by the profound philosophy that was developed in the wake of the Holocaust. Today, with the memory of the Holocaust on our minds and the fate of the Bibas children and so many others unknown, I’d like to share with you how two of our Torah leaders addressed the question of ‘why’ in the wake of the tragedies that they experienced.
The first is from Rav Yaakov Moshe Charlap, a student of Rav Kook, who lived in Israel during the Holocaust. Like his teacher, he was a mystic and a dreamer. Just to give you a sense of who he was – As he lay on his deathbed in Jerusalem, there were jackhammers making a lot of noise right outside his window. His family was going to request that they stop, but Rabbi Charlap insisted that the construction workers continue. “My whole life,” he said, “I prayed for the rebuilding of Jerusalem. And now I finally get to hear it happening.”
In Israel, until the Eichman trial, survivors of the Holocaust were looked down upon. They were accused of being weak like sheep. Why couldn’t they stand up to the Nazis? As ludicrous as that sounds today, that was the sentiment of the Israeli street.
With this in mind, Rav Charlap shared the following idea with a group of survivors: You are all aware of the binding of Isaac. That was the turning point of our history, when Avraham demonstrated that there was nothing that stood in the way of his love for Hashem. It was at that moment that G-d promised Avraham that his descendants would become a nation. But Yitzchak was never slaughtered. Despite the devotion, despite the sincerity, despite the intentions of Avraham, G-d forced him to stop. In Yitzchak’s place Avraham offered a lamb.
The Binding of Isaac, Akeidas Yitzchak, suggested Rav Charlap, is an ongoing historical process. It started with the kavannah of Avraham, but it culminates in the death of any Jew who is killed because of their connection to our faith. Yitzchak had to survive for the Jewish People to come into being, but every Jew who died by the hands of the Nazis is part and parcel of the most significant moment in our history. Their death is part of the greatest expression of G-dly love.
Rav Charlap, you may have noticed, was cleverly flipping the sheep narrative on its head – those who died in the Holocaust were not sheep to the slaughter, they were the sheep of the Akeidah. They were not victims, they were heroes. They may have been physically weak, but their spiritual impact was powerful.
He continued: As Jews we believe in a Messianic Era, a time of brilliant spirituality and G-dly light. But the world is not ready for such a powerful expression of G-dliness in the world. And so, as the Talmud tells us, there is something known as Mashiach ben Yosef, a messianic figure who will tragically die. The pain and shock we experience over his death shields us from the brilliant light of Mashiah ben Dovid and creates an entranceway for the Messianic Era. This tragic Messianic figure is not a person, it’s a collective experience of overwhelming pain. Without it we will never get to our final destination. The 6 million Jews who died in the Holocaust did not die for no reason, they died to pave the way for the most brilliant light of Mashiach.
Yes, these ideas are esoteric, but the message is clear. When we look at one child or six million children in a vacuum we cannot begin to understand. But when we see them and we see ourselves in the context of a people and in the context of human history, we can understand that it is all part of a bigger and better picture, that the pain is paving the way for our collective joy.
While Rav Charlap was following the news of the Holocaust in Israel, there was a man by the name of Rav Kloynamous Kalman Shapira who was living it. Rav Shapiro, also known as the Aish Kodesh, was a Polish Chassidic rabbi who spent much of the war in the Warsaw Ghetto. Immediately before the war his wife died, in the opening days of the German attack on Poland, he lost his only son and daughter-in-law, and his mother. He was given many opportunities to flee but he did not want to leave his followers behind.
Every Shabbos, despite it being punishable by death to do so, he had a Shabbos morning minyan. Almost every Shabbos he would deliver a sermon to those who joined him. After Shabbos he would write the sermons down, and thanks to the hand of Divine Providence we have access to his incredibly moving and inspiring sermons.
It is both fascinating and heartbreaking reading these sermons. You could see, as time goes on, how his message changes. At the outbreak of the war, he shares classical messages of inspiration; if bad things are happening to us it is G-d’s way of telling us we need to change. As time goes on and he experiences more and more anguish, as the realities of what is happening become clear to him, he moves away from this classical approach of G-d punishing us for our misdeeds. But with few exceptions he does not deal with theology; he does not attempt to explain why. Instead, he focuses on the what. What can we do in this circumstance? Initially, he tells his followers that they should study more and pray more. With time, that becomes impossible and so he tells them we should be kinder to those around us, to help one another. As there is less and less to give, he instead begs them to think kindly of one another. And finally, he implores them to not give up hope.
This approach is beautifully summed up by Rabbi Dr. Norman Lamm who suggests that instead of reading the famous words, Keili, Keili, lamah azavtani, Lord, O Lord, why did you forsake me, they should be read as lemah azavtani, to what end did You forsake me; not why but what can I do.
Why did G-d allow the most sophisticated army to let their guard down on October 7th? Why did G-d allow so many innocents to be butchered? Why did G-d allow so many innocents to not come out of those tunnels of hell? Why does G-d allow so much overwhelming pain exist in this small fragile world?
Ultimately, we do not know, and that is not always satisfactory.
But perhaps those who lived through the Holocaust, perhaps Rav Kloynamous Kalman Shapira and Rav Charlap can provide us with some direction. To humble ourselves and recognize that even Moshe could not understand G-d’s ways. To be motivated by the fact that our suffering is part of a cosmic plan, and somehow the tears we plant will bring forth great joy. And to not ever be debilitated by the pain. These martyrs and survivors, through their words and actions, can teach us that you can be in the depths of hell and still find meaning, and still find purpose, that there is always a what that can be done, even when we don’t know why.
May we merit to see the day when all the hostages are returned, when all the soldiers go home, and the brilliant light of Mashiach will sprout forth from the field of our tears.
by Ner Tamid | Jan 11, 2025 | Sermons
One of the most important works on Jewish sociology of the 20th century was Professor Marshall Sklare’s book, Conservative Judaism. It was published in 1955, the heyday of the Conservative movement, during which many graduates of Orthodox yeshivas were taking pulpits in Conservatives shuls and more and more Orthodox shuls were changing their affiliation and becoming Conservative. Sklare famously declared the history of Orthodoxy in the United States “can be written in terms of a case study of institutional decay.” He concluded his analysis of Jewish Orthodoxy by proclaiming that its future was bleak.
I thought about Marshall Sklare this past week as I read the news from Queens, New York. The board of the very first Solomon Schechter school, named after one of the most influential leaders of the Conservative movement, voted to change its charter from being a Conservative school to an Orthodox one. This school of almost 500 students no longer has an egalitarian minyan and is now called the Hebrew Academy of Queens.
This is part of a national trend; Conservative Judaism is on the decline. Over the last 20 years, one third of Conservative synagogues have closed their doors. Meanwhile, in our little Pikesville, a new Orthodox shul is born every day.
While there are some Orthodox Jews who have been celebrating this shift, I think it’s worth reflecting on two relevant implications.
One – every Conservative school or shul that closes its doors leaves hundreds, maybe thousands of Jews spiritually homeless. While a handful may decide that traditional-Torah Judaism is the only way forward; many will simply lose their connection to our faith. That is a travesty.
There’s an additional point worth considering that directly impacts us. Why are these shuls and why are these schools closing their doors? Conservative Judaism seems to be a perfect blend of structure, but not too much structure. Respect for the past, but modern. Where did they go wrong?
To be clear, I believe their understanding of how Jewish law works is flawed, but that’s not a reason why the movement would not remain as wildly popular as it was in the 50’s and 60’s. Why is their movement no longer as attractive as it once was?
One of the articles that reported on the Solomon Schechter school in Queens noted that the school’s shift to Orthodox was also part of a local trend. Many of the previously Conservative shuls have become Orthodox over the past decades. How did they get the formerly conservative membership to agree to separate seating and all other Orthodox practices?
They left the memorial plaques in place.
They left the memorial plaques in place. That was what it took.
Effectively, they were more focused on the dead than the living, on the past, more so than their future.
And this is something that we are far from perfect with ourselves.
I shared with you all in the past how we love dead Jews.
What’s the one day a year that our shul is packed? Is it Purim with its tangible joy, children in costume, and lively music? No. It’s Yizkor when we pay tribute to the dead.
What’s one historic moment that all Jews rally around? Is it the giving of the Torah, when 3 million Jews heard from G-d Himself? Is it the creation of the State of Israel, celebrating her miraculous success, the revival of our ancient tongue, regaining sovereignty after 2000 years? No. It’s the Holocaust. All Jews can agree that it’s good to talk about 6,000,000 dead Jews.
What is the one ritual that we all hold dearer than any other? Is it Torah study? That opportunity to connect to our ancient wisdom? Is it prayer, that invitation to speak directly to the Creator of the World? No. It’s a yahrzeit when we say Kaddish for the dead.
We love dead Jews.
I have been haunted for a decade by a short conversation I had with a child of this shul. I asked her what shul is. Her reply? “Where my family goes when someone dies.”
Reverence for the past is beautiful, but when we choose the past over the future, when we choose plaques over people, when we choose to memorialize and not internalize, that is a recipe for the end of a movement.
There is only one non-Biblical fast day that overrides Shabbos. According to one opinion, Asarah B’Teves, yesterday’s fast would override Shabbos, but not everyone agrees. The one fast that overrides Shabbos is a fast that one takes upon themselves when they have a bad dream. If you were to wake up on a Shabbos morning after a harrowing dream, you would be allowed to fast if you so choose. Now If Tisha B’av, the day that commemorates the destruction of both Temples and the start of our exile were to fall out on Shabbos, we would push it off to Sunday. Why?
Says Rav Meilech Biederman, Tisha B’av is about the past, it happened already. If you memorialize it a day later, big deal. A dream is about the future, and the future is potent, the future is powerful, the future is the only thing we really need to worry about.
When Yaakov Avinu gathers his family around him at the end of his life, he does not tell them to make sure to not forget him, he does not tell them how good things were in the old country. Instead, הֵאָֽסְפוּ֙ וְאַגִּ֣ידָה לָכֶ֔ם אֵ֛ת אֲשֶׁר־יִקְרָ֥א אֶתְכֶ֖ם בְּאַחֲרִ֥ית הַיָּמִֽים׃
Yaakov is entirely focused on the future, on what comes next. Are you passing our values on to the next generation? Are you ensuring that your children get the best Jewish education possible? Are you describing our rituals as a connection to a quaint past or as the most relevant present and the only way forward to a glorious future? A focus on children and on the future is the only way for a people to thrive.
This week is, I believe, the most significant week in my time at Ner Tamid. When I joined the shul there was a teen minyan, a very nice minyan with no talking, but there were no teens. Over the years, I noticed many shuls had learning programs for young families on Saturday nights, I didn’t think we had the critical mass or the interest to have one at our shul.
Last Saturday night, Ner Tamid hosted its first very own Family Learning. I got emotional looking around the packed room of Ner Tamid boys and girls, mothers and fathers learning together – especially impressive as it overlapped with a Ravens game. Today, right now, I will be exiting out that side door to go join our reinstated teen minyan. Our teens will be meeting weekly for a teen-led Mussaf minyan. We waited and waited until we had a critical mass of teenagers and now, thank G-d, we do.
Even those of you who are not into sociology may be familiar with the last name Sklare. You may not know Professor Marshall Sklare, but you may have heard of Rabbi Yonah Sklare. You see, Marshall Sklare’s son decided to join that movement that his father described as “a case study of institutional decay.” Marshall’s grandson, Rabbi Yonah Sklare, is a noted lecturer and teacher of Torah, who has given numerous talks in our shul.
Plaques are important. The past is important. But you cannot drive a car by only looking at the rearview mirror. A movement obsessed with the past will not survive.
Is the Torah relevant to us today? Can Judaism bring us closer to a better tomorrow? If that’s the message we are living and breathing, then, and only then will our children follow in our footsteps. Then, and only then, will this shul and movement live on.
Now if you could please excuse me as I go shep nachas from our future.
by Ner Tamid | Jan 5, 2025 | Sermons
I have to get something off my chest – In 2012, I served as the interim rabbi of Ner Tamid. During that time, the shul conducted a national search to find a rabbi. I was one of the candidates, and appropriately given the same treatment as the others. There was a formal interview, there was a single Shabbos that was considered my try-out, or probba Shabbos, a town-hall style meeting. All good.
But then I was asked to have a second town-hall meeting. How did I merit to have a second meeting?
Apparently, some people were nervous. “Rabbi Motzen is a graduate of Ner Israel – the ultra-ultra-ultra-Orthodox institution. What is he going to do to our shul?” So this town-hall meeting had very specific questions about what practices I would impose on the congregation. Would I continue saying Hallel on Yom Haatzmaut? (Yes) Would I open the parking lot to cars on Shabbos? (No) And my favorite – would I ban the congregation from having televisions or the internet?
I love the assumption of the question, that I could just waive my hands, maybe write a short little email, and voila, everyone would unplug their modems and throw their 45-inch screen TVs in the garbage. Unfortunately, I have no such power. I could barely get my children to go to sleep at their bedtime…
I think I laughed out loud when that question was asked. Of course I would not be banning the internet. But the older I get, the more removed from my time at Ner Israel I get, the more I realize that maybe I should not have laughed at that question.
In 1516, the Jewish community of Venice was forced to live in a segregated part of the city. The Jewish quarter became known as a ghetto. The meaning of the word ghetto is unclear. Some suggest that it comes from the Venetian word, geto, which means foundry, as the very first ghetto was built on an old foundry in the city of Venie. Others suggest that it comes from the Yiddish gehekts, which means closed in, which is exactly what a ghetto is, a closed-in area. Some argue that it comes from the Old French word, guect, which means to guard, as the function of the ghetto was to protect the Christian from the “negative” influences of the Jewish People. Ghettos were an on-and-off feature of European life, and they reached their nadir with the over 1000 ghettos constructed by the Nazis.
Although historians suggest that the ghetto in 16th century Venice was the very first ghetto in history, it’s not true. When Yosef’s family joins him in Egypt, he spends significant time coaching them on how to speak to Paroah to ensure that they end up living on their own in a city called Goshen. The Torah records this dialogue in great detail. Rashi suggests that Yosef wanted them in Goshen for entirely pragmatic reasons – they were shepherds and Goshen was a pastureland. However, the vast majority of Biblical commentaries disagree. Ramban, Kli Yakar, Netziv, Rav Hirsch, and even Josephus argue that Yosef’s intention was entirely spiritual. Egypt was the center of civilization but also the center of decadence and immorality. Yosef was desperate to keep his family away from the pull and attraction of Egyptian culture.
You see, there is another type of ghetto. One that is not imposed from the outside, it is imposed from within. As opposed to the ghetto wall put up by our enemies to keep us away, this second type of ghetto wall is put up by ourselves to allow us to build and develop.
The children of Yaakov faced an incredible challenge. They were a new nation, made up of barely a hundred people. How would they develop their own culture? How would they develop their own sense of self? And so Yosef wisely encouraged his family to live far away from the Egyptian capital so that they would have a chance to come into their own.
It was in Goshen that the children of Yaakov adopted distinct names and held onto their native tongue. It was in Goshen, in this self-imposed ghetto, that the children of Yaakov became the Nation of Yisrael.
This second type of ghetto was immortalized by none other than Trevor George Smith Jr., otherwise known as Busta Rhymes, a popular rapper. In one of his most well-known songs, called, The Ghetto, he describes how his culture, Black culture, thrived and developed in what he described as their own ghetto, the Black neighborhoods in New York. (I cannot quote a single verse from the song, so you’ll have to trust me.) In those neighborhoods concentrated with others of the same background, they were able to come into their own, creating a strong and unique culture.
There are still self-imposed Jewish ghettos around the world. In Meah Shearim and in New Square, there are communities of people who are deliberately running away from all other cultures. But the Goshen-Ghetto model is for the most part a thing of the past. That’s not the way we nor most of the Jewish People live today. If anything, we are far more like Yosef who lives in two worlds, the cultured, sophisticated man of the world, AND the spiritual and devout Jew.
But I sometimes wonder who’s right? Is it the Jew in Meah Shearim who does not know have to hear cruel jokes about the murder of the CEO of United Health Care, or is it me, able to quote Bava Basra and Busta Rhymes? Am I really better off?
As I sift through the books in the library, forced to choose between appropriate and inappropriate children’s books for my little ones, as I quickly scroll past ads on social media that would make most of our parents blush, as I am bombarded by ideas that do not in any way align with a Jewish way of life, I have to wonder if maybe pulling the plug on my modem would be the right thing to do. Even Yosef, Mr. Cosmopolitan, recognizing the dangers of his lifestyle, helped his family set up a self-imposed ghetto. This world is unsafe in more ways than one.
Despite my reservations, my modem is staying plugged in. I do not have a television but if I did, I would not throw it out, and like I told you twelve years ago, I don’t think you have to throw yours out either.
But for those of us who choose to live this Yosef lifestyle, immersed and engaged in the exciting and beautiful world around us, our connection to Judaism has to be stronger than those in Meah Shearim, not weaker.
There is a strange phenomenon where those who are more cultured and more connected to the broader culture, are often weaker in their religious observance. That is completely backward. And it’s not sustainable.
To be a Yosef, to engage in modern culture, we need to be honest with ourselves and say that not everything out there is good. A starting point is a filter on every device. But it’s more than that – we need to be disciplined and distinguish between good culture that is clean and wholesome and expansive, and bad culture that fills my mind with stupidity or worse.
To be a Yosef, to live in a world filled with ideas that are anathema to Jewish values, we need to be saturated with Torah so we could know who we are and what we stand for. Whatever amount of Torah they are learning in sheltered communities, we need to be learning double!
The other week it was freezing one morning, about 15 degrees, not including the wind factor. I had planned on going for a run and now I had two options. It’s freezing outside; I could stay indoors and stay warm. Or, I could run like… like a beast. I ran almost double my regular speed that day, I was dripping with sweat by the time I got home. Had I ran my regular pace I probably would have gotten frostbite.
I’d like to believe the benefits of being connected to the world around us outweigh the benefits of hiding away. Keep the internet. Keep your tv. But if we go down this path, we must follow in the steps of Yosef, known as Yosef HaTzadik, the Righteous One, and not just casually trudge along. The only way to thrive or even survive in such complicated conditions, outside the ghetto walls, is to make sure we break into a spiritual sweat.
by Ner Tamid | Nov 24, 2024 | Sermons
Ladies and gentlemen, I have solved our fundraising challenges once and for all. I came up with an idea so good that we will never ask you for money again.
I present to you- 
A strikingly similar piece of art was sold by Sotheby’s this past week for 6.2 million dollars.
Do we have an opening bid??
Maurizio Cattelan is the creator of this piece. Apparently, it took him years to come up with this. It took Hindy five minutes to put it together.
Maurizio, in one interview, explained that the meaning behind this masterpiece was to highlight the absurdity of our subjective likes and dislikes. In other words, why does one piece of clothing sell for hundreds and a similar piece of clothing, made of the same material, sell for less? Why were pleated pants and shoulder pads seen as out of style a few years ago and now are the height of fashion? It’s absurd.
As an annoying father, I sometimes challenge my daughters to explain why they think this or that skirt or dress looks cool, or “preppy” in their parlance, or why they would not be caught dead wearing browns two years ago, but now browns are in.
Our taste is more than subjective; it’s fickle. It’s easily manipulated by a myriad of psychological and social forces.
His observation, in my opinion, is not worth 6.2 million, it’s priceless.
Let me explain:
There is a major debate among the medieval commentators about the existence of a bashert, what some would translate as a soulmate. A Gemara in Sotah teaches us that 40 days before a person is born, a voice rings out from the heavens stating, “This boy will marry that girl,” – they are meant to be. According to this approach, dating is about finding your destiny. If you find him or her, you will live the most blissful life. If you don’t, good luck. Being single just got a whole lot more stressful.
Then there are others, like the Rambam (Shmoneh Perakim) and Meiri (Sotah), who, based on other Talmudic passages, rejects this out of hand. There is no one person you are destined to marry. There is no such thing as a bashert.
Now it’s not my place to weigh in on a debate between Torah luminaries. But if I was forced to choose, I would tell you that the opinion of the Rambam, that we do not have a bashert, is far healthier to live by. And that’s because those who subscribe to the bashert view will invariably wake up one day, maybe after a week-long fight, and say, my wife or my husband is not feeling very bashert-like right now. I think I chose the wrong person.
But if you subscribe to the I-could-have-married-almost-anyone-in-the-world view, this was never THE ONE. It was simply the person you committed to come what may.
Our feelings are fickle; they come and go. If this piece of garbage could sell for 6.2 million dollars, what does that tell you about our feelings of love and attraction towards a significant other? Bashert today; bozo tomorrow.
But maybe marriage is more than a feeling? Maybe marriage is not about two people falling in love – or about finding their other half? It’s about two people committing to stay and stand in love.
Tish Harrison Warren, an Anglican priest and a very thoughtful writer, once wrote about the challenges she and her husband faced in their marriage. She then went on to describe how society’s view of divorce has changed over time:
“There was a time, not long ago, when getting a divorce in America was prohibitively difficult. That left individuals — usually women — stuck with philandering husbands and in abusive and dangerous marriages. Divorce is at times a tragic necessity. I’m very glad it is available.”
So am I.
“But,” she continues, “now the pendulum has swung so far that surrendering personal happiness to remain in an unfulfilling marriage seems somehow shameful or cowardly, perhaps even wrong.
We hear stories of people leaving a marriage as an act of self-love, to embark on a personal, spiritual … journey of self-discovery. … In contrast, the story of someone staying in a disappointing marriage for the kids or because of a religious commitment or for some other similarly pedestrian reason is, at best, boring. Worse, it seems inauthentic and uncreative, lacking in boldness and a zest for life.”
For Warren, this commitment to staying married even when it seemed to make no sense, eventually bore fruit as he and her husband now share an imperfect but beautiful relationship.
Our parsha highlights a most imperfect union. Yitzchak and Rivkah could not be more poorly matched (see Netziv); he was old, she was young. He was intense, she was meek. She was born to idolators, he was born to the first Monotheist. And yet, “vaye’e’haveha,” he loved her, and she loved him. It was a commitment and a choice that would override all the tension that existed between them and would keep them together through all the challenges they faced. Love is a verb; we don’t passively fall into love – certainly not the lasting type. True love, lasting love, is born out of a commitment to stay committed even when we don’t feel it.
And I must add, what is true for a relationship with a spouse is true for our relationship with Hashem. How often do I hear someone tell me how they are just not feeling it; they are waiting to be lovestruck, they are waiting to be inspired by Judaism, they are waiting until they feel close to G-d. And until that time, they ask me, why should they bother praying? It feels so inauthentic.
Let me share with you something I learned over the past few decades. I grew up in a home in which we did not say, I love you. It wasn’t that we didn’t love each other, we did, it just wasn’t a phrase that we used.
My wife, on the other hand, grew up in a home in which they always said I love you. Like most things in my home, we defer to Hindy. And so, we always say, I love you. Before the kids go to sleep, I love you. When we get off a call, I love you.
Growing up, I remember there being times when I felt like I wanted to convey the fact that I loved my parent or sibling but I just did not have the words; it was incredibly awkward for me to use that phrase.
And now, as someone who says, I love you, to my children, do you think I only say when I mean it? Of course not! Sometimes I mean it, and sometimes what I really mean is, you are being so obnoxious right now, and I need to get off this call, I love you. But I still say it, because I’m committed to them.
Do I feel like praying every day? No. Do I feel connected to Hashem every time I stand before Him? I wish I did. But I’m in a relationship with Him, and so whether I feel it I not, I show up.
And just like a daily I love you, my daily prayer builds and maintains a bridge, so that my love and my relationship has somewhere to live and flourish. (H/T to Dr. Rivka Press Schwartz)
There was a couple I once met with; they were going through a very difficult patch, including infidelity. We fell out of touch and when I saw them again a few years later, the husband told me that their relationship was flourishing.
I remembered being so frustrated talking to them; nothing seemed to get through. The husband had decided that he made a terrible mistake. What happened, I asked him.
He sheepishly smiled: “I made a choice.”
“I chose to be attracted. I chose to see the good. I chose to be more thoughtful and understanding.”
This does not mean that if you are single you should go to kiddush today, find the first person you see, and propose. This most certainly does not mean that if you are in an abusive relationship or even a relationship that you have invested in endlessly with no reciprocity that you should stay put. Divorce exists for a reason.
What it does mean is that all of us who are blessed to be in a relationship should perhaps stop getting so caught up in our feelings; they come and go; this banana will be spoiled by tomorrow. Instead, we can all choose, and we can all commit to working a little harder.
by Ner Tamid | Nov 10, 2024 | Sermons
This past Sunday a letter was circulated in my little rabbi world. The authors of the letter were looking for more rabbis to sign on to their letter titled, Orthodox Rabbis Endorse Kamala Harris. It cited Trump’s values and character as reasons to disqualify him from office. It did not take long for a new letter to start circulating, called, you guessed it, Orthodox Rabbis Endorse Donald Trump. It cited Trump’s impressive track-record supporting Israel as the reason Jews should vote for him.
And then… a third letter circulated! Oh, rabbis…
This message, which was the most popular, suggested that rabbis should not get involved in politics whatsoever.
I signed on to none of them. Not the rabbis against Trump, not the rabbis for Trump, and not the rabbis who said rabbis should not weigh in on politics.
Let’s begin with the group that argues that Rabbis should not get involved in anything partisan. Of course, there are legalities. I am not allowed to tell you who you should vote for from this little perch. But if we met on the street and you asked me who I am voting for, or even who you should vote for, I am allowed to share my views. There is also a question of strategy – is it wise for the Jewish community to publicly endorse one party if the other party will likely be in power in the next few years? But the most fundamental question is this – should we use the Torah to influence our political views, or should Judaism remain apolitical?
I know this will be quite off-putting to some of you, but to me, suggesting that Judaism should stay out of the public and political arena is comical. Prophets, from Moshe onward, were constantly advocating for political change. The Torah’s legal system directs behavior not only in the privacy of one’s home but in the public sphere as well. Avraham takes down four superpowers, Moshe stands up to the injustices of Egypt, and every prophet’s main role was to criticize the immoral policies of the ruling king. Of course, Judaism is meant to be a vehicle for political change.
The oft-quoted “Render unto Ceaser the things that are Caesar’s, and to G-d the things that are G-d’s,” is found in the books of Matthew, Mark, and Luke. Yeshaya and Yonah would laugh at such a sentiment. Does anyone really believe that the Torah has nothing to say about the weighty topics that this and every election revolves around? Really??
You might be wondering, if the Torah does indeed have what to say about public matters, what does the Torah say about who we should have voted for? Why did I not sign on to either one of those letters – Rabbis for Trump or Rabbis for Harris?
You may accuse me of being afraid to offend people in the shul, and I am sure that blind spot is at play, but trust me, by the time I am done this morning, I will have offended everyone here…
Let me share with you an old poem by John Godfrey Saxby.
It was six men of Indostan
To learning much inclined,
Who went to see the Elephant
(Though all of them were blind),
The First approached the Elephant,
And happening to fall
Against his broad and sturdy side,
At once began to bawl:
G-d bless me! but the Elephant
Is very like a wall!
The Second, feeling of the tusk,
Cried, Ho! what have we here
So very round and smooth and sharp?
To me tis mighty clear
This wonder of an Elephant
Is very like a spear!
The Third approached the animal,
And happening to take
The squirming trunk within his hands,
Thus boldly up and spake:
I see quoth he, the Elephant
Is very like a snake!
The Fourth reached out his eager hand,
And felt about the knee.
What most this wondrous beast is like
Is mighty plain quoth he,
Tis clear enough the Elephant
Is very like a tree!
The next one grabs the elephant’s ear, the next one grabs its tail. You get the point. And this is how it ends:
And so these men of Indostan
Disputed loud and long,
Each in his own opinion
Exceeding stiff and strong,
Though each was partly in the right,
And all were in the wrong!
And I know what you’re thinking, I can’t believe Rabbi Motzen spoke about an elephant and not a donkey!!
In all seriousness, are we not all blind to some degree? Is it not incredibly hard to see the entire picture with all its vast complexity?
The Gemara tells us that in ancient Jewish history, to be elected to the Sanhedrin, Judaism’s equivalent to the Supreme Court, you had to suggest 50 reasons why something the Torah lists as impure, tamei, is actually tahor, pure. What that means, explains the Maharal, is that the highest level of intelligence, the prerequisite for sitting on the highest court in Israel, is the ability to not see things in black and white, to recognize that even if in the final analysis something is impure, something is wrong, something is evil, but nothing is absolute. There are 50 pure features in something that is ultimately impure.
To those saying, of course, Trump is better for Israel and for the Jewish People, I ask you, are you familiar with Bret Stephens, a proud Jew, a staunch conservative, someone who believes that Israel’s strength is needed for the wellbeing of the planet, who nonetheless, begrudgingly voted for Harris?
To all those saying, of course, we cannot vote for Trump because of his character and temperament, I ask you, are you familiar with the millions of Never Trumpers who changed their tune and begrudgingly voted for him?
As you know, I am Canadian, and I do not vote. But if I was not so lazy and took care of the paperwork, and finally became an American citizen, I know who I would have voted for.
But can I understand the individual who shares virtually the same Jewish values as I do and who chose to vote for someone else? Yes. Yes, I do. To take one complicated topic – abortion. The Halachic position does not fall neatly into either party’s ideology.
And that’s why I would not have signed on to the Rabbis for Trump or the Rabbis for Kamala. Because I cannot in good faith tell you that voting for this candidate is mandated by the Torah.
Last and most important point – Reena, our Bat Mitzvah girl, is multi-talented. She is bright and athletic; apparently, she’s a great goalie. She is musical and has the most easy-going personality. You’re just an awesome person. But Reena’s favorite talent is her artistry. At Kiddush, you’ll see one of her many paintings; it’s excellent.
Reena, I have a question for you – when you’re drawing, you know what you are trying to create, right? But if I were watching you sketch, would I necessarily know? No, not at all. If anyone here has ever played Pictionary, you know how long it takes to recognize what is being drawn.
There are people in this room who woke up Wednesday morning elated; Trump is going to be amazing for the economy and for the Jewish People. And there are people in this room who woke up Wednesday morning despondent; what will be with our civil liberties and human rights?
Sometimes when we are so stuck in the moment, we forget that there is Someone up there painting this picture. Before making a covenant with Avraham, G-d asks him for one thing – Heyeh tamim, which Rashi translates as, “Walk with G-d wholeheartedly. Put your hope in Him. Do not attempt to investigate the future.”
Anyone with the most rudimentary knowledge of history knows that presidents who were expected to do X, did Y, who was supposed to be bad for Israel, were good for Israel, who was supposed to kill the economy, enabled it to flourish. Heyeh tamim, “Do not attempt to investigate the future.”
G-d is throwing splotches of black paint here and brilliant reds there. He is erasing and redrawing. He is sharpening and smudging. When watching the Artist of artists painting, do we really have the hubris to say we know what this picture will look like?
Of course, we have to do our part. Of course, we have to ensure that it is our Torah values that influence our every decision, including political decisions. But to be overjoyed because (quote) “these next four years will be amazing?” Or to fall into despondency? Whether it’s over the elections or even over the horrendous news coming from Amsterdam? Yiush?! Giving up hope?!
Hold on. He’s not done drawing just yet.
We have no idea what comes next on the canvas of world history. And so we pray, and we trust, and we march forward.
And as we cautiously do so, we try to appreciate the colors that don’t always speak to us, and when we do so, we start to realize how all the colors, all those differing opinions, are not clashing, but bringing out the best in one another, and creating a brilliant mosaic.
Reena, keep painting your beautiful pictures, and may we all merit to see the day when the final painting will be unveiled.
by Ner Tamid | Oct 27, 2024 | Sermons
This Simchas Torah is not a new challenge.
Every orphaned child wonders if it is appropriate to celebrate a birthday without their mother or father by their side.
Every widow hesitates before going out on a date or having too much fun.
Every bereaved parent sees their lost child in the accomplishments of the living, and wonders what their child would be up to if he or she were still alive.
And it’s not just death that intrudes on the times of joy; sometimes it’s guilt that prevents us from happiness.
Our Sages in Bereishis Rabbah teach us that after eating from the Tree of Knowledge and being kicked out of the Garden of Eden, Adam abstained from being together with his wife for hundreds of years. How can I taste any pleasure if I am such a terrible person? How can I experience that lofty emotion called love? Instead, I’ll build walls to the heavens and not allow myself to be loved.
Hazorim b’dimah b’rinah. We stumble through life with a confused mix of tears and joy, of guilt and pride, of sadness and happiness.
Some have suggested that we experience our sorrow and joy simultaneously. I believe that’s a mistake.
The Zohar describes the worst type of hell as the Kaf Hakeleh. A Kaf Hakeleh is a slingshot. The Zohar explains that the soul is flung from one side of the earth to the other, from cold to heat, from dark to light, and the soul has no rest. To be in a perpetual state of impermanence, to constantly have conflicting emotions intrude and upend whatever you are experiencing, is not life. It is hell.
G-d does not want us to experience hell on earth.
And so He gave us a Torah that helps guide us through this confusing mess. As Rav Yehuda HaLevi explains, G-d gave us a varied calendar to give full expression of all our conflicting emotions. He gave us days to cry; Yahrtzeits, Tisha B’avs. And it gives us days to rejoice; Sukkos, Purim. The Torah even teaches us what to do when these two days conflict. When a Yahrtzeit of a loved one falls out on a holiday, the joy of the holidays supersedes the sadness of the Yahrtzeit.
This is the primary function of the Torah; to help us navigate life, to distinguish between the holy an the mundane and the varying emotional states.
Sheryl Sandberg, the former COO of Meta, in her wonderful book, Option B, describes the aftermath of her husband’s sudden death. She describes loss as a door closing. “When one door closes, another opens; but,” she adds, “often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one that has been opened for us.”
In the words of King Solomon, there is a time to cry and there is a time to dance. And it’s critical to know which time is which; to know when it’s time to turn away from the sadness and focus on the good.
This is not done to ignore the sadness, on the contrary. What Shlomo Hamelech is teaching us to do is to fully mourn – take the time to cry seriously. Because when we fully mourn, we are given the power to fully rejoice.
Rav Yisrael Meir Lau in his autobiography describes a young survivor of the Holocaust who one day heard a lecture that brought him to tears. This young boy turned to the man who made him cry and said the following: “When the [Nazis] took my father and mother, my eyes were dry. When they beat me mercilessly with their clubs, I bit my lips, but I did not cry. I have not cried for years. Nor have I laughed. We starved, froze, and bled, but we did not cry.” This young man thought he had a stone for a heart. “(But) just now,” he said, “I cried freely. And I say to you, that whoever can cry today, can laugh tomorrow…”
That same Medrash I referenced a moment ago, tells us that Adam, at one point, realized that he was mistaken. Yes, he sinned. But he was also a good person. There’s a time for regret and for remorse, and so he spent time repenting. But there is a time to move forward and so he then reconciled with his wife. The Medrash concludes that his relationship with her, his love for her, was so much stronger that it was before. When we give ourselves the space to cry, to mourn, to grieve, we open up the doors for joy and for love.
Sometimes we are unable to separate the joy from the sadness into distinct days. For example, how can we rejoice at our child’s wedding without remembering our loved ones who are no longer with us or the suffering of the world-at-large? And so we carve out a moment within that day of joy; we take a moment to break the glass and to sing a song of longing. And then we dance and sing.
Or how can we eat festive meals on Yom Tov when we are overwhelmed with memories of our Bubbies and Zaidies and our mothers and fathers? And so we carve a moment within the festival to say Yizkor, to acknowledge them, and the void we are left with. And then we rejoice throughout the holiday.
And that is exactly what we will do this Simchas Torah.
We will make a space for our tears – you should have received a card by now with the names of those who were murdered on October 7th and I invite all of you who normally step outside for Yizkor to stay inside a little longer. To say the names of the men and women on your card because today, because right now, in this moment, we are all mourning.
We will make a space for our tears by glancing at the Bima cover with the names of those murdered on October 7th and the Torah cover dedicated to Eliyahu Michael Harush.
We will make a space for our tears by dedicating the first and last Hakafah to those whose Yahrtzeit will forever be tied up to this day.
And then, having made a space for our tears and for our sorrow, we will dance and we will sing and we will rejoice. We will not ignore the many doors that have closed on this day, we will look at them, we will reflect on them, and we will cry for them. Having given them their space, we will then rejoice. Eis lispod v’eis lirkod.
The truth is, the joy that we are to experience on this holiday is in some ways even greater than any year prior. Allow me to share with you a story that I hope will make this point clear. It’s the story of Shaylee Atary and her husband, Yahav, from the newly published, a Day in October (Koren). Shaylee and Yahav both experienced terrible trauma in their early lives. They both thought that they would never be able to love or be loved. But they taught themselves to cry. And by crying they taught themselves to once again live and love. Their walls of self-protection eventually came crashing down, and they got married.
A little while after their wedding, Yahav and Shaylee moved to Kfar Aza. Shaylee was disabled and the Kibbutz was fully accessible. It was peaceful, serene, and the perfect place for these two souls to heal and start a family. And so it was; in September of 2023, they had a baby girl, who was beloved by the entire close-knit Kibbutz.
One year ago, today, at 6:30 AM, they were awakened by the Red Alert sirens. They both rushed to their shelter and closed the door behind them. They soon realized that the Kibbutz had been infiltrated. First via text messages, but within a few moments, they heard the terrorists’ voices.
They tried to lock the door and window of their shelter, but it was an old building, and the lock didn’t work. Yahav whispered to his wife, “I’ll get the door; you get the baby.”
Suddenly a hand reached through their window. Yahav grabbed the hand and started shoving the terrorist away. He looked back at his wife and again, “I have the door; you have the baby.”
Shaylee bolted out the door and ran to safety.
She almost didn’t make it; she was chased, she was shot at, the baby almost suffocated, but Shaylee and the baby survived. Yahav was killed holding the door.
To quote Shaylee: “We had an agreement, Yahav and I… We each had our job. And that’s still what’s going on. He’s still holding the door. He’ll be holding the door for the rest of my life. And I’ve still got the baby. And as long as I’m here with the baby, I’ll never let my light go out… I saw him sacrifice his life for mine. … So I’m keeping our agreement. And that agreement is what keeps me alive.”
One year ago today, over 1200 of our brothers and sisters were killed. They were holding the door for us. They may not have known it. But they were the first line of defense, protecting the land and people of Israel. Hamas tried on this very day to stamp out the Jewish People, but those holy people held the door.
We, the survivors, are left holding the baby.
When we take the Torah out of the Aron tonight and tomorrow and lovingly dance with it, we are holding the baby for those who held the door.
When we throw the children in the air and dance with them at the center of the circle, letting them know how precious they are and the magnificent role they have to play in history, we are holding the baby for those who held the door.
When we commit ourselves to living a passionate life of Torah and Mitzvos, not just today and tomorrow, but going forward, ensuring that their sacrifice was not in vain, we are holding the baby for those who held the door.
Yes, we will make space to cry for our own loved ones who held the door for us through their many sacrifices, and for the holy 1200 souls who held the door for us on this day. We will allow ourselves to fully mourn. We will make space for our tears and our sorrow.
But we cannot simply go on like usual. Not after all they sacrificed for us.
Instead, we will dance, we will sing, and we will commit to the most passionate, spirited, proud Jewish life. We will treasure and forever hold the precious baby.
With thanks to Rabbi Avi Goldstein for the brilliant tie-in.
