RABBI'S MESSAGE August 6, 2015

Just Do One Thing 

Last week's attacks by Jewish terrorists in Israel/Palestine have stopped our hearts. First the stabbing at the annual LGBT Pride March in Jerusalem, resulting in the death of a 16-year-old girl, and then the firebombing of a Palestinian family's home, resulting in the death of a toddler, leave us stunned and ashamed.

How the city sits alone, once full of people, now solitary as a widow. The city that was so esteemed among the nations is now like a laborer enslaved.

Driving through parts of central Massachusetts recently, I saw a contemporary version of the fall of a once-proud city. In once bustling industrial towns like Fitchburg or Lowell or North Adams, the shells of factories leave shadows of the past, amplifying the desolation of economic downfall.

It is a great honor to be with you today, not only because of presence of so many who are dedicated to serving our country, but the legacy of Senator Kennedy is so vast, including his life of service, his life as a father and as a mentor to many and  because his legacy encompasses the major legislation that has bettered the lives of all Americans over the past fifty years. Long after we are gone, this building will remain as a lasting tribute to his great vision, a vision of a world redeemed through the grandest ideals of democracy and the personal relationships that undergird a healthy democracy.

Though there is still plenty of snow on the ground, and perhaps a few more inches to come, we have survived the brunt of a brutal winter. For many, this was the most disheartening winter on record. While we might revel in breaking our own snow record, the breakdowns of transportation, loss of income to individuals and businesses and the multiple snow days still to be made up have been demoralizing. With crews working to repair roads and tracks, and freezing temps keeping snow piles in view, we will be recovering from this winter for some time to come.

With the first day of spring upon us, this is a good time to take stock. Milestones like the spring equinox do not necessarily promise a clear ending or beginning.

As a white person, I acknowledge that my lived experience is different from the experience of people of color. I do not consider myself a racist, yet I know that because my understanding is limited and my personal concerns often lie elsewhere, I may well display racist tendencies. For this, I ask forgiveness.

I also acknowledge that I have the capacity to be an ally or a bystander. As a Jew, I know that I carry both a historic alliance with oppressed people, people on the margins. And I also know that as a Jew in America today, my life is far more privileged than that of my immigrant grandparents and my ancestors in other historic communities.  So I approach this topic both as an onlooker and ally and as a person of conscience born of my people’s story.

While some might approach the issue of racism in America by drawing on the story of the Jew as immigrant to America, striving to fit in, we must root our story not in history, but in Torah. Specifically, in Moses and the Exodus from Egypt.

The horror of the killing in a Jerusalem synagogue on Tuesday continues to occupy my heart and mind, as I’m sure you may be feeling it as well. As I mull over the brutal attack I keep coming back to the message I shared on Rosh Hashanah:  it is important for us to hold the complexity of this situation in Israel and Palestine, and to feel compassion for its victims.

Many in Boston are in mourning for the loss of their teacher, colleague and friend, Rabbi Mordecai Twersky. I am in mourning for another of the victims, Rabbi Kalman Levine, who I knew as Cary Levine. He grew up in the same synagogue in Kansas City that I did, and I knew his sister and parents as well. It feels like a personal loss to me and my hometown community. But we do not need to know any of the victims personally to be mourners.

This will be my last sermon about Limestone. For the past nine years, I have found a way to weave stories into Yom Kippur about the Tikkun Olam Family Work Project and our annual week of repairing homes in Northern Maine. We have also been known as JWH “Jews with Hammers,” and by the slogan, “repairing the world one house at a time.” But no more. In August, a group of 18 (chai) made our final trip to Limestone, Maine. While we hope to attract new families who will help decide on a different location for our summer trip next year, we won’t be returning to Limestone.

For the past year we have known that this day was coming. Pastor Ellen called a few of us aside a year ago to tell us of her plans to retire in 2015. She explained that, for a variety of reasons, we would not be able to continue our mission work there after her retirement

At the close of every Shabbat, we invite Elijah the Prophet to join us in the passage from holy day to weekday. This will also be true this coming Shabbat as we end our Yom Kippur observance—the Sabbath of all Sabbaths—and prepare to go back into the world. Ideally, we will leave that experience--ending our fast, walking out of the synagogue, going to our individuals home and lives—somewhat changed.

These past weeks many of us have been focusing on teshuva, on the work of repentance and return. This requires inner work: figuring out just when did I harm someone, what can I do to repair it and how can I learn from this so that I don’t repeat the offense?

We are coming to the end of what has been a rough and tumble year, especially this past summer. Often it’s the hardships and the challenges that linger in our memories, overshadowing what was good. So I’d like to start this reflection by reminding us of the remarkable success of the courageous Market Basket workers. Their 40 day protest created hardships for grocery shoppers who could not afford the higher-end supermarkets. And it also created hardships for the workers themselves and their families. In the end, they succeeded in having their beloved Arthur T Demoulas reinstated as CEO. The stores are open again. We hope for their continued success in months to come.

Oseh shalom bimromav, hu ya’ase shalom aleinu v’al kol Yisrael, v’al kol yoshvei teiveil, v’imru amein.

May the One who makes peace in the High Place, bring peace to us, to the Jewish people, and to all who dwell on earth. And we say together, Amen.

As a Reconstructionist community, we distinguish ourselves, among other changes, in including all of humanity in our prayers for peace. We strive to balance love for and loyalty to our own People with compassion for all of humanity.

A still small voice.

A soft murmuring sound.

A thin voice of silence.

Whatever the translation of kol d'mama daka (I Kings 19:12), this is a sound that in our raucous, fast-paced, overstimulated society, we rarely get to hear. Yet this sound is one of the most powerful weapons against zealotry and violence.

I am Jewish and a feminist; our tradition’s text often feels at odds with my thinking. How can I read the Torah as supporting feminism?

I am also a Jewish feminist and I have, at times, found the text at odds with my thinking. I have also found the text to be a sacred story that inspires me, a source of moral guidance, and a description of life as I live it.

Over many years I have read Torah in a variety of settings using multiple commentaries and perspectives. Rarely do I, or most of the liberal Jews I know, read Torah as a literal text. From its earliest time, Torah has demanded interpretation. In fact, the word drash, the Hebrew word for interpretation, means to demand, to ask, to search.