SOMETHING BIG IS ABOUT TO HAPPEN

SOMETHING BIG IS ABOUT TO HAPPEN

AND IT STARTS WITH SOMETHING SMALL

Change is Gonna Come

It’s time for a change of direction. Time for a change of heart. Time to look back at the past year and make plans for the year to come.

It starts with a sliver of light that will grow into a beacon illuminating the night sky. This weekend, look for the appearance of the New Moon. It’s the harbinger of our Season of Change, the Jewish season of repentance and renewal. This new moon marks the beginning of the Hebrew month of Elul, just four weeks and change (!) before Rosh Hashanah.

I know it’s still summer, and believe me, I’m feeling it. I still have a few weekend getaways planned: time with our kids, time for concerts, and time for celebrations, including a 35th wedding anniversary for Brian and me. Yet during the workweek, I’m leafing through the machzor (High Holy Day prayerbook), meeting with service leaders, searching for inspiring readings and inspirational texts to teach.

Change, as we all know, takes time. It takes intention. It takes practice. This past month I focused on learning Spanish in an intensive summer session at Boston University. Though I had little space for thinking about the Holy Days, I became keenly aware of the importance of preparation. Without spending time on homework every day, I would have missed out on learning during class.

The same is true for the preparation for coming to the synagogue on the High Holy Days. While we may think of the 10 Days of Repentance from Rosh Hashanah to Yom Kippur as our spiritual booster shot, the month of Elul is our Jewish time for reflection, becoming healthy enough to benefit from the annual shot in the arm. Whether learning a new language or learning to be kinder; to think before we speak/email/post/tweet; to have the courage to act on our principles and the humility to admit our mistakes, that reflection gives us the foundation for the work of Tishri, the first month of the Jewish year.

Let the moon in the sky be your reminder to take a few minutes each day to do your Rosh Hashanah homework. Consider the inner changes you need to practice, and acknowledge the strengths and successes that you want to celebrate and perpetuate.

I look forward to seeing the small changes in each of us and in our community that will lead to a great change in our country and our world. I firmly believe that a change is gonna come.

Rabbi Barbara Penzner

Thank you for making the dew fall

"Thank you for making the dew fall"

This simple prayer is added every summer to our daily prayers. In the rainy winter months (in Israel’s climate) Jews freely pray for wind and rain. But it’s audacious to ask for such abundance in a season of natural scarcity. And yet, the prayer for dew expresses our gratitude for continued sustenance, insufficient as it may seem, during the dry summer season.

This summer, while many of us will be enjoying vacations walking along a beach or hiking in the mountains, others getting away to new destinations or sharing extended family time, we feel another kind of scarcity. That is the scarcity of relief and respite from these troubled times. You don’t need to be an activist to feel an overwhelming sense of unease these days.

In our current drought of compassion, we can all appreciate a few drops of dew. The rallies this coming Shabbat can nurture our sense of purpose, the power of community, hope for the future, and gratitude for all the gifts that we have. We need this dew to drive despair from our souls. I applaud each of you for acts of kindness, generosity, and sharing, small and large. I admire each act of courage, to speak out and to stand up for others, especially if this is your first time. You bring the dewdrops that water our souls.

I want to give you an update on some work that I’ll be doing this summer and in the coming year to nurture my own soul. I’ve just been selected for the Global Justice Fellows program of the American Jewish World Service (AJWS). With the stellar staff of AJWS, including Ruth Messinger, our group of rabbis will be trained to become better advocates for human rights. This learning will be highlighted by spending a week in Guatemala in January and a trip to lobby our representatives in Washington, DC in March.

In anticipation of that trip, I’ve chosen to spend my summer learning Spanish at BU through the Evergreen Program. Spanish will also come in handy when I visit Immokalee, Florida in a few weeks and talk to workers of the Coalition of Immokalee Workers (CIW). I enjoy learning languages, so this should be fun.

In the increasing moral turmoil of this moment, it is important to enjoy the pleasures of relaxation and renewal even as we continue to work for justice and compassion. As each of us finds some space for the joys of summertime, I hope that you will join me in finding time to give thanks for the dew that sustains us each day.

Thoughts on the Story Slam

Everyone has a story.

And from the Jewish people’s earliest communal memories, story has been a central vehicle for teaching, as well as for humor, entertainment, and for sharing our common human experience. Torah is at heart, an unending collection of stories.

From Adam and Eve in the Garden to Moses at the burning bush, from Miriam to Deborah to Esther to Ruth, from Joshua blowing the walls of Jericho down with a shofar to King David dancing in the procession as the Holy Ark was carried into Jerusalem, from tales of Rabbis in the Land of Israel to tales of ordinary Jews living in Poland or Yemen or Morocco or America, stories have established the foundation of Jewish life and illuminated our heritage.

Master storyteller Elie Wiesel taught us, “God made humans because God loves stories.”

This past week our friends and acquaintances provided a window into their lives that most of us have never seen. Listening to their stories, not only did we get to know one another better, we began to deepen our connections as a community. Their stories become part of our collective story. Everyone here, whether speaking or listening, is privileged to be part of writing the Torah of Temple Hillel B’nai Torah.

Thank you to our storytellers, to our master teacher Judith Black, and to all who worked tirelessly to make our Story Slam possible.

May we be blessed to tell and hear stories that amuse, inspire, awaken compassion, and teach us all our days.

May the Holy One love our stories!

Israel At 70

 Is today a day of joy or a day of sorrow?

 Today Israelis and Jews across the world celebrate Yom Ha’atzma’ut, Israel’s Independence Day. It’s a very special anniversary: 70 years since Israel was welcomed into the family of nations as an independent Jewish and democratic state.

Looking back to 1948, we have much to celebrate. The ingathering of Jews from displaced persons camps in Europe, from anti-semitism in the lands of North Africa and the Middle East, from starvation in Ethiopia and from oppression in the former Soviet Union, are a modern miracle for the Jewish people.

Israel catalyzed the revival of the Hebrew language, the foundation of contemporary literature, music, and art that draw on the two-thousand-year-old heritage of Jewish text and thought expressed in our ancient tongue.

Israel is the only place on earth where Jews welcome Shabbat and holidays in the spirit of a myriad of Jewish ethnicities that characterize our people’s global sojourns and refracted through multiple lenses of Jewish religious observance.

I’ve traveled to Israel over 20 times, including 2 extended stays: one with my husband, and one with our children (our son Yonah was born in Jerusalem). For me, Israel is home and family, a source of joy and pride. I am fully an American Jew, but for me, there’s just something different about being in the land of our ancestors and in a society where Jewish creativity is part of the landscape.

We also have reason for sorrow. Our gratitude for a homeland stands in sharp contrast to the displacement of people who call our shared land by a different name, Palestine, and who have been denied full rights, whether as citizens of Israel or as an occupied people. To the Palestinian people, today commemorates the Nakba, the catastrophe, which followed when the British ended their mandate and Israel arose as an independent state.

And yet….

And yet, this year I have found reason to hope.

Returning from our visit to Israel in February, I felt hopeful because of the unsung remarkable, passionate, and effective Palestinian and Jewish leaders who are working together on the ground to create a better homeland for all.

Returning from the JStreet 10th Anniversary Conference this week, I feel hopeful because of the open-hearted dialogue between Israeli Jews, American Jews, and Palestinians who spoke. I feel hopeful because of the 1200 JStreet U college students at the conference who are vigorously protesting the demolitions of Palestinian homes in the South Hebron Hills. I feel hopeful because of our meetings with Congressional representatives and Senators who hear and respect the voices of thousands of JStreet supporters who seek to maintain Israel as a Jewish and democratic state, committed to a two-state solution that brings peace and security to the region.

In this world of pain and possibility, it is our obligation to hold on to both realities, the celebration and the sorrow. It is up to us to remain engaged with our Jewish homeland, to continue to support those in Israel and Palestine who are working for human rights, economic sustainability, and peace and security, and to stand against those who continue to deny the rights of Palestinians, who reject moderate Palestinian leaders, and who attack the forces for civil society and equality.

On this 70th anniversary of Israel’s birth as a modern nation, I recommit myself to do all that I can to work for the kind of Jewish and democratic state envisioned by its founders.

I turn to Psalm 30 to remind me of the long view:

Redeemer, you have raised my spirit from the land of no return,

You revived me from among those fallen in a pit;

For God is angry for a moment, but shows favor for a lifetime,

Though one goes to bed in weeping, one awakes in song;

You changed my mourning to an ecstatic dance

You loosed my sackcloth, and girded me with joy.

May the next 70 years bring more song than weeping, more joy than mourning, for our people and for those with whom we share our sacred land.

Where Were The Jews?

April 4, 2018
Memphis
Where Were the Jews?

The American Jewish community harbors nostalgia for a storied time of cooperation between Jews and blacks. While those memories loom large in our consciousness, it is nearly absent from the narrative of non-Jewish African Americans. We Jews celebrate Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, a close friend of Dr. King. We applaud all the clergy who answered the call to march in Selma. (The rabbi I grew up with in Kansas City, Morris B. Margolies, was there. Was yours?) In Memphis, Rabbi James Wax of Temple Israel led an interfaith service following Dr. King’s assassination, and marched to City Hall to urge the mayor to end the ongoing sanitation workers’ strike that brought Dr. King to the city. They confronted Mayor Henry Loeb, who had previously been a member of Temple Israel. But Rabbi Wax’s long-standing advocacy for civil rights had little support among the rest of the Jewish community at the time. Like many of the bold Jewish leaders who advocated and marched for civil rights, he understood how vulnerable the Jews felt in their southern and Midwestern towns. No wonder many non-Jewish African Americans remain unaware of the role that we Jews consider as significant.

Walking through the National Civil Rights Museum, I found one photo of Rabbi Heschel with Dr. King, with no caption, no explanation. In the exhibit recounting the founding of the NAACP the term “philanthropists” whispered to me the names of many Jewish founders and leaders of the NAACP. Among them, many of us recall Kivie Kaplan, who served on the board beginning in 1932 and as president from 1966 to 1975. Yes, there were many Jews involved in founding and funding civil rights organizations (SCLC, SNCC). The Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965 were drafted in the conference room of Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism in Washington, DC. Their names and accomplishments do not enter the museum’s narrative. And why should they? After all, the leadership of most Jewish groups were not actively engaged with this movement.

Likewise today, when we seek an historic reconciliation between Jewish groups and African-American groups, we rely on the presence of individual leaders and the activism of powerful small progressive groups. In the current call for racial justice, major national Jewish organizations have yet to step up. In Memphis during the commemorations of 50 years since the sanitation workers’ strike and Dr. King’s assassination, I witnessed a powerful wave of leaders rededicating themselves to his legacy. Not only the legacy of racial justice and civil rights, but the less popular legacy of his final three years (1965-1968) when King organized and spoke out for the Poor People’s Campaign, protested to end the war in Vietnam and militarism, stood with union workers, and frequently called for economic justice as a way to bind all peoples together. It was Dr. King who asked the question, “What good is having the right to sit at a lunch counter if you can't afford to buy a hamburger?” Those challenges remain with us fifty years later.

While sitting in the historic Mason Temple, with 3000 invited guests, I felt moved and uplifted, despite the sadness of the occasion, not to let Dr. King die a second death. As his friend and fellow civil rights leader Andrew Young said, quoting an African proverb, “you’re not dead until the people stop calling your name.”Dr. King’s daughter, Dr. Bernice King told us that her father had called his mother the night before he died. He wanted to give her the title of his sermon for the next Sunday just in case something happened to him. It was “America May Go to Hell.” Without missing a beat, she echoed her father’s call fifty years later: America may still go to hell. The crowd murmured in agreement. Rather than use this occasion to mourn, Bernice King called the congregation to take up her father’s challenge. She declared “it’s time for America to repent.”  She noted with urgency that in the past fifty years our country has failed to respond to the three evils of racism, poverty, and militarism. Bernice King quoted her father: “A nation that continues year after year to spend more money on military defense than programs of social uplift is rapidly approaching a spiritual death” and reiterated her father’s challenge “to shift from a thing-oriented society to a person-oriented society, from sectional to ecumenical loyalties.”

As her voice rose, the congregation rose with her, cheering every word as she proclaimed “we are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality tied in a single garment of destiny and what affects one directly affects all indirectly. I cannot be all that I ought be until you are all you ought be, and you cannot be all you ought be until I am all that I ought be.”In that spirit, the next day ten thousand marched in the streets of Memphis: union representatives, people of all races and classes, from Memphis and across the country, led by great civil rights leaders including Rev. James Lawson who invited Dr. King to come to Memphis in 1968. As I marched along with our small contingent of the Jewish Labor Committee, I wondered, “Where are the Jews?” In the crowd I met a few Jews who had come to Memphis for the occasion. I’m sure there were others. Many Jewish labor leaders and activists were there. But aside from the JLC, there was no representation of the Jewish community.I understand there were many reasons the Jewish community was not visible. This event took place in the midst of Pesach, a time when many of us had already traveled for the holiday and others thought the challenge of observing the holiday too daunting. I know that many Jewish leaders observed the event in their home communities. Perhaps the heavy union focus made some organizations uncomfortable. Perhaps no one reached out to Jewish organizations to take part.

I came to Memphis thanks to the JLC, and because of a vision that arose at the Jewish Social Justice Roundtable (57 organizations pursuing social justice from a Jewish perspective). This year’s conference studied issues of racism. From that discussion, Marya Axner and Jonathan Rosenbloom of the JLC and Rabbi Mordechai Liebling of the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College, shared a vision of increasing engagement between Jewish and African-American organizations. From that discussion came the idea of a Labor Seder in Memphis. I went to Memphis to lead that seder. On the night of April 4, 2018, in the sacred space of the Clayborn Temple (where sanitation workers gathered and organized 50 years ago during the strike), 100 union leaders, Jewish leaders, and political leaders read the Haggadah, told stories of liberation, and shared a meal with the purpose of bringing us closer into relationship. We reaffirmed the Jewish commitment to Dr. King’s legacy, to work toward economic justice, to end racism, and to share the wealth of this country with the goal of lifting us all up in that “inescapable network of mutuality and single garment of destiny.”

My purpose is to charge us, authentically and fully as Jews, to answer Dr. King’s resounding call. As in the past, we may not see official Jewish organizations answer that call. Our presence may still remain invisible to the African American community. In the long tradition of Kivie Kaplan and Julius Rosenwald, of Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel and Rabbi James Wax, of Andrew Goodman and Michael Schwerner, we need to be there. Like those bold leaders of the past, it is time for us to join the fight and to stand up for justice, regardless of our numbers, regardless of the risks, regardless of whether we get credit, and to commit ourselves to create that beloved community and to transform our nation, fulfilling Dr. King’s dream.

Words into Actions

We Jews talk a lot. Our prayerbooks are full of words. Our libraries are filled with books: holy texts and philosophy and history and literature. We have no shortage of words.

The Passover seder is known for lots of words as well. The book we use is the Haggadah, which means “the telling.” We are all storytellers, retelling ancient tales from one generation to another.

But the seder is not a passive event. In addition to the words, our rituals help us to learn and to experience the story of the Exodus for ourselves. Ultimately, the words of the Haggadah should also move us to action. Though the story of the Exodus from Egypt is in the past, the experiences of slavery, poverty, oppression, and redemption are always current. After the seder, there is still work to be done.

We have one week to prepare for the momentous holiday of Pesach. Whether you are hosting a seder or you’re a guest, whether you are cleaning or cooking or choosing your haggadah and readings, or getting ready for the holiday, there is work to be done now.

This coming Shabbat we have packed in a variety of ways to prepare for Pesach: physically (baking matza with our own hands), spiritually (hearing a renowned preacher speak on Shabbat about sanctuary for people fearing deportation), intellectually (studying the themes of Pesach) or emotionally (finding others to share a seder). See the rest of the newsletter to take part in these events.

I am busy preparing for my own seder at home, as well as two events that are as much about action as words.

I invite you to join me as I lead the annual Jewish Labor Seder this Sunday, March 25 at Temple Israel, Boston. In addition to honoring leaders who have contributed to major victories for workers (including a rabbi, a labor leader, and two organizations working for worker justice) this year’s seder will take note of the 50th anniversary of the assassination of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Our Labor Seder Haggadah will quote a variety of thinkers on issues of racial and economic justice.

In the middle of the Passover week, I will be leading another seder. On April 4 I will be in Memphis, Tennessee in the historic Clayton Temple, where MLK spoke to the Sanitation Workers fifty years ago, the night before he was assassinated. To commemorate those historic events, the Jewish Labor Committee is co-sponsoring a national interfaith Labor Seder with the American Federation of State, County and Municipal Employees (AFSCME) as part of a three-day commemoration in Memphis. (See this link for more information about the commemoration of the Sanitation Workers’ Strike and this link for a photo and description of the Clayborn Temple). I look forward to sharing more about that when I return, as we all work together to bring justice and liberation to our world today.

One more event later in April:

For the first time, I’ll be attending the JStreet National Conference in Washington D.C. April 15-17. I know others in the congregation who have gone, or may be planning to attend this year. JStreet is offering a discount for congregations sending 5 or more participants, so please let me know if you’re coming. I would love to see you there!

So many words, and so many ways to make a difference.

I wish you good preparations for a joyous Pesach holiday!

A Little bit of Heaven, Hardship, and Hope

A Little bit of Heaven, Hardship, and Hope:

Seeing Israel and Palestine with New Eyes

We are back from our ten-day congregational deep dive into the many narratives of Israel and Palestine. Our two guides, Gal (an Israeli Jew in his thirties from a kibbutz north of Tel Aviv) and Ramzi (a Palestinian Christian in his forties from Beth Sahour, a neighborhood of Bethlehem) were as much a part of our learning as the places they showed us. Their model of asking questions and sharing their different perspectives (sometimes very congruent and sometimes divergent) demonstrated complexity, curiosity, and civility. As we said goodbye, it was clear that each one of us had been transformed by the experience.

Below are a few of my personal impressions, highlighting how our tour lived up to its title. (Here is a detailed itinerary, though some aspects were changed at the last minute.)

A little bit of Heaven:

Picking beets in a muddy field for Project Leket, an organization that brings fresh produce to food pantries throughout Israel.

Enjoying Druze hospitality, eating a lavish meal while listening and dancing to the musicians playing the oud and drum.

Seeing signs of Purim fun throughout Tel Aviv and Jerusalem (costume shops, treats and decorative containers for making mishloach manot --   Purim gift baskets, posters for Purim dances and events, and hamantashen.

Joining progressive Jewish congregations for joyous and inspiring Friday night services in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem.

A little bit of Hardship:

Learning about the ongoing decades-long struggles of residents of Arab villages, Palestinian citizens of Israel, to have their villages recognized by the government and to receive basic services like electricity, running water, roads, and education.

Walking through the checkpoint from Jerusalem to Bethlehem with teeming multitudes of Palestinian men returning home from work at the end of the day.

Experiencing the anger and the pain of Palestinian refugees in Bethlehem whose main goal is to return to their homes in Israel’s cities and villages (whether those homes still exist or not).

Viewing the separation barrier up close, both from the Israeli side and the Palestinian side, and the stark difference between the two.

Visiting Jewish holy sites that have become either fortifications or fundamentalist shrines, and somehow do not convey a sense of holiness.

A little bit of Hope:

Meeting inspiring visionary young women like Sheereen and Genevieve who are leading efforts to empower others, including Arab farmers in the Galilee, Arab women, and at-risk youth in impoverished villages.

Seeing graffiti, banners and signs all over Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, protesting the government’s intention to deport asylum seekers.

Visiting places where people meet to learn about the other and to build bridges, like the Tent of Nations, Muslala Artists’ Collective and Women Wage Peace.

Witnessing steadfast resilience and courageous perseverance in the fact of heartbreak and hardship.

In coming weeks, we hope to share more stories and photos from the members of the group.

If you’re interested in participating in a facilitated conversation about Israel at HBT, mark Saturday, April 14 (6 to 9:30 pm) on your calendar for Resetting the Table. More information to come.

I Was Arrested On Capitol Hill While Protesting For A Clean DREAM Act

Last week I joined 100 Jewish community leaders from around the country in the rotunda of the Russell Senate Office Building. Organized by Bend the Arc Jewish Action, we marched in together, many in Jewish ritual garb, sat down, and sang about building a world of compassion. When the U.S. Capitol police warned us that we were breaking the law and would be charged with obstruction and “incommoding,” we had a ready response. We sang “We Shall Not Be Moved.”

My own arrest was shown on MSNBC, reporting our action live to a million viewers and zooming in on the zip ties that the U.S. Capitol police put on my wrists.

It took the police forty minutes to move us all, and we continued singing down to the last two leaders who were arrested, handcuffed, and led away. Our answer to the police was melodious but not commodious.

We were singing and praying for hundreds of thousands of Dreamers, that youthful subsection of our population that, from childhood, has known no real home but the United States. One hundred of these young people surrounded our hundred, chanting “Dream Act Now!”

As Rev. Dr. William Barber has inspired the nation with North Carolina’s “Moral Mondays,” this was our “Moral Minyan.” Meanwhile, conservative Congressional leaders have been so afflicted by these young people that they shut down the U.S. Government for three days to avoid giving them a path to citizenship. Congress now faces a deadline of February 8 to act or shut down again. We have much work to do to obtain a clean Dream Act.

My arrest was one of the most empowering days of my life. I stood up when ordered by the Capitol Police and put out my hands for Dreamers, for Temple Hillel B’nai Torah in West Roxbury, and for the Jewish Labor Committee (JLC), whose regional board I co-chair. JLC has carried out a unique historical struggle for justice, which began with rescuing refugees in Europe in 1934. (Standing beside me in the video is JLC Executive Director Jonathan D. Rosenblum.) While my hands were pinned behind me, I had a visceral understanding of the vulnerability that others experience with the police. But I was not risking brutality or death. Our arrests resulted in no conviction on our records. We ended up in a frigid police garage for four hours and we had to pay a fine, but we did not truly encounter our country’s criminal justice system. As one man of color commented afterward, this was the easiest arrest he would ever know.

Still, all of the leaders from across the Jewish spectrum, from 18 to 78 years old, took time from their lives and took a risk, not knowing exactly what might happen in the Capitol. Through steadfast loving commitment, spirited singing, and connection with the Dreamers who stood as witnesses, my life felt transformed that day.

Why did I risk getting arrested?

I could put my body on the line, but the Dreamers cannot.

My arrest did not lead to a conviction. Their arrest could lead to deportation.

I wanted the Dreamers to know that we stand with them.

Wearing stickers that read “Jews for Dreamers,” we communicated to these brave immigrants that they are not alone. With tears in their eyes, and solidarity orange knit caps on their heads, they told us how isolated they felt because people in our country have told them they don’t belong here. Our action, our singing, our presence showed that we are with them.

I represented multitudes of Jews who support the Dreamers.

This arrest was not about the bravery of the Jewish leaders. It was a way to communicate to our elected officials that the Jewish community, recalling the Biblical injunction to protect the stranger, is solidly with the majority of Americans who polls show overwhelmingly want to give the Dreamers a path to citizenship.

I want others to stand up for the Dreamers in any way you can.

Congress may have reached an agreement to restore government operations, but our government remains far from an agreement to recognize the contributions of these individuals to our communities. In fact, 90 percent of these Dreamers have jobs, from fast food to the Fortune 500. In order to continue to protect education and work opportunities and facilitate a path to citizenship, we have much work to do.

Call your elected officials in Congress and tell them you’re also behind the Dreamers. They need to support a clean Dream Act, with no deal for walls, and no tradeoffs for military budgets.

Many Jews, like myself, recall our own immigrant forebears. We must not betray our ancestors or our American ideals by abandoning children or separating families. We must not become an America of concrete walls and broken dreams.

Read more: https://forward.com/scribe/393448/i-am-a-rabbi-and-i-was-arrested-on-capitol-hill-while-protesting-for-a-clea/

Article in the Jewish Advocate: https://www.thejewishadvocate.com/articles/penzner-protests-in-dc/

A Hanukkah Miracle at HBT

On the sixth day of Hanukkah, a miracle took place at HBT.

Monday morning, Dan Gelbtuch, son of long-time members Madelyn Bronitsky and Sam Gelbtuch, staffed a retreat that HBT hosted to shape a new revolution in Jewish life. Drawing from the vision of Rabbi David Jaffe, author of Changing the World from the Inside Out, the hand-picked group of Jewish leaders discussed ways to bring an integration of social justice, spirituality, and Judaism to the Jewish world.

For Dan, this was a homecoming. As you can read in the Boston Globe story from 1992, Dan represented the hope for the future of our synagogue when he became the first bar mitzvah at HBT in 30 years. At that time HBT’s sustainability was uncertain.

Dan grew up at HBT and went on to work for justice in Boston since college. He and his wife Leah had their aufruf (blessing before their marriage) here, and celebrated the naming of their daughter Hannah with us.

On Monday, twenty-four years after his bar mitzvah, Dan returned to HBT to point the way, once again, to the future of the Jewish community. I was blessed and proud to be in the room for that deep and prophetic conversation on Monday.

When you read the Globe article, I hope you will feel personal pride as you see how the vision of young HBT members in the 1990s has come to fruition in 2017. One shining example: on Sunday afternoon, thanks to a new generation of HBT young families, I led a public Hanukkah-menorah lighting in Adams Park in Roslindale Square. Parents, children, babies filled the square with light and joy in celebrating the Jewish presence in our neighborhood.

Throughout my 22 years at HBT, I have considered this synagogue a place where miracles happen. Every day, we rededicate ourselves to a thriving Jewish presence in West Roxbury. We celebrate the renewed vision of those who came before us, and the inspiring commitment of those who are with us today.

Happy end of Hanukkah! May we all find light in our homes and in our hearts.

Rabbi Barbara Penzner

Greeks, Maccabees, and Romans: Who owns Jerusalem?

When the Maccabees won their battle and rededicated the temple, they declared a moral victory. Not only had they defeated the Greek tyrant Antiochus and his armies, they defeated the despair and powerlessness that had overcome many Jews. The courageous Maccabees lit up the temple eternal lights once again, strengthening the Jewish people’s resolve to practice their religion freely, and overpowering the darkness of oppression. That is the lesson of Hanukkah that I believe is most relevant to our lives today.

Jewish liturgy on Hanukkah gives thanks for the miracles. Al Hanisim (“For the miracles,” the prayer recited 3 times a day on Hanukkah, as well as in the grace after meals), expresses gratitude for the  victory of the weak over the strong, the few over the many, the just over the wicked, and those immersed in the teachings of Torah over the brutal immorality of a dictator.

We approach the coming Hanukkah festival wondering who exactly are the Maccabees today?

Are we Jews the powerful or the powerless? Are we fighting for freedom or for our self-interest? Are we acting from our values, arising from Torah, or from some other source?

In the early years of modern-day Israel, the Maccabees were appropriated as a symbol of the State of Israel, small, righteous, and unfortified, and surrounded by enemies on all sides. Can the current Israeli government lay claim to being modern-day Maccabees?

In historical context, this government may well inherit the legacy of the Maccabees. The Maccabees established the Hasmonean dynasty, who ruled Judea for almost a hundred years. The Hasmoneans themselves became Hellenized rulers. They threw off the norms of Jewish law and took on the honors and symbolism of Greek rulers. And their worst miscalculation, according to the Rabbis of the Talmud who refused to mention the Maccabees in conjunction with the celebration of Hanukkah, was inviting the powerful Roman Empire to become their allies.

While Rome was happy to assist the small country of Judea in its ongoing battles with the Greek armies, they were even happier to colonize Judea. Within a hundred and fifty years, that same Roman Empire destroyed the (renovated) Temple, burned the city of Jerusalem, and exiled the survivors into the Diaspora. Judaism, and the Jewish people, were never the same.

I believe that most people believe that they are Maccabees, standing up for justice, overturning powerful dictators, defending our most cherished values and practices. Nevertheless, Jewish leaders are no more immune to corruption or the temptations of power than leaders from any other moral tradition.

Israel has the most powerful army in the Middle East. Israel has benefited from sharing responsibility for its own security with the Palestinian security forces. For the current government of Israel to welcome the support of a tyrant in order to consolidate its own hold on power is to welcome the Romans once again with open arms.

To declare Jerusalem as the undivided capital of Israel benefits no one, outside of the current prime minister of Israel. A more thoughtful, strategic, and potentially constructive move would be to declare West Jerusalem the capital of the State of Israel (which it is, in practice), and to simultaneously acknowledge East Jerusalem as the long-term legal home of close to half a million Palestinians (as it is, in practice). Just as Jerusalem is the historic holy site for the Jewish world, Jerusalem is likewise one of the most holy sites for the Muslim world. Jerusalem can only survive if it exists as a shared society.

I love Jerusalem. In total, I’ve lived in its neighborhoods and walked its many streets for three years plus. Our son was born in Jerusalem, and his American passport only lists the city, and not the country of Israel, as his birthplace. I take seriously the practice of turning toward Jerusalem in my daily prayers. Jerusalem is central to Jewish life.

However, more important than claiming the city of Jerusalem as a political birthright, Jews should be claiming peace as our ultimate dream.

Ir shalem, the city of peace, Jerusalem’s predecessor, is first mentioned in the Torah as the province of Melchizedek, a Canaanite priest who welcomed Abraham with bread and wine and blessing (Genesis 14:18-19). It is time that the Jewish people, wherever we reside, offer welcome and blessing to our Muslim and Christian neighbors.

To welcome Rome into Jerusalem is to spell our physical and spiritual doom.

Looking for light in these dark times, I wish you and yours the joys of family, gratitude, and generosity this Hanukkah.

Hag urim same’ach (Happy festival of lights),

Rabbi Barbara Penzner

Turkey and Tomatoes

Turkey and Tomatoes—Counting our Blessings at our Thanksgiving Table

Did you know that the ancient psalms for Thanksgiving anticipated our turkey dinner? The word “hodu” (thanks) as in Hodu lAdonai ki tov (give thanks to God for all the goodness) also means “turkey” in Hebrew.

So the verse from psalms also means Turkey for God is good!

With or without turkey, I love Thanksgiving. Food and family. Stopping work and everyday life to gather together for a delicious few days, is a great privilege. I know that many people do not have the family ties, the capacity to travel, or the free time to enjoy this holiday. Many are hungry on Thanksgiving Day. Knowing how precious all this is, I am deeply grateful.

In our family, we always pause before digging in for each person to give voice to that gratitude. Awkward as that can be, I try to bring to mind people who make our meal possible. This year, I am particularly mindful of the migrant workers who pick our food. Living in fear of deportation, oppressed by growers who turn a blind eye to exploitation, sexual harassment, toxic chemicals, and other human rights abuses, their plight remains invisible to most of us.

To add insult to injury, it is shameful that those who are indispensable to our Thanksgiving meal are so poor they eat their Thanksgiving dinner at a soup kitchen.

Early in November, a group of local clergy met with Julie Taylor of the National Farm Worker Ministry. After reminiscing about the success of Cesar Chavez and the California grape boycott in the 1970s, we heard stories of migrant workers all over the country today who are struggling for basic survival: decent pay, housing, childcare, and healthcare.

We learned that 60% of farmworkers are undocumented. Surprisingly, growers are seeking to increase the number of temporary workers while trying to gut the legal protections for those workers. Today, farmworkers in the H2A (2014) program receive housing and compensation for their travel. Under proposed legislation, they would lose both.

Increasing the cap on guest workers would take jobs from migrant workers already in this country; yet they would receive lower pay, leading everyone to a downward spiral into poverty and exploitation.

We also heard of victories for farmworkers who have organized. You know about the United Farm Workers (UFW).  Familias Unidas por La Justicia  (FUL) won a negotiated settlement with berry growers in Washington State. I also learned that in addition to the Fair Food Program created by the Coalition of Immokalee Workers (CIW), that protects workers who pick tomatoes, strawberries and peppers on the farms of Florida and the Southeast, the Equitable Food Initiative (EFI) does the same for agricultural workers in the US and in Mexico, home of some of the worst human rights abuses.

Heartened by their courage, creativity, and commitment, I will continue to champion the rights of farmworkers. On Thursday, January 18, 2018, I’ll be fasting with clergy nationwide to draw attention to the human rights abuses that persist in the fields. That day I will be protesting at a local Wendy’s restaurant to urge Wendy’s management to join the Fair Food Program. Put that date on your calendar and come along!

Whether you give thanks for your health or your family, for your home or your job, I hope you will join me in bringing a farmworker (in spirit, or with a tomato centerpiece) to your Thanksgiving table. Here is a prayer that you can print and read before you enjoy the fruits of their labors—at Thanksgiving, or at any meal.

Hodu l’Adonai ki tov—we are so grateful for all the goodness in our lives.

May this Thanksgiving holiday help us realize how blessed we are, and encourage us all to give expression to our gratitude.

Rabbi Barbara Penzner

Open your eyes.

Know yourself.

Take courage.

These are the three essential teachings that Sasha Chanoff brought to a crowd of close to fifty people at last week’s Allen J. Worters Lecture. Mesmerizing us with his chilling tale of making a life-or-death moral choice in war-torn Congo, Sasha inspired the group by describing the work of RefugePoint, the refugee resettlement organization that he founded in 2005.

In his book, From Crisis to Calling: Finding your Moral Center in the Toughest Decisions, Sasha and his father demonstrate how we can respond as Sasha did, by opening our eyes to the problems — and solutions — right in front of us.

Like Hagar in last week’s Torah portion, he opened his eyes in a time of great despair and discovered — like the well of water in front of Hagar — a way to help resettle refugees.

By knowing himself and listening to the truth inside of him, Sasha took courage and made a decision that saved lives.

I urge you to learn more about the refugee crisis and about the work of RefugePoint.

You can hear Sasha’s story on Kind World or watch the video.

You can learn more about RefugePoint, get updates, and support their work, by sending an email or go directly to the site.

You can purchase Sasha’s book, From Crisis to Calling:  Finding your Moral Center in the Toughest Decisions, at Sasha’s site.

Below you will find the poem by African writer Chinua Achebe that I offered in my opening remarks on Friday night. The poem tells a story that does not need to end in death. We have the power to take action, even a small action, to save the life of a refugee mother and child. We must heed the commandment, “Do not despair!”

No Madonna and Child could touch
Her tenderness for a son
She soon would have to forget. . . .
The air was heavy with odors of diarrhea,
Of unwashed children with washed-out ribs
And dried-up bottoms waddling in labored steps
Behind blown-empty bellies. Other mothers there
Had long ceased to care, but not this one:
She held a ghost-smile between her teeth,
And in her eyes the memory
Of a mother’s pride. . . . She had bathed him
And rubbed him down with bare palms.
She took from their bundle of possessions
A broken comb and combed
The rust-colored hair left on his skull
And then—humming in her eyes—began carefully to part it.
In their former life this was perhaps
A little daily act of no consequence
Before his breakfast and school; now she did it
Like putting flowers on a tiny grave.