Tag: Judaism

A Blessing at 30,000 Feet

You never know when a blessing will arrive from an unexpected source. Sometimes it comes from the stranger sitting beside you on an airplane.

You never know when you will receive a blessing from an unexpected source.

Yesterday, I had two brief connecting flights returning home from a four-day trip. My first flight was only 34 minutes in the air. I boarded early and shortly afterward, a pleasant young man took the window seat beside me.

For the past few months, I have been flying frequently and often use my time in the air to read or simply decompress after meetings. Unless my seatmates indicate they want to converse, I usually remain quiet.

This time was different.

My seatmate and I quickly struck up a conversation. I learned that he is a professional soccer referee who travels two or three times each week during soccer season. He is getting married in August. He was raised in the Society of Friends (Quaker), while his fiancée was raised Baptist.

Despite their different religious backgrounds, he shared that they are united by values that are deeply important to both of them: the belief that every person possesses an inner light (what we Jews might call being created B’tzelem Elohim, in the image of God), the importance of listening deeply to others, cultivating a life of spirituality, working for peace and justice, and finding a way to remain centered amid life’s chaos.

I knew a little about the Society of Friends but had never attended one of their meetings, and he was happy to share more.

When he learned that I am a rabbi, our conversation turned to themes of mutual concern: human nature, peace, justice, and finding the light within every human being. He told me that one of his favorite songs is This Little Light of Mine.

Then he asked if he could seek some advice.

Because of the demands of his profession, he travels many weekends and is often unable to attend his weekly Friends meeting. “How can I create community, stay centered, and remain connected to the life of the spirit while I am constantly traveling?”

What an astute and important question for a young person.

There are no easy answers. In his community, they often begin with a query, a deep, open-ended question designed to inspire personal and communal reflection. Queries invite people to examine how they are living their values of peace, simplicity, integrity, and community.

I suggested that during his travels he might set aside time for quiet meditation on that week’s query. While it would not replace community, it could help him remain connected to the spiritual focus of his community. Perhaps he could also schedule occasional conversations over Zoom with community members.

I suggested a simple daily practice: begin with gratitude, pray for the well-being of loved ones, set an intention for the day, reflect on the week’s query, and conclude with several moments of deep, intentional breathing.

And when he is home, make the effort to gather with his community in person, even when tired.

Although our flight lasted barely half an hour, it felt as though we had spoken for hours.

As we prepared to leave the plane, I told him that I felt blessed to have him sitting beside me.

Perhaps that is how blessings often arrive. Not through dramatic miracles or grand revelations, but through unexpected encounters that remind us of what matters most. Sometimes we are the giver of a blessing. Sometimes we are the recipient. Often, we are both.

This week’s Torah portion from the Book of Numbers, Parashat Naso, contains one of Judaism’s most beloved blessings, Birkat Kohanim, the Priestly Blessing:

“May the Eternal bless you and protect you. May the Eternal deal kindly and graciously with you. May the Eternal bestow favor upon you and grant you peace.” (Numbers 6:24-26)

In biblical times, the priests offered this blessing to the people of Israel. Today, its words continue to accompany some of life’s most sacred moments. Parents bless their children with it on Shabbat. Rabbis offer it to their congregations during moments of celebration, healing, and remembrance. It is spoken at brit milah (circumcision) ceremonies, baby namings, B’nai Mitzvah, weddings, and other significant milestones.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, z”l, taught that the Priestly Blessing reminds us that God’s blessings often enter the world through human beings. We become the channels through which God’s presence touches the lives of others.

As I reflected on my brief conversation with a stranger at 30,000 feet, I wondered whether this is precisely how blessing works. Neither of us boarded that flight expecting a sacred encounter. Yet in sharing our stories, our questions, and our hopes, we each became a source of blessing for the other.

Wishing you a Shabbat of blessing and peace, joy and contentment.

Shabbat Shalom!

Beyond the Covered Bridge: Finding Sinai in a Fractured World

In a fractured world marked by hatred and division, Shavuot calls us to moral courage, human dignity, and the sacred work of repair.

This morning, I decided to take a detour from my usual walking route and explore an unfamiliar path. My mind felt heavy from the weight of the world this past week, and I longed for the quiet serenity of nature.

Hesitantly, I walked beneath a covered bridge, unsure of what waited on the other side. What I discovered was breathtaking: a winding trail lined with lush green forest, birdsong echoing through the trees, sunlight filtering through the canopy above. For four miles, the beauty and stillness became an antidote for my weary soul.

This has been a difficult week.

Just a few days ago, two teenage gunmen attacked the Islamic Center of San Diego, the largest mosque in San Diego County, killing three people before dying by apparent suicide. No house of worship should ever become a place of terror. Every human being deserves the right to gather in prayer, safety, and peace. As Jews, we know the pain of seeing sacred spaces violated by hatred and violence. We stand in solidarity with the Muslim community and with all communities targeted because of who they are and how they pray.

Threats to sacred dignity, however, do not only come from those who are outside of our communities. Sometimes they emerge from within, through exclusion, intolerance, and the denial of belonging. Even among our own people, we continue to witness painful struggles over who belongs, whose voice matters, and who has the right to claim Torah as their own.

As Orly Erez-Likhovski, Executive Director of the Israel Religious Action Center of the Israel Reform Movement, recently wrote:

“The fact that the only public place in the Western world where women are forbidden from reading Torah is at the Kotel [the Western Wall}, in the capital of the Jewish state [Jerusalem, Israel], is simply outrageous. Once again, Women of the Wall succeeded in smuggling in a Torah scroll and reading from it in the women’s section, since they are not allowed to read from the 100 Torah scrolls reserved for use in the men’s section for any group of men to use, or to bring in an outside Torah scroll. As I write these words, I still cannot believe that this is what is required to exercise freedom of religion at the Kotel — to smuggle in what belongs to us by right, given to us at Sinai as our sacred inheritance.”

She continues:

“And as if the harassment of all who do not conform to the Rabbinate’s dictates were not enough, this week the Knesset’s Constitution, Law and Justice Committee will discuss a bill imposing up to seven years in prison for egalitarian prayer at the Kotel. That’s right. This extremist government is not content merely to normalize violence against women reading Torah or liberal Jews in egalitarian prayer; it now seeks to criminalize our worship itself.”

She reminds us of the words written twenty-three years ago by the Israeli Supreme Court in the Women of the Wall case:

“The Kotel was given to the entire Jewish people, not merely to one part of the people. And the entire Jewish people — not merely one part — acquired rights in the Kotel.”

Sinai, the mountain on which we received the Torah, belongs to all of us. The moment revelation becomes the possession of only a select few, we betray the very covenant we celebrate on Shavuot, which begins this evening.

Perhaps this is why Shavuot feels especially urgent this year.

The festival of Shavuot is our time to celebrate the receiving of Torah at Mount Sinai. One of the holiday’s names is Z’man Matan Torateinu, the Festival of the Giving of Our Torah. On Shavuot, we metaphorically stand once again at the foot of Sinai, ready to receive Torah anew. We imagine ourselves alongside our ancestors, newly freed from the trauma of slavery, trembling with awe and anticipation as they gathered at the mountain.

In that sacred moment, they received not merely a set of laws, but a spiritual blueprint for living: the Aseret HaDibrot, the Ten Commandments.

These teachings are more than directives about what to do or avoid. They are acts of redemption. They affirm human dignity and divine justice, calling us to create a society rooted in responsibility, compassion, and holiness. For the newly formed Israelite people, this was revolutionary. In Egypt, justice depended on the whims of Pharaoh. Joseph prospered under one ruler, while generations later a new Pharaoh arose who governed through fear and cruelty. Revelation at Sinai offered an entirely different vision: a covenant grounded not in power, fear, or domination, but in sacred accountability.

How do we hold both Sinai and angst in our hearts at once?

Shavuot reminds us that even in moments of grief, anxiety, and uncertainty, we are not powerless. Torah calls us to act: to pursue justice, to amplify voices too often ignored, and to pray not only with our lips, but with our hands, hearts, and feet. The Ten Commandments are not relics of an ancient past. They are an enduring call to continue the work of liberation for all who remain bound by physical, emotional, or spiritual oppression.

Even amid the brokenness of our world, Shavuot remains a festival of joy and hope. Traditionally, we decorate our sanctuaries with flowers and greenery, symbols of life and renewal. While we may not physically decorate our sanctuary, we need only step outside to witness creation in full bloom: roses, hydrangeas, trees swaying in the late spring breeze, and gardens bursting with color and life, like I witness on my morning walks. Renewal surrounds us. Shavuot also invites us to partake in sweet dairy foods, symbols of Torah’s sweetness and nourishment for the soul.

The holiday traditionally includes an all-night study session called Tikkun Leil Shavuot, a night devoted to learning, reflection, and spiritual renewal. There are opportunities for learners of every age and stage to engage with Torah through hands-on experiences, multi-generational learning, in-person gatherings, and online offerings. Truly, there is something for everyone.

Let us bring our whole selves to Sinai this year: our questions, our fears, our hopes, and our longings. Let us recommit ourselves to Torah as a living guide that challenges us to repair our world with courage and compassion.

Perhaps I am idealistic, but I still believe in the possibility of redemption. Shavuot reminds us that even when the world feels fractured and uncertain, we are still capable of choosing another path: one rooted in justice, compassion, and peace.

May this Shavuot renew our spirits, strengthen our resolve, and help us find the courage to walk forward, even when the path ahead feels uncertain. May every sacred space remain a sanctuary, every person be treated with dignity, and every soul find its way to Sinai embraced in peace.

Chag Shavuot Sameach and Shabbat Shalom.

 

Let Us Strengthen One Another

As we complete the Book of Leviticus this Shabbat, “Chazak, chazak, v’nitchazek” reminds us that strength and resilience are found through community, compassion, and our willingness to uplift one another.

“Chazak, chazak, v’nitchazek – Be strong, hold fast, and let us strengthen one another.”

This meaningful Hebrew phrase feels as though it were written precisely for the challenging times we are living through today. Whether we are confronting the ongoing war with Iran, the seemingly unending rise in antisemitism around the world, the deep divisions within society, or the anxiety and uncertainty that so many carry each day, these ancient words speak directly to our moment. They also speak to the personal struggles that touch every human life: the loss of a loved one, illness, loneliness, disappointment, or the quiet burdens we often carry unseen.

In moments such as these, we discover that our inner strength and capacity for resilience are uplifted when we are embraced by an understanding and compassionate community that accompanies us on the journey toward healing and wholeness. The operative word in the phrase is “nitchazek – let us strengthen one another.” Judaism reminds us that we are not meant to walk the path of life alone. We are not expected to face hardship, uncertainty, or even moments of joy in isolation. We are deeply dependent upon one another and upon community itself.

This phrase has its origins in the study of Torah. Sometime during the Talmudic period, though its exact origin is uncertain, it became customary to chant “chazak, chazak, v’nitchazek” whenever the community completed one of the five books of Torah during the annual cycle of reading. Perhaps this custom emerges from the understanding that Torah is ideally studied in chevruta, in sacred partnership and fellowship. The Talmud expresses this beautifully: “As fire does not burn well when isolated, so will the words of Torah not be preserved when studied by oneself.” (Babylonian Talmud, Ta’anit 7a).

Certainly, we can study alone. Yet when we learn alongside others, we encounter dimensions of Torah, insight, and wisdom that might otherwise elude us. Torah becomes deeper and more meaningful when experienced within community. We gain immeasurably more when we listen to one another’s questions, perspectives, struggles, and discoveries.

Why am I sharing this now? This week we complete the reading of the third book of the Torah, Vayikra, the Book of Leviticus. Its concluding verse is chanted with a distinctive melody, and immediately afterward the congregation rises together to proclaim: “Chazak, chazak, v’nitchazek – Be strong, be resolute, and let us strengthen one another.”

Leviticus, with its emphasis on holiness, ritual, ethical responsibility, and sacred living, challenges us to build lives rooted in connection: connection with God, with community, and with our highest selves. It calls upon us to live with intention, purpose, compassion, and meaning.

As we welcome Shabbat this evening and complete the reading of the book of Vayikra tomorrow morning, the words “chazak, chazak, v’nitchazek” remind us that one of the essential purposes of Jewish community is to support and strengthen one another through all of life’s vicissitudes. When we truly engage with others, we come to recognize not only the strength and gifts within those around us, but also the strengths within ourselves. We begin to understand that our experiences, perspectives, and contributions complement one another and help sustain the community as a whole.

“Chazak, chazak, v’nitchazek – Be strong, hold fast, and let us strengthen one another.”

Dan Nichols Song – Chazak

Shabbat Shalom!

Sing a Song of Freedom

This week and next we commemorate the values of freedom, justice and liberty.

B’shalach, our Torah reading for this week, celebrates the new-found freedom of the Israelites as they escaped from slavery in Egypt.

In Exodus 15 we read the beautiful Song at the Sea, the poem of praise, thanksgiving and victory which the Israelites sang upon their safe deliverance. “Then Moses and the Israelites sang this song to the Eternal. They said:

 

I will sing to the Eternal, for Adonai has triumphed gloriously;

Horse and driver He has hurled into the sea.

The Eternal is my strength and might;

He is become my deliverance.

This is my God and I will enshrine Him.

The God of my ancestors, and I will exalt him.” (Exodus 15: 1-2)

We remind ourselves every day, twice a day, that we used to be slaves when we recite the “Mi Chamocha” prayer in our daily morning service and evening service. “Mi Chamocha” is actually not a prayer or blessing. The verses are actually taken from this week’s Torah reading: Exodus 15:11 and 15: 18:

“Who is like You, majestic in holiness,

Awesome in splendor, working wonders!… The Eternal will reign for ever and ever.”

Why do we need to remind ourselves constantly of our servitude?

Both the Torah itself and the later rabbis instill within us the value of historical memory:

“In every generation, one is obligated to see one’s self as having personally left Egypt. As it is said: (Exodus 13:8), ‘And you will tell your child on that day, saying, ‘It is because of what the Eternal did for me when I went free from Egypt.'” (Mishnah, Pesachim 10:5)

By reciting Mi Chamocah twice daily, we are reminding ourselves of a few things: 1) we are connected to God in a relationship that is historic; 2) God redeemed us from slavery; and 3) if we needed assistance to be liberated from bondage, then we are obligated to help those who are not yet free as well. Mi Chamocha then is our call to action.

Modern Jewish philosopher Abraham Joshua Heschel took this obligation very seriously. In one of his important works, he wrote:

“Freedom means more than mere emancipation. It is primarily freedom of conscience, bound up with inner allegiance. The danger begins when freedom is thought to consist of the fact that “I can act as I desire.” This definition not only overlooks the compulsions which often lie behind our desires; it reveals the tragic truth that freedom may develop within itself the seed of its own destruction. The will is not an ultimate and isolated entity, but determined by motives beyond its own control. To be what one wants to be is also not freedom, since the wishes of the ego are largely determined by external factors…Freedom presupposes the capacity for sacrifice. Man’s true fulfillment cannot be reached by the isolated individual, and his true good depends on communion with, and participation in, that which transcends him. Each challenge from beyond the person is unique, and each response must be new and creative… The glory of a free society lies not only in the consciousness of my right to be free, and my capacity to be free, but also in the realization of my fellow man’s right to be free, and his capacity to be free.” (Abraham Joshua Heschel, The Insecurity of Freedom, New York: Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 1966)

Heschel was not just a man of thought, a man of words, but a man of deed. In 1965, he marched in the famous march from Selma, Alabama to Montgomery, with the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., who was his friend and close colleague. “When I marched in Selma, it felt like my legs were praying,” Heschel commented after the march.

Susannah Heschel, AJ Heschel’s daughter, explained this further:

“For my father, though, the march was not simply a political demonstration, but a religious occasion. He saw it as a revival of prophetic Judaism’s political activism and also of the traditions of Hasidism, a Jewish pietistic revival movement that arose in the late eighteenth century, according to which walking could be a spiritual experience.” (Susannah Heschel, “Following in my father’s footsteps: Selma 40 years later”)

The photo below shows Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel on the far right, participating in the Selma march. On his left is Rabbi Maurice Eisendrath, a former Senior Rabbi of Holy Blossom Temple (where I began my rabbinate) and long-standing president of the Union of American Hebrew Congregations (1943-1972). Both Heschel and Eisendrath worked alongside Martin Luther King Jr. fighting against racism, bigotry, hatred and intolerance. They all fought for civil rights and justice.

Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Rabbi Maurice Eisendrath (Pres. of the UAHC), Rabbi Abraham Joshuah Heschel. The March from Selma to Montgomery, 1965.
Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Rabbi Maurice Eisendrath (Pres. of the UAHC), Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel. The March from Selma to Montgomery, 1965.

Therefore, it is not so ironic that we as a Jewish people are celebrating our own historical liberation from bondage, just one week before we, as a nation, observe Martin Luther King Jr. Day.

Martin Luther King, Jr. taught:

“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.” (Birmingham, Alabama, April 16, 1963).

Dr. King’s words go hand-in-hand with what we learn from our own Jewish tradition:

“In a place where there is no humanity, strive to be human.” (Pirke Avot, Ethics of the Fathers, 2:6)

as well as,

“Tzedek, tzedek tirdof. Justice, justice you shall pursue.” (Deuteronomy 16:20).

We will do justice to our Torah portion this week, B’shalach, and to the memories of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel and to all who work to free the captives, when we work to fulfill the following words:

“Let violence be gone; let the day come soon when evil shall give way to goodness, when war shall be forgotten, hunger be no more, and all at last shall live in freedom.” (Gates of Prayer, page 618. Central Conference of American Rabbis, New York, 1975).

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=12QZDSaBfps&w=640&h=360]

Food for Body, Mind and Spirit

Welcome to my first blog post!

When I was one, my father began his rabbinical studies at Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion. (He was ordained from HUC-JIR, NY in 1966). My late mother told me that one of my favorite activities was to play: “Don’t bother me, I’m writing a sermon!”

Me at age 2, playing "rabbi" with my baby brother.
Me at age 2, playing “rabbi” with my baby brother.

I grew up with the synagogue as my second home, feeling just as comfortable running around on the bima, as I felt running around my own house.

I loved being involved in my father’s Temple. It touched something deep inside of me. I was president of my youth group, I started our congregation’s Soviet Jewry Committee, I went to Israel for the first time the summer after I became Bat Mitzvah.

My parents instilled within us the values of Tikkun Olam – Social Justice. They took us marching in rallies for Soviet Jewry, Viet Nam and Israel in New York City and Washington, DC. They taught us the Talmudic teaching: “once the eye has seen and the ear has heard, you can no longer pretend to be uninvolved or unaffected.” And they taught us to use our voices to speak up for those who could not speak for themselves.

My parents and grandparents also taught us the value of “audacious welcoming and hospitality”. My paternal grandmother was a gourmet chef who was renowned for everything that came out of her kitchen.

My mother taught us early in life how to bake challah and other kinds of homemade bread (although when we were growing up, we did not appreciate bringing our lunches to school on thickly-sliced homemade whole grain bread. Why couldn’t we have WonderBread like the other kids?!).

As the oldest of six children, (I have four younger brothers and a younger sister), I quickly learned how to take care of things in the kitchen. I also learned how to experiment with my cooking and baking.

And I learned that I could combine my love of Judaism and my “audacious hospitality” to create community and strong relationships.

Dr. Ron Wolfson, in his new book, Relational Judaism, writes: “What really matters is that we care about the people we seek to engage. When we genuinely care about people, we will not only welcome them, we listen to their stories, we will share ours, and we will join together to build a Jewish community that enriches our lives.”

Throughout my 25 years in the rabbinate, I have created strong and vibrant relationships wherever I have been. I have nurtured and sustained those relationships through teaching, listening, sharing, healing…by doing all those things that rabbis do. But I also enhance those relationships by welcoming people into my home. By sharing myself and my love of cooking and food with my friends and guests, I hope to transform my relationships into something stronger and deeper.

I do agree with Dr. Ron Wolfson that Judaism is all about creating relationships, nurturing those relationships and strengthening them. Shabbat Shalom!

This blog will sometimes share my Jewish views, sometimes my recipes and thoughts on “audacious hospitality” and sometimes, this blog will combine the two. You will find sections for my sermons and divrei Torah (“sermonettes”) and sections for my recipes. I welcome all comments and will try to respond as I am able.

I want to thank Jennifer Lask for all her help in setting this up for me. Jen – you are terrific and I so appreciate your help! The “appearance” is still “in process” so please be patient as we get it going.