I am in the midst of a project at home. I’m making a written record of my most treasured belongings – few in number though they may be – and deciding on what is to become of them when I die. For those of you know me, the details I’ve included in these files would not surprise you.

Like many in her generation, my daughter isn’t especially sentimental, and I want to be sure that these items stay in the family, and that is very clear in what I’ve written. All of my grandparents were immigrants, and I have very few items from them. How I wish I had more! So for these particular items, I’m being very exact as to who should receive them.

My grandfather’s tefillin is one of these items. They sat in a drawer for decades. They are extremely well worn, having been used by my maternal grandfather for decades. He was born in 1880, and they were given to him around the time of his bar mitzvah in or near Kiev in the Ukraine around 1893. He used them until his death, in 1945, 6 years before I was born.

But then they sat – from 1945 – until just a few years ago, when I started going to morning minyan on a regular basis. I’ve used Max’s tefillin since. Can you just imagine what his reaction would have been if he had been told that those tefillin would be worn by a grandson he would never know, in 2023?!

Max wore those tefillin here in the U.S. as he had done in the old country. But when he died, his sons put them away – a relic of a time gone by. A relic of the Ukraine and the shtetl. His sons were quite assimilated. Time to put the remnants of the past in a drawer. And here I am, feeling more strongly than I ever have, that it’s important to wear them again.

In today’s parashah, we read a rather extensive description of Jacob’s conferring blessings on Joseph’s children. Apparently in those times, the order in which a child was blessed by a dying relative had great significance. Jacob was near death and was unable to see well. Joseph brought his two sons to Jacob for their final blessing. Jacob put his right hand on Ephraim’s head, signaling that he would receive the first blessing, although Ephraim was the younger of the sons. Menasheh, the older son, would receive the second blessing, though by birth order, he traditionally would have received the first.

Joseph tried to correct Jacob, but Jacob was quite insistent, stating that Ephraim, the younger of the sons, would become a greater nation than would his older brother. Perhaps unwisely, Jacob once again couldn’t resist playing favorites.

We note that three times in Jacob’s life, the younger had been chosen over the older, each time with unfortunate results – Jacob himself over Esau, Jacob’s choice of wife – Rachel over Leah, and his son, Joseph, over his older brothers. Each time, tension, estrangement, and even hostility resulted. Joseph himself was the victim on one occasion. Hadn’t Jacob learned?

Well, as you might guess, the text doesn’t explain to us why Jacob insisted on granting the most important blessing on the younger child, contrary to the custom of the day. We do know, however, that Jacob knew the names of the sons, and which was which.

Without going into all the Hebrew etymology, the meaning of the name Menasheh implies that G-d made Joseph forget his troubled past and his estrangement and separation from his family. Assimilate. Just be happy in the moment. The name Ephraim suggests that he would be successful and fruitful, but it would be in the “land of his affliction.”

The names of the sons perhaps reflected Joseph’s mindset at the time of their birth. At first, he was delighted with all the trappings of success. Power, fame, nice clothes. So he named his son Menasheh. But those people were not his people. And his people, undistinguished though they may have been, were family.

And I suppose that in those times, a person’s given name reflected the experiences of their parent and supposedly helped shape the type of person one was to become. But with all of Joseph’s success, Egypt was still Egypt. And with none of his people nearby, and with none of his people’s customs followed, it was still a land of affliction. And so his second son was named Ephraim.

I’ve read a piece by Rabbi Jonathan Sacks in which he says that, in reference to our status as immigrants to America, the second generation seeks to remember what the first generation sought to forget. Certainly that is the case with respect to my grandfather’s tefillin. And maybe that was to be the case with respect to Joseph’s sons.

Perhaps by his choice of who was to receive the most important and impactful blessing, Jacob was signaling that his people’s exile would be long. That there would be constant tension between trying to forget – assimilating – and realizing the importance of remembering: remembering his people’s extended family, customs, and beliefs. Remembering that although we live in “exile,” we have another home elsewhere.

The child of forgetting (Menasheh) may have many blessings in his life, and would hopefully have a happy and meaningful life. But greater are the blessings of a child (Ephraim) who remembers the past, and that he is still a part of it. And so it is that Max’s tefillin are being put to use again, with much reverence. Wouldn’t he be proud!

Lech L’cha is one of my favorite parashiot in the Torah. In it, Gd tells Abraham to seek a new life in a new land, where his people will ultimately grow in number. Leave your comfort zone, Avram! Leave all that is familiar. Be bold. Seek something better. And I, Gd, will be with you. At first, Abraham wasn’t even told where he would wind up. “There’s a challenge that awaits you, Avram, and if you can muster up the courage to answer the call, your life will be more meaningful and fulfilling.”

Lech L’cha – Go from this place. A message not only for Abraham, but for all of us. Leave your comfortable surroundings. Have I got a challenge for you!

OK, so I envision Abraham as living the good life in the land of Ur. Making a good living. Discussing the issues of the day with his cronies. Maybe even inheriting his father’s idol-making business. Who knows? And he is somehow motivated – Divinely motivated perhaps? – to get out of his comfort zone. To acknowledge that he is not all that he can become. We read that Abraham’s life (and, incidentally, the life of anyone who answers the call), was not made easier by his answering the call. For Abraham, tough times ensued, as you will read in today’s portion.

For me personally, I always have looked upon the phrase as a calling to be bold. Get out of your comfort zone. Get moving. Time’s a-wasting. Look at the biographies of famous or of simply successful people, and you often find a singular moment in which they heard the command, lech l’cha. And to make it a bit less cosmic: maybe you heard the expression, “Fortune favors the bold.”  My view is that our lives take on more meaning when we in fact take this as a command. As a challenge, as a call to action, rather than as a promise of success.

In a similar vein, we read in Etz Chaim that Gd told Abraham Gd would make him a blessing. I favor a different translation – one that was actually used in the older Hertz Bible, where it says, “Be thou a blessing.” I believe that Gd was challenging Abraham, and now us, to become a blessing to others by leaving our comfort zones and to look for ways to fulfill Judaism’s vision of the world.

Yasher Koach Bill Sutker, and Stephanie and Mark Kessler who became docents at the Dallas Holocaust and Human Rights Museum. Bill tells me that this has been a special interest of his since a “March of the Living” trip he took with Helen in 2018. Stephanie and Mark told me that, “We love communicating to students and other visitors the message that we should do all do that we can to combat prejudice, hatred, and indifference. We can think of no better way to spend our time.” As I’m sure you all realize, becoming docents as Bill, Stephanie and Mark have done is not simply a “fill out the application” process. It takes many hours of study and in-person training. They heard the call, “Lech L’cha.”

In the parashah, we read that Gd tells Abraham Gd will make Abraham’s descendants “as numerous as the stars in the heavens.” I feel that our lives are much more enriched when we take this as a challenge. It’s largely up to us to fulfill Gd’s promise, to make Abraham’s descendants – us – carry on our unique and treasured traditions.
Well . . . here we all are. Descendants of Abraham. Not quite as numerous as the stars in the heavens, but time isn’t finished yet.

When we combine the two simple phrases – Go forth. Be a blessing to others. Now we’re getting to a yet different place. Being both bold and a blessing to others can be considered the Jewish perfecta!!

Yasher Koach to Jill Bach. Having recovered from ovarian cancer, Jill took these exhortations to a new level. For 11 years, she has been a leader and an organizer for the “Be the Difference” benefit to help raise funds for ovarian cancer research and patient support. This has been a lot of work, but as Jill said, “When you have a passion for something you don’t mind the work as much.” You haven’t lived until you’ve seen Jill and hundreds of other supporters shvitzing during the actual event!

As I spoke about on in a prior D’var Torah, and as with other lessons from the Torah, the key question in our parashah today isn’t, “Was Abraham a real person?” but rather, is his story real? Am I living it today? When Gd said to Abraham, “Lech l’cha – go from this place,” That’s our story, isn’t it? We don’t know what’s in store for us; we don’t even know what will happen tomorrow, but that story – our story – our narrative depends largely on us—upon what we do and how we act.

Yasher Koach to Becca and Guy Bradley, who have given more hours than they have available to their sons and to others in the Boy Scouts. You can well imagine what a cost in time and energy it is to prepare meetings, supervise boys at campouts and of course, being a role model. Guy was involved with scouting even as a kid and knew how special it would be for his sons. Becca found a need and in the best Jewish tradition simply said, “Hineni” – here I am. And here she still is, finding satisfaction and serving a community.

In opposition to the materialism that drives so many today, the devotion and energy that these kehillah members have put into these volunteer activities mean that they will be known best not by what they acquired, but by what they gave.

Lech L’cha for the Jew means hearing and responding to the still, small voice of eternity. We are summoned to contribute to the world. That still, small voice is pulling us, pushing us, to continue the journey begun by Abraham.

Fulfilling the commandment to “lech l’cha” takes conviction and a sense of mission. It takes much courage to leave one’s comfort zone and work to improve the lives of others. Being a blessing to others and to the world writ large is what we Jews do and what these kehillah members are doing.

I want to thank all of you for the honor of presenting the d’var Torah on this special day.

As many of you know, Nancy and I recently went on a long trip to the Arctic. In fact, the company that we went with, National Geographic, only makes one such voyage each year, and the captain of the ship told us that we were only the 352nd known ship to have crossed the entire Northwest Passage, the route that crosses the Canadian archipelago, connecting the North Atlantic Ocean with the North Pacific Ocean. We began our trip along the west coast of Greenland, and ended it by going through the Bering Sea, finally landing in Nome, Alaska. There were 3 recurring topics during this incredibly interesting trip. I will discuss each, and then tie them together in a message for us as we head into our new year.

The first topic was the wildlife and our natural surroundings. You will not be surprised to learn that during the voyage, I routinely awoke around 5:00 to 5:30 a.m. I would head to the ship’s lounge where I had a glass of juice and enjoyed the quiet for a short time. I then went to the bridge of the ship, and chatted for a few moments with the night navigator, Finn, who was quite happy to have some company by that point in his shift.

My next stop was the gym, where I would work out, generally from 6:00 to 7:00. I then returned to our cabin, took a shower, and awakened Nancy in time for breakfast. One morning at 6:25, the expedition director quietly announced on the loudspeaker that, for those who were awake, there were a couple of polar bears in the distance. He invited anyone who wished, to join him on the bridge for some viewing. My workout could wait. Off I went!

There weren’t many of us on the ship’s bridge at that hour, and the bears were indeed rather far away. But as was its mandate, the ship turned off its main engines when we got within several hundred yards of the bears, so as not to frighten them. At one point, I went onto the deck outside the bridge. It was cold! Sea ice, in all directions, as far as the eye could see. And indeed, there in the distance were the polar bears.

Outside, I experienced total and complete silence. No trees rustling in the breeze. No birds with their morning calls. Nothing. “Look where you are, and appreciate this,” said the “still, small voice” inside me. Seeing the vast beauty, for which I have given thanks during morning minyan for the last month, Elul, in Psalm 27, and seeing the patience and persistence of those polar bears, as they looked for a seal that would serve as breakfast, made me think, “There must be a d’var in here somewhere.”

Well, I could have watched the bears and experienced the solitude for a long time, but my very cold fingers and I went inside around 7:30 to get Nancy up and to get ready for breakfast.

As the tour went along, we had the opportunity to meet the indigenous people – the Inuit – in several different tiny communities. The Inuits were the second recurring topic during the trip. Inuits used to be called Eskimos. We can chat later about the reasons for the change in name. I became quite enchanted with them as a people, in their lifestyles, and in their customs.

In addition to meeting some local people, we had a “cultural ambassador” on the ship for several days. He was a young, Inuit man, Akpak, with whom I had a number of conversations. I was intrigued by some of the core beliefs of Akpak’s people, namely: respecting and caring for others, fostering good spirits by being welcoming and inclusive, serving and providing for one’s family and community, working together, and sharing one’s bounty with the community after a successful hunt. All of this was necessary if one was to survive in this unforgiving landscape.                               

There are several ethnic groups and belief systems within the Inuit, just as there are within the Jewish community. But the most salient and similar characteristic, I found, was the sanctity with which they regarded human life, and the respect with which they thus treated their neighbors, and especially their elders. They behaved this way simply because they felt it was the right thing to do.

The survival of the Inuit people has only been possible because of their cooperation with each other and appreciation of their surroundings, values we found are written throughout the Torah. I thought back to those early morning polar bears I saw upon learning that the Inuit have no word for “wilderness.” They see the world in all its forms as the wondrous beauty of creation without demarking some parts as “civilization” and others as “wild.” So much in common with Judaism! Surely, I kept thinking, “There must be a d’var somewhere in here.”

The explorers whose bravery and persistence led to the successful navigation of what came to be known as the Northwest Passage was the third recurring topic of the trip. Great patience, courage. and determination were required in the quest to find a channel that could be used as a trade route from the Atlantic to the Pacific. After a fruitless century of attempts by various explorers, Roald Amundsen, a Norwegian, finally completed a three-year journey with his group in 1906. Talk about patience and persistence!

The explorers of the 19th and early 20th centuries had to overwinter once the early autumn seas turned to ice, rendering them non navigable. In fact, we visited Gjoa Haven, population 1,324, at the very place where Amundsen and his crew spent two years (two years!) while waiting for the sea ice to melt sufficiently for them to continue their quest. And if that wasn’t long enough, we then visited Cambridge Bay, population 1,760, a location further along Amundsen’s route, where he and his crew spent yet a third winter. Such persistence and determination!    

The successful navigation through the Northwest Passage by Amundsen required enormous courage, a trait which our ancestor Abraham also possessed as we will see in this week’s Parashah Lech Lecha – “Go from this place.” Amundsen did not give up on his convictions or on his goal, despite what must have seemed like incalculable odds against him. Surely, I kept thinking, “There must be a d’var in here somewhere!”             

Who do we think of as having survived harsh climates and incredibly harsh surroundings against incredible odds in order to achieve continuity for their people? Who else do we think of as having reached their goals, despite obstacles perhaps unmatched in history? Isn’t that, when you think about it, the story of our own people?

There are numerous places in the Bible, where we read of our ancestors learning patience, showing determination, and persisting against overwhelming odds. Again and again, the Torah enjoins us to appreciate the beauty of the natural world, to cooperate with one another and to show respect for others. And of course, since the time of the Torah, we have also carried with us the unique and burdensome history of persecution and murder that our people have gone through over the centuries.

The stories I heard during our trip, of the Inuits and the explorers, are stories depicting values that we as Jews share. In some cases those values are, in fact, ones that our ancestors introduced to the Western world. Like the Inuit, we Jews share a deep-seated conscience to do the right thing in our dealings with others. Indeed, Jews have added another layer here – that of teshuvah – repentance. And of all that, we can surely be proud.

Deep in our Jewish values are the same values shown in the three main subjects in my trip through the Northwest Passage. Learning about and observing the polar bears in their vast sea of ice, reading about the explorers, and meeting and learning about the Inuits all drove home the point to me that Jews have been inculcated with all the teachings and traits I’ve mentioned and have miraculously persevered as a people. We have been and continue to be capable of great things, if only we use our imagination, muster our courage, and set our minds to reaching our goals.

Rosh Hashanah is a time for self-reflection and new beginnings. Let us resolve to perform teshuvah, cleansing our souls of ill thoughts and purging ourselves of the inclination to engage in harmful speech and behavior, and let us resolve to seek ways to challenge ourselves. To help others. To better ourselves and our community. And to make 5784 a year of great consequence for ourselves and for all who we touch.

To all our brothers and sisters in the kehillah, Nancy and I wish you a happy, healthy, and fulfilling New Year.                                                             

L’Shana Tovah!   Chag Sameach!

In the early 1950s, the new State of Israel faced a difficult choice. Should it open diplomatic relations with Germany? If not, would Israel avoid international organizations that accepted Germany’s membership? What if Israel hosted international meetings? Would they exclude Germany? Writer Ernest Renan said, “Whoever wishes to make history is obligated to forget history. Policy is not a matter of emotion.”

On December 30, 1951, the government of Israel decided to enter into negotiations for restitution. The Israelis don’t make big decisions quietly. You can just imagine the rancor and emotions regarding negotiating with the German government. So many emotions! ”Remember what Amalek did to you!” versus the diplomatic and financial needs of the nascent state. David ben Gurion and the Mapai Party vs. Menachem Begin and Herut.

Begin quoted the Bible. David ben Gurion responded, “If the Amalek nation were still in existence and had universities, the Jews would be studying at them. ‘Blot out the remembrance of Amalek’ is a meaningless verse for us.” After a heated debate within the Central Committee, the issue was presented to the Knesset. Begin spoke with great emotion. “Any hands raised in favor of negotiations with Germany would be treasonous hands.” The Labor party responded, “Let not the murderers of our nation also be its heirs” (meaning of property and wealth).

Begin: “Twelve million Germans served in the Nazi army. Every German is a Nazi who has murdered our families. Adenauer (Konrad, Prime Minister) is a murderer. All his assistants are murderers.” Huge demonstrations ensued. For many Israelis, their country’s needs conflicted with their consciences. Attacks were heartfelt, emotional, and personal. In the end, Israel established relations with Germany and the resolution to negotiate with Germany for restitution passed the Knesset.

In today’s parashah, the Torah commands us not to despise an Egyptian, despite the fact that they enslaved us, because we were once sojourners in their land. On the other hand, the Torah also commands us to destroy and blot out, not only the tribe of Amalek, but also the very memory of their existence (a paradoxical commandment to say the least)! As you can imagine, much has been written about the difference between Egypt and Amalek, and the circumstances under which we should “forgive and forget” and those that demand we continue in our quest to destroy a long-ago enemy.

I don’t want to get into all the Biblical arguments and all the back-and-forth that various writers have gone through to justify their respective decisions. I do, however, want to broaden this out into the real world. Our real world. Today’s world. Our response to an act against us can range from a simple “forgive and forget,” to seeking revenge and never forgetting the perceived transgression, and all shades in-between. I would like to make a pitch for leaning toward the former – not necessarily forgetting, but at least letting go of anger and not carrying a grudge indefinitely.

Carrying a grudge can have profound negative effects on one’s mental and physical health. The act of harboring resentment and holding onto anger towards someone or something can be emotionally draining and detrimental to one’s overall well-being.

This harmful and fruitless remembering can lead to increased stress. When we hold onto negative feelings, our bodies respond by releasing stress hormones which, when elevated over extended periods, can have detrimental effects on our physical and mental health. Research has linked chronic stress to an array of health problems, including a weakened immune response, high blood pressure, and increased risk of mental health disorders like anxiety and depression.

Moreover, carrying a grudge can hinder the ability to form and maintain healthy relationships. The negative emotions associated with holding onto resentment can create walls of bitterness and hostility, making it difficult to trust and connect with others. This isolation can lead to feelings of loneliness and contribute to an individual’s declining mental health. I used to tell my daughter Leah (probably when she was in elementary or middle school; once she was in high school, I couldn’t tell her much of anything! How many identify with that?)…Anyway, I used to tell her that when all you see are warts, everyone is ugly.

In addition to the psychological impact, vowing vengeance against the “Amalekites” in our lives can also manifest in physical symptoms. Prolonged anger and resentment have been associated with headaches, sleep disorders, digestive issues, and other negative physical reactions. In some cases, people experience fatigue and decreased energy levels; others find their mood darkens. Furthermore, the negative emotions associated with an ongoing grudge can impair our decision-making capacity and hinder our ability to get things done.

It is important to recognize the harmful effects of carrying a grudge and to find healthy ways to manage and release these negative emotions. Engaging in forgiveness, or at least in letting things go, whether it be through communication, self-reflection, or even seeking professional help, can be an effective means of promoting emotional healing. By releasing the burden of resentment, individuals can experience improved mental well-being, reduced stress levels, and enhanced overall health.

The drive we feel to “remember Amalek” takes a toll on both mental and physical health and hinder personal growth and relationships. It is important to prioritize forgiveness and find healthy coping mechanisms to release these negative emotions.

The memory of the Holocaust is never far from the collective consciousness of Israelis. My impression is that it impacts virtually all their important decisions, even when it adversely affects their decision-making. Even so, many Israelis now drive Mercedes Benz vehicles – made in Germany. They have not forgotten the Holocaust or forgiven it; but they have acknowledged that the current generation of Germans are not responsible for it. As with our time in Egypt, we were sojourners in Germany and flourished there for generations before Hitler came to power with his agenda of exterminating all Jews.

For us, living in 21^st century America, not every disagreement or transgression that we perceive is equivalent to that of Amalek or the Nazis. Let us remember that as well.

Shabbat Shalom.

Thank you for joining me today and helping me celebrate the 59th anniversary of my bar mitzvah. I have tried to give the D’var each year on this day, and I read through some of these recently. On my 50th anniversary, I spoke of the moment – the exact moment – when I became a bar mitzvah. During the service on that day, as we prepared to take out the Torah, those of us on the bimah made our way over to the aron kodesh.

There I stood, with Rabbi Kummer on my left, Ben Diamond, the President of the shul to his left, and on my right was our hazzan, Mr. Pralick. He was so old; he didn’t have a first name. Even the adults called him Mr. Pralick! Anyway, we belted out the words, “tivneh chamot Yirushalayim,” and I felt it. “Whoa . . .this is very cool,” I thought. “I am now . . . a bar mitzvah!”

That was the exact moment when I became a bar mitzvah. In other divrei Torah, I’ve tried to understand a lesson from the parashah – Bechuchotai. It tells us that G-d will reward those who follow the mitzvot and punish those who do not – even though in our world, at least, that is so demonstrably false. I’ve gotten into some of the arcane explanations that reconcile that cognitive dissonance for those who interpret the Torah’s teachings more literally than I do.

But as we mostly do here in the Kehillah, I’ve centered my comments on the parashah. We don’t usually stray too much from that focus. And typically, there is much to discuss. The Torah is filled with lessons of inspiration that can bear on our lives if we just give them a chance to do so.

Today, I want to focus on a theme that is somewhat different, but no less relevant to me and to us.

One of my very favorite stories and lessons in our entire Bible occurred a couple of months ago, with the reading of the Book of Esther during Purim. The book mentions G-d . . . not a single time. And yet, when the survival of the Jews is threatened by Haman (cue the noisemakers!), Mordechai tells his niece, Queen Esther, “Maybe this (meaning the saving of our people)  . . . Maybe it was for just such a purpose that you are in the position you are in.”  No mention of G-d!

Now, you might think that since I am not one who believes in Divine intervention in every moment, and that as one who does not believe that “everything happens for the best,” or that “there is a reason for everything,” why do I feel Mordechai’s statement is so powerful?

I’ve been thinking about presenting this theme for my dvar for a long time, and an experience at the Holocaust Museum clinched it for me. Some time back, Three of us – my friend Kathy Garber, another Docent Educator, Nelson Weil and I, were asked by the education director, Charlotte Decoster, to come in on a day the museum is normally closed – a Tuesday – and give a private tour to a group of around seventy-five 8th graders from a school for the “talented and gifted.” The school has seen a number of anti-semitic incidents among its students.

The school first reached out to the ADL, but for one reason or another, things didn’t change much, so they called on the Dallas Holocaust and Human Rights Museum for help. Charlotte gathered the three of us before the tour, flattered us by telling us that she had assembled her “Dream Team” (an uncharacteristic accolade by Charlotte) looked at each of us and told us that on that day, we were going to make a difference in the world. The story of Esther and Mordechai came to mind. I had a defined purpose that day.

As I gave the tour and was able to look the students in the eye, as I told them, showed them, and appealed to their better instincts, I felt as though yes, perhaps, just perhaps, I was making a difference. The feedback the museum got from the tour was very gratifying. Indeed, if I were more  . . . religious . . . I might even have said, that was why I was put in that position by G-d.

Those who are asked to be docent educators at the museum are required to prepare a tour with a special theme. Knowing me as you do, it will not surprise you that the title of my themed tour was, “Profiles in Heroism.” On that tour, I feature many people who helped the Jews during the Holocaust. Here, in just a few sentences, are 3 who felt a strong purpose in what they were doing:

Andre Trócme, the leader of a protestant church in France, who implored his parishioners to help Jews who were fleeing the Nazis. “Hide them. Feed them,” he pleaded. And they did so – and saved several thousand Jews. This, felt Pastor Trócme, is what the G-d-given mission of the parishioners was at that time.

Chiuni Sugihara, consular official in Lithuania. In 1940, the Soviets were bearing down from the east, and soon enough, the Nazis would invade from the west. There was horrific anti-semitism in Lithuania even without the Soviet or Nazi menace. Fleeing, desperate Jews poured into his border town of Kaunas. Against the orders of his government, which wanted him back in Tokyo immediately, he gave out around 6,000 transport papers over 29 days, so that Jews could take the railroad across Russia and enter Japan. He thought, “This is why I am in this position.” No specific mention of G-d. He was later disgraced by his government for disobeying orders. No specific mention of G-d.

And finally, Aristide de Sousa Mendez, the Portugese diplomat in southern France. “No visas,” said the Portugese authorities, referring to Jews who escaped their Nazi occupiers. Mendez meditated for several days, finally announcing he had heard a voice–maybe the still, small voice from the story of Elijah? Mendez announced, “Visas for everyone!” This was to become his mission. He distributed several thousand visas to fleeing Jews so they could cross into neutral Portugal through Spain and attempt to make their way to safety elsewhere. He lost his job and died in poverty.

One of the three heard G-d, one didn’t say specifically, and one simply heard a “voice.” But they all had a sense of mission.

Abraham Joshua Heschel has written, “Every person is unique and irreplaceable. Each of us has a unique purpose to fulfill in the world.”

Heschel believed that each moment in time is a precious gift from G-d. He wrote: “Each moment is an opportunity to fulfill our purpose and to make a difference in the world.” He said also that “every hour is endowed with the power to lend meaning to – or withhold meaning from – all other hours.”

Heschel clearly had a view of G-d and of our capacity to carry out G-d’s will that is perhaps somewhat different from mine. However, we could do a whole lot worse than seeing ourselves as people who discover opportunities to affect others, and thus the world, in ways that are unique to the moments we find ourselves in.

So even if we don’t necessarily feel that G-d placed us in a particular position in order to give us a particular opportunity, we can still view those times and circumstances as opportunities to affect positive change in the world and become G-d’s partner in our collective and unfolding history.

Some years ago, I was honored to give Grand Rounds at MD Anderson in Houston – and not a medical talk – it was to be a spiritual talk – good grief!

I concluded with a message inspired by the 13^th century Franciscan monk, St. Francis. As an elderly man, he said, “I have done what was mine to do. May you find what is yours.” My hope and prayer for all of us on this, my special day, is that we all find moments and circumstances when we can make the world better – one deed at a time.

After I signed up to give the D’var today, I looked at the narrative in Vayakhel. “Construction of the Tabernacle.” Gather the goats’ hair, the dolphin skins (dolphin skins in the desert? Whatever.), etc. “They made 50 loops on the edge of the outermost cloth . . .” Ideas for a D’var? Not yet. Then I remembered that this was a double parashah, so I went to the P’Kudei. The Tabernacle – Part 2. “They made bells of pure gold and attached the bells between the pomegranates – a bell and a pomegranate, a bell and a pomegranate . . .” Good grief!

The entire narrative of creation took 34 verses. The construction of the tabernacle comprises around 500 verses. Clearly, there was something I was missing. It seems that for G-d to create a home for humankind was much simpler than for humans to create a home for G-d.

I began to get a clue as to what my D’var could focus on when I read that the Book of Genesis is about G-d’s creation of humankind and the Book of Exodus is about the creation of Jews as a people. The narrative that begins with us as slaves now comes to its conclusion with the description of our building a tabernacle as a major joint effort that requires the input of everyone. Families that likely had barely known one another came together in a common purpose. Cooperation and teamwork are definitely not traits of slaves, but rather of free people.

Remember that the Israelites were divided into 12 tribes or clans. Moses faced a problem not totally unlike many cultures face today – that of a multi-ethnic society in which factors that divide are sometimes more pronounced than factors that unify. And further, these people – the Israelites – love to squawk. (Things haven’t changed much!) Even soon after Revelation, they complained about the lack of food, water, a nice cool shower – everything! They’re cranks! But even cranks can be inspired.

Before this activity of tabernacle-building, we see G-d acting on behalf of the people – freeing them from bondage, dividing the sea, and entrapping the Egyptians. Now, it was time for the Israelites to do things for themselves. And note that during this entire construction period – a significant portion of the Book of Exodus – there was no squawking. This is behavior we haven’t seen before. It is almost as though the Israelites had been transformed. A nation has been created out of a sense of shared responsibility. And that shared responsibility transcended perceived differences between clans and families.

The Torah is thus not only a book about individual responsibility and a code of ethics. It is a book about how we construct a society – a small one, like ours here in the Kehillah, or a much larger one, like our community and indeed, our country.

We read a few weeks ago in Teruma, that G-d told Moses to have the Israelites build a tabernacle so that G-d might dwell among them. But the ultimate meaning of the tabernacle isn’t that G-d lives there. Did G-d really “need” a place so that G-d might dwell among G-d’s people? Most of us don’t really believe that.

No – the meaning of the tabernacle is that G-d is present wherever we subordinate our will to G-d’s will. Numerous times in the tabernacle’s construction, we read, “As the Lord had commanded Moses.” The tabernacle symbolized the place where G-d’s will was obeyed – where it reigned supreme. The tabernacle is where what we read in the Torah and are commanded to do, how to live, how to treat our fellow humans, is first learned, and given the opportunity to come to life. In following G-d’s commands and building the tabernacle, and in subordinating our perhaps natural inclinations and our will to the will of G-d, we become G-d’s partners in creation and in the unfolding history of humankind.

By constructing a tabernacle in the most exacting way, we have, in effect, also built a space in our hearts and in our minds; a space for G-d. In its construction, the Israelites were changed. Literally and figuratively, the people needed to first build the space that would enable G-d to fill it.

Judaism’s teachings are the ways we can begin to heal wounds brought about by humans, and the only way to create a world worthy of G-d’s presence. I like that, and I like the imagery of Gd’s presence in our kehillah.

Note that the Torah doesn’t say, “Have them build a tabernacle so that I can dwell there.” It says, “Have them build a tabernacle so that I may dwell among them. We’re here today – we come to shul today – not so that we can visit Gd. We’re here so that G-d can visit us.

A recent subject of National Public Radio’s show called RadioLab, was “transformations.” Examples were given of how, sometimes surprisingly, people are not necessarily locked in to a specific pattern of behavior. Behavior can and sometimes does change. This is an appropriate theme for my D’var Torah, as it relates to Jacob, because today’s parashah is a story about his transformation.

Now personally, I’ve never been a big fan of Jacob. His failings have been laid bare the past few weeks – how so much of his life was about his deception of others. His brother, his father, his father-in-law. Even, as we heard last week, his conditional acceptance of Gd. Now, it seems that this week, he is about to get his comeuppance. He is about to meet his brother again, and he fears that his brother will finally get to exact a measure of revenge on him.

The night before the meeting, we read of Jacob’s internal struggle. He wrestles with an unidentified being. The struggle hits home, I’m sure, for all of us. As Jews, we struggle constantly. We struggle with Gd in an attempt to reconcile what we see and what we experience despite a Divine presence in the world. So much misery exists! Unlike in some other faiths, we don’t have an easy answer for this. Of course, we struggle with ourselves. Are we who we really want to be? Are we doing what we should be doing? We struggle with family members over sometimes inconsequential matters. We struggle with other people in attempting to construct a society in which Gd’s teachings are enacted.

And Jacob embodies this more than other Biblical figures. He finds danger. He escapes. He deceives others and he is taken advantage of. He struggles with Gd and he is transformed. And yet even after all this, his daughter is violated. His sons quarrel. His people suffer from famine and he is uprooted, ultimately to be returned to the place of his birth only after his death. “My years have been hard,” he would tell Pharaoh. His entire life is a struggle – with himself, with others, with Gd.

What’s so instructive and, yes, inspiring, about the Torah is that its characters are people we can identify with. They make mistakes, they struggle, and figuratively or literally, they limp as a result, as Jacob limped after his nocturnal struggle. But sometimes they learn in ways that we can, in the best of our Jewish tradition, find instructive and inspirational. Maybe we can all find some of Jacob in ourselves. Hardships and tragedy are not blessings, but it is up to us to transform – to become a blessing to others in response.

We all continue to limp from the genuine struggles we have faced. In fact, we sometimes bear those scars, and limp, for a lifetime. Some are scars that were the result of our own misdeeds; others were cast upon us through no fault of our own. But all were from some crisis in our lives. Real crises cause real scars.

But what happens in today’s parashah? Jacob wouldn’t let go until he received a blessing. And so – the crises that we live through should, hopefully, result in an awakening within us of the need to turn crisis into opportunity. To turn tragedy, even, into actions that will ultimately bring change for others that will benefit them. It’s not easy. Sometimes, it takes years for this to happen. For many, it never does.

Jacob’s nighttime struggle comes to an end. But we read that even after he is given a new name – Israel – by none other than Gd, the Torah continues to refer to him as Jacob. Although Jacob has been transformed by his experiences, he is still . . . Jacob. And this is the case with us. We can change, as we inevitably do, during the course of our lives, but the traits we carried with us along the way continue to be part of us. We are shaped by our experiences permanently.

Our past is very much our present. Our prior struggles and experiences bubble to the surface with sometimes distressing ease as we encounter challenging situations. But we need not accept whatever shortcomings we have as permanent. Like Jacob, we can change, we can evolve, we can be transformed.

Jacob’s struggle was clearly a struggle from within. And as we all should have learned by now, we can’t reconcile our existential struggles and ultimately find comfort until we win our internal struggles.

In what would become a hallmark of his descendants, Jacob doesn’t give up. “I will not let go,” Jacob tells his adversary on that fateful night, “Until you bless me.” A dark, restless and troublesome night gave rise to a dawn of reconciliation with Esau and perhaps even with himself.

Jacob wasn’t about to give up the struggle with the stranger until he extracted something positive from it.

The Biblical figures of Genesis were not without their blemishes. They became angry. They fought. They showed selfishness. They feared and wept. In sum, they were people with whom we could identify.  Especially Jacob. Jacob taught us that we can be transformed. We can survive crisis and conflict.

Judaism is the faith of restlessness and honesty. Of seeing the blemishes in ourselves and in society, and striving to transform each. We are, after all, the descendants of Jacob, the children of Israel.

Well, things hadn’t been going so well. Adam and Eve screwed up their cushy surroundings in the Garden, Cain displayed his anger management problems in the most violent of ways. The Tower of Babel demonstrated the hubris that humans could have. Build a tower to the heavens? Why not? Gd created order, but humans created chaos. They understood neither freedom nor responsibility.

Then along came Abraham. What made him special? He left his land, as commanded by Gd, but what next? We read in Lech Lecha that when Abraham saw a quarrel between his herdsmen and his nephew Lot, he immediately saw the cause of the problem as too many cattle in too little land. His solution, the split with Lot, showed no animosity toward his nephew. “You go left, I’ll go right. Or if you go right, I’ll go left.” It was a very practical solution in which he cast no blame for the dispute.

Then, we read of a local war in which Lot is taken captive. Abraham gathers some troops, rescues Lot, and takes none of the spoils of this war, returning Lot to his home in Sodom. Rather than a simple nomad, Abraham is now shown to be an active man, taking control of the situation. Unlike Cain, he assumes responsibility. He is his brother’s keeper. He cast no judgement for where Lot chose to live.

Now comes Vayera – this week’s parashah. For the first time, we find a human challenging Gd, when Gd threatens to sweep away all of sodom because of the sinful behavior of its inhabitants. “Will you sweep away the righteous with the wicked? What if there are 50 righteous people dwelling there? Will you have them all killed? Will not the judge of the world do justice?” How about if there are 40 righteous? 10? Whoa!! Was Abraham right to do this?

Well, if we look at the text before this conversation, Gd asks, “Shall I hide from Abraham what I am about to do?” The implication is that Gd wants Abraham to challenge Gd. Otherwise, why would Gd have said these words?

Contrast this with the story of Noah. In that instance, Gd also tells Noah what Gd is about to do – destroy all people, because of the violence between them. Noah does not protest. He accepted the verdict. “I’ll just build an arc, as you suggested.” Abraham challenged it. He understood the nature of collective responsibility. The people of Sodom were not Abraham’s brothers and sisters, so he went even further than he did in rescuing his nephew Lot. He understood the nature of human solidarity, attempting to save all of them.

So the big question: why did Gd want Abraham to challenge Gd? Abraham was to become the role model – indeed, the first in a line – of a new faith. One that would not defend the human status quo but would challenge it. Abraham’s show of courage in challenging Gd was, of course, to occur before his descendants would be able to challenge human rulers, as Moses, for instance, did. We Jews are the latest in a long line of those who challenge. We do not accept the world as it is. We do not accept suffering as our inevitable burden. We are not fatalists. We challenge the status quo. We see the world as it ought to be and try to set things on a course that will achieve just that.

There was not yet a nation for Abraham to lead, but he would be the role model for leadership as Judaism understands it. He took responsibility. He acted. He didn’t wait for others to act. Today, Judaism is Gd’s call to responsibility.

In the Universal Declaration of human Rights, drafted in the aftermath of WWII, and written by a commission headed by Eleanor Roosevelt, a total of 30 rights are named. The declaration was passed by the then-fledgling United Nations in 1948 and has since been translated into over 500 languages. We know most of them, almost intuitively by now – freedom from torture and degrading treatment, freedom of thought and conscience, and so on.

But there is one that is different, and may indeed have come from Abraham. That one is, “Responsibility to the Community.” We have the responsibility to insure, to the best of our ability, that basic rights and freedoms are enjoyed by people everywhere. This statement means that we are, indeed, our brothers’ and our sisters’ keeper. Abraham himself couldn’t have said it any better. Now, it’s up to all of us to act in such a way that would make him proud.

Each day during morning minyan in the month of Elul, we hear the blast of the shofar. On Rosh Hashanah as we hear the shofar, we read in our  prayer book that the still, small voice is speaking to us. And we hear it if we  listen. The hazzan’s voice stays with me for a long time as I recall how it  was choked with emotion as the Unetaneh Tokef prayer is chanted.  

Unetaneh Tokef – the sacred power of the day. So what do we make of it?  In my old prayer book, the translation of the final verse was, “But  repentance – teshuvah, tefillah – prayer, and gemillut hasidim – acts of  loving kindness avert the severe decree.” It was later changed to “avert the  severity of the decree;” now it is translated as, “transform the harshness of  the decree.” 

And this coming week – more emotion as I listen to the Kol Nidre prayer.  Emotion not because of the translation of the prayer itself, but rather  because of all my ancestors who listened to the exact same melody and  the exact same words on the exact same night. An old Hasidic tale  teaches that on that night, all those ancestors are with me, bound together  once more.  

We are but dust? All of life is for naught? Within a few short generations we  will be forgotten and it will be as though we were never here? Not necessarily. Judaism counters the notion that our lives ultimately don’t  matter and that we are, in the end, irrelevant.  

The Talmud teaches that those who save a single person, it is as though  they have saved an entire world. What does that mean? If you do a good  deed that impacts a life in a positive way, you may influence that life in such  a way that the recipient of the good deed will live a life that is just a little bit  different. And a small difference can make all the difference in the world.  When we read about the lives of consequential people, we often learn of  seemingly inconsequential events that shaped how they viewed the world,  or enabled them to achieve great things. The impact will last far into the  future. And we can be that difference! 

The great Jewish philosopher Maimonides said, “One should see the world  as a scale with an equal balance of good and evil. When one does a good  deed, the scale is tipped to the good – and the world is closer to being  saved. When one does an evil deed the scale is tipped to the bad – and the  world is closer to being destroyed.” 

I liken all my experiences and all my interactions as being placed in the denominator of a great fraction. The good ones become the numerators.  All I really care about is how many numerators I have. It’s sort of like taking  photos on a trip. All of the photos I take are in the denominator and only  the good ones are in the numerator. I don’t really care how many are in the  denominator. I can easily delete those (as I’ve frequently done). I simply try  to maximize the number of photos, events and experiences that are in the numerator. I’m most concerned with collecting numerators in my life. The  denominators? Who cares? I try to maximize and focus on the numerators. 

The message of Judaism is that we really need to focus on the need to  create numerators! Most of us have had some pretty tough or even awful  times we’ve gone through. For some, we’re still going through them. So  maybe that’s the purpose of the Modeh ani statement when we first arise,  in which we give thanks for the gift of another day. Another day is an  opportunity to add to the numerators in our lives. 

Why should we say this short prayer? In the Art Scroll Siddur, the  introductory section on prayer expresses it this way, “Prayer is not a  shopping list of requests. Primarily, it is an introspective process, a  clarifying, refining process of discovering what one is, what one should  become, and how to achieve the transformation. Indeed, the  commandment to pray is expressed by the Torah as a service of the heart,  not of the mouth.” The new day represents that opportunity to put into  action that which will tilt the scale of Maimonides. To perform mitzvot. To  make the world better. To move Maimonides’s needle just a bit toward the good side. 

In a few weeks, we will read in Lech Lecha, Ve-Yae b’rochah – You will be a blessing. We must each look upon that phrase as a commandment rather  than a promise. Not only must we count our blessings and be grateful, but  we must be a blessing to others. Acts of gamillut hasidim – loving kindness  – have the effect of transforming darkness to light, and we must be the  candle. It is up to us to live each day such that if we knew it were to be our last, we  would still have reason to find happiness. We need to count our blessings  and be grateful for them, and we need to take it upon ourselves to resolve  each morning to create numerators – both for ourselves and for others. And  we must take p the challenge to be G-d’s partner in the unfolding history of  humankind. 

Shabbat Shalom

(Adapted from a teaching by Rabbi Jonathan Sacks.)

Ki Teitse contains more laws – 72 – than any other parsha in the Torah, One verse, however, stands out because it is so counter-intuitive:

“Do not despise an Edomite, because he is your brother. Do not despise the Egyptian, because you were a stranger in his land.” (Deut. 23:8)

These are very unexpected commands. Examining and understanding them will teach us an important lesson about our teachings.

As we know, Jews have been subjected to prejudice more and longer than any other nation on earth. Therefore, we should be doubly careful never to be guilty of it ourselves. We believe that God created everyone in Gd’s image. If we look down on other people because of their race, religion, etc, then we are demeaning Gd’s image and failing to respect human dignity.

If we think less of a person because of the color of their skin, we are repeating the sin of Aaron and Miriam when they spoke against Moses because of the Cushite woman whom he had married.” They looked down on Moses’ wife because she apparently had dark skin, making this one of the first recorded instances of color prejudice. For this sin, we read that Miriam was struck with leprosy.

Jews cannot complain that others have racist attitudes toward them if they hold racist attitudes toward others. “First correct yourself; then seek to correct others,” says the Talmud. Our Tanach contains negative descriptions of some other nations, but always and only because of their moral failures, never because of ethnicity or skin color.

Now to Moses’s two commands against hate, both of which are surprising. “Do not despise the Egyptian, because you were a stranger in his land.” This is perhaps unexpected because the Egyptians enslaved the Israelites, and then refused to let them go despite the plagues that were devastating the land. Aren’t these reasons to hate?

But the Egyptians had initially provided a refuge for the Israelites at a time of famine. They had honored Joseph when he was elevated as second-in-command to Pharaoh. The evils they committed against the Hebrews under “a new King who did not know of Joseph” were at the instigation of Pharaoh himself, not the people as a whole. Besides which, it was the daughter of that same Pharaoh who had rescued Moses and adopted him.

The wisdom of Moses’s command not to despise Egyptians is still relevant today. If the people had continued to hate their former oppressors, Moses would have taken, as the expression goes, the Israelites out of Egypt but would have failed to take Egypt out of the Israelites. They would have continued to be slaves, not physically but psychologically. They would be slaves to the past, held captive by the chains of resentment, unable to build the future. To be free, you have to let go of hate.

No less surprising is Moses’ insistence: “Do not despise an Edomite, because he is your brother.” Edom was, of course, the other name of Esau. There was a time when Esau hated Jacob and vowed to kill him. Additionally, before the twins were born, an oracle told Rebecca, “Two nations are in your womb, one people will be stronger than the other, and the elder will serve the younger.” (Gen. 25:23) Whatever these words mean, they seem to imply that there will be eternal conflict between the two brothers and their descendants.

Why then does Moses tell us not to despise Esau’s descendants?

The answer is simple. Esau may have hated Jacob, but it does not follow that Jacob should hate Esau. To answer hate with hate is to be dragged down to the level of your opponent. As Martin Luther King Jr, wrote, “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that.”

When Esau met Jacob for the last time, he kissed and embraced him “with a full heart.” Hate, especially between family members, is not necessarily eternal and inexorable. Always be ready, Moses seems to have implied, for reconciliation.

Moses’ two commands against hatred are testimony to his greatness as a leader. It is the easiest thing in the world to become a leader by mobilizing the forces of hate. That is what is done even today, often using the internet to communicate paranoia and incite acts of hatred and violence. As we know, Hitler used prejudice and demagoguery as a prelude to the worst-ever crime of humans against humanity.

The language of hate is capable of creating enmity between people of different faiths and ethnicities who have lived peaceably together for centuries. It has consistently been the most destructive force in history, and even knowledge of the Holocaust and other genocides has not put an end to it. Even in Europe. Even today. It is the unmistakable mark of toxic leadership.

Great leaders make people better, kinder, nobler than they would otherwise be. That was the achievement of Lincoln, Gandhi and others. The paradigm case was Moses, the man who had more lasting influence than any other leader in history.

He did it by teaching the Israelites not to hate. A good leader knows: Hate the sin but not the sinner. Do not forget the past but do not be held captive by it. Be willing to fight your enemies but never allow yourself to be defined by them or become like them. Learn to forgive. Acknowledge the evil people do, but stay focused on the good that is in our power to do. Only in this way do we raise the moral sights of humankind and help redeem the world we share.