Monthly Archives: December 2023

Dec 22 2023
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Wrapping Up

I have never shied away from reading the news. My days usually begin with the New York Times, followed by the Washington Post, and ending with The Globe. I typically read the headlines and then a few top stories per paper. By the time I’m in gear for the day, I am reasonably informed with some help from NPR.

But as 2023 comes to a twitchy, stumbling conclusion, my news habits have changed. I just can’t do it anymore. I simply can’t bear carrying the news around in my head. To quote John Coffey in The Green Mile, “I’m tired of people being ugly to each other. I’m tired of all the pain I feel and hear in the world every day. There’s too much of it. It’s like pieces of glass in my head all the time. Can you understand?”

I can understand. The sheer brutality that surrounds us festers and grows like a malignant virus. The innocent suffer. We live in a Universe of shades and variations. Absolutism does not fit. Yet the face-off between the extremes, good and bad, the right and the wrong, becomes more heated and cacophonous.

I haven’t tuned out entirely, of course. I am obligated, as a Jew, a rabbi, an American citizen, a father, and a grandfather, to pay attention to the world. I just take quick dips into the news now, a few minutes at a time. Any more than that, and it starts to feel toxic.

When the ball drops in Times Square, nine days from today, and the calendar resets and the clocks pull us into 2024, I will pray for the courage to shoulder the burdens of being a Jew today. I will pray for communal resilience in the face of an onslaught of antisemitism. I will pray for my own country, rattled by pernicious lies and conspiracy theories about stolen elections and evil immigrants. I will pray for relief from the ineluctable growth of fascism all over the world.

I think of the Haskiveynu prayer and the words: Shield and shelter us beneath the shadow of Your wings. Defend us against enemies, illness, war, famine, and sorrow. Distance us from wrongdoing. For You, God, watch over us and deliver us. For You, God, are gracious and merciful. Guard our going and coming to life and peace evermore.

I suppose there’s no need to author a new prayer at all. The tradition expressed that wistful desire for peace of mind and safety two thousand years ago, which is, I suppose, the good news and the bad news. Bad news because it shows that two millennia have passed, and we’re still looking for relief from the grief of life. And the good news? We keep praying. We keep believing that goodness may triumph, that cooler heads will prevail, that reasonable people will rise up to say no to the minions of darkness and corruption, and yes to freedom.

May the time come when I can read the news again and find a semblance of order and grace. I pray that we may all have a good new year, blessed with joy and hope and life renewed.

This is the final edition of Before Shabbat for 2023. I’m going on a brief hiatus, but I’ll be back! A blessing on your heads.

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Dec 16 2023
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Time To Be Good to Yourself

There is so much to be done! The world is achingly incomplete, teetering on the edge of an abyss. We don’t – we can’t! – ignore it. A hundred causes call out for attention. Every day, we receive requests in the mail with legitimate appeals for aid and relief. Candidates need us. Charities need us. Schools need us.

This constant pressure to respond to the world’s ills is not new. As early as the first century CE,  people felt the stress. Rabbi Tarphon, who lived in that era, wrote in the Talmud, “The day is short, and the work is plentiful, and the laborers are lethargic, and the reward is great, and the master of the house is insistent.”

Perhaps this ancient text refers to Torah study. Rabbi Tarphon implies God is waiting for us to get busy with Torah. Even though the reward is significant, we tarry. We are lazy, and time is a wastin’.

Rabbi Tarphon’s teaching can be applied to more than Torah study. It can be an actual call to action. He says the work is plentiful, meaning there’s much to be done. There’s no time to delay. So, write those checks! Volunteer! Read the news! Stay up on all current events! God cares about what we do and how we do it.

This can be overwhelming and exhausting. With only 24 hours in a day, how can we possibly make a dent in the wounded world? How do we find the time and the openheartedness to assist the Holy One in gathering the world’s broken pieces?

It is easy to be hopeless in the face of so many worthy causes. We feel guilty suggesting that we are overwhelmed. But how can it not be daunting? Must we work without ceasing? 

Ironically, Rabbi Tarphon comes to our rescue, the same person who just told us God is impatient and we have to get down to business. He says, “It is not your duty to finish the work, but neither are you at liberty to neglect it.”

What a relief! Rabbi Tarphon doesn’t let us off the hook in any way. He empathizes with us. He recognizes that we are constantly struggling to make the world a better place and that there probably isn’t a finish line to cross; we’ll be working on this forever. We don’t have to solve the problem immediately. We can’t pretend the problem doesn’t exist.

This next week will provide us all a chance to chill out. Maybe read a good book. Take a walk. See some movies. Visit relatives. Hang out. Yes, of course, bad things will happen to good people all over the world. And we won’t be able to prevent that. And we will not neglect that sad truth.

So, for now, be good to yourself. Bring kindness and stillness into your life in this quieter time on our calendars. The struggle will be there, waiting in the shadows. But for now, tend to your soul, the one precious soul that is in your care. Hanukkah may be over, but the light is still there.

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Dec 08 2023
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Rededication

It’s Hanukkah, a festival we all have come to love. It’s eight days of light and joy and latkes. What’s not to love? Few obligations are associated with this holiday beyond kindling candles and reciting a couple of blessings. Over the past few decades, Hanukkah has become a big gift-giving celebration. It didn’t used to be, but its proximity to Christmas has made it a convenient place to help Jewish kids not feel so isolated and ripped off at this time of year. What Jewish kid hasn’t heard some Jewish adult say, to paraphrase Adam Sandler, “Instead of one day of presents, we get eight crazy nights” as an inducement to stay Jewish?

This year, this Hanukkah feels very different. It’s not a carefree, fun time. We are in a very parlous position. The Israel-Hamas war rages on, and the number of Palestinians who are dying in Gaza continues to grow. The rape of Israeli female hostages on October 7th and the apparent indifference of the UN and the general media is revolting. The rise of antisemitism is scary, as is the resultant move in some cities to cancel outdoor Hanukkah gatherings for fear of encountering hate and disruption. The recent testimony of college presidents about antisemitism on campus strained credulity. The precipitous increase in the number of Israeli settlers clashing with Palestinians is foreboding. Congress is blocking aid to Israel and Ukraine, which will have dire consequences for both countries.

In the book of Exodus, we find the 10 plagues. One of them involved a thick and impenetrable darkness that covered the land of Egypt for three days. During this time, the Egyptians could not see anything, and it was described as a darkness that could be felt. It was a darkness so profound that people literally could not see their hands in front of their faces. This terrifying plague came to be called Egyptian darkness.

It feels like the world is encased in Egyptian darkness. We need reassurance; we want to believe that some signposts are showing the way – any way! – out of this sticky quicksand of gloom. We’re all quoting Goethe, who, on his deathbed, kept repeating, “More light! [Mehr Licht].”

It would be too easy to lean into all of the Hanukkah bromides about bringing light to the darkness and the joy of increasing the amount of light every night, etc. I know all of those images and the metaphors behind them. I’ve used them all. But in this year of Egyptian darkness, floating in uncharted waters, they all feel flat and insufficient.

This year, I am drawn to a different set of images. I’m thinking about the first Jews who reentered the Temple in Jerusalem after the Selucids desecrated it in an act of hate, contempt, and brutality. I’m imagining the pain they felt as they entered that holy space. The most sacred ritual items were either stolen or damaged. Animals had been let loose in the holy space so that the aroma of incense was replaced by the stench of the barnyard. And no fires were going, no eternal light flickering brightly, no menorah with its seven branches burning. The holiest space our ancestors knew was flooded in Egyptian darkness.

They stood at the entrance to their sacred temple, torches in hand, slack-jawed, eyes filled with tears, surveying the ruins. I imagine they were silent, too stunned to speak. And then someone said, in the words of Tevye after the pogrom in Fiddler, “Clean up.” It was a grim declaration, but everyone present appreciated the notion that they could do something, anything, to begin to banish the darkness.

This year, this Hanukkah is about doubling down on our pride and gratitude for being Jewish. We will find strength in our community. Locking arms in solidarity and embracing our history and destiny will generate a profound energy that inspires us to move forward. This year, Hanukkah is about rededication. Our commitment to each other will lift us up. We will not surrender to the darkness.

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Dec 01 2023
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A Leaf Storm

A day before Thanksgiving, I had some last-minute purchases to make (I always forget something – this time, it was shallots…). It was a chilly morning, so when I got in the car, I sat back for a few moments to let the heat circulate and the seat warm up (yes – heated seats are a New England thrill).

I love sitting in my car sometimes. I’ve been known to nap while my car is parked in my driveway. It’s cozy and quiet and intimate.  

As I sat there, comfy and warm, I picked up on a feeling of anticipation. A certain stillness outside matched the tranquility in my quiet automobile. But what was it? What was I waiting for in my car, and what was brewing outdoors? There were no clouds in the sky. No sign of a tornado…

And then, suddenly, came a gust of wind—just a single, gentle puff.

That was the signal. All at once, leaves began to fall – so many leaves! I sat there mesmerized, watching the glorious cascade. Some leaves danced on air currents. Others just dropped straight down from their branches. I could hear them hit the roof of the car and the hood. The browned leaves and stiff stems made clicking noises on the metal and glass. It was a leaf storm, a spontaneous moment when Nature dictated that their lease was up.

I was blessed to witness the profound beauty of it all. And the truth is that I’m not a nature boy. I don’t go out of my way to enter the natural world. It’s not that I’m lazy (well, maybe a little). It’s just that hiking doesn’t appeal to me. I don’t enjoy sleeping in a sleeping bag. And things like gnats and chiggers and ants feast on my body. So, no thanks. If I want a fix of Nature, I can watch David Attenborough documentaries and listen to his glorious voice.

But the leaf storm was something different. It was a reminder that there are forces at work in the Universe, potencies so granular and yet so cloaked in mystery, how wind and temperature affect trees and their limbs. Why do leaves change from green to deep green to red to brown? Not to mention the power of dark energy, which we know is present even though we have no direct evidence. Or the origin of black holes. Or the likelihood of an infinite Universe…

There is so much… more than we will ever see, know, or understand. Forces at work that dwarf our sense of existence. This is all so compelling. It reminds me, even as I watch the Israel-Hamas war resume, with all its attendant fear and suffering, that all of it is dwarfed by a reality we can’t even imagine.

If only, for a split second, we could all engage in a 5 second simultaneous round of empathy for each other and then look up to experience the transcendence of the Universe and see our infinitesimal presence via the James Webb Space Telescope, we could laugh and embrace and share a good meal and an appreciation for the absurd and the fleeting nature of life and for the leaves that die and fall, only to be followed by more of the same.