Before Shabbat

This is my last Before Shabbat of the season. I’ve been writing these essays for you for well over ten years. I love sharing my thoughts, dreams, and worries. I’ve written about a whole spectrum of ideas and experiences. There have been stories about global politics, about Israel, about Gaza and Palestine. There are articles about holidays, holy days, and holiness. I’ve shared my grief over losing my mom. I’ve reflected on having open heart surgery. I’ve tried to explain my newfound love of cosmology. I could go on and on…

A good deal of discipline is involved in writing a weekly missive. Some professional writers have stringent rules about when they sit down to write. Then there’s me. I am not a professional writer and have a pitiable amount of discipline. So my method, such as it is, involves clearing away space to write like a magician pulling out the tablecloth from beneath a table set with fancy china and crystal. Sometimes, I gain an unimpeded block of time to do my thing on Wednesday or Thursday. Other times, I am picking through the broken plates, getting 20 minutes Friday morning, another chunk of time after I do Shabbat with the ELC, and then dodging and weaving my way to the conclusion of whatever I’m creating. Bless Eileen Brooks for patiently waiting for me on those crazy days as I near the dreaded 5 pm deadline.

I love this creative process and how it connects me to you. Over the years, many of you have responded with beautiful compliments and encouragement. Some have disagreed with my ideas and beliefs, and I am always ready to discuss a particular Before Shabbat piece. Before Shabbat is a personal reflection piece, not the elucidation of temple policy. I appreciate any opportunities to enter into dialogue with you, my reader.

This past year has been sorely trying for me and for you. I’ve tried to focus my thoughts on the war between Israel and Hamas and then write those thoughts down in a cogent way. I want to provide whatever clarity I can. I want to share my deep love for Israel, my deep animus for Hamas, my outrage with the unfathomable brutality of the violence perpetrated against us, the extraordinarily vicious callousness played out on the lives of the hostages, and my empathy for the innocent Palestinian children who have died as a result of Israeli bullets and bombs.

As if that act of juggling chainsaws wasn’t hard enough, add to it the campus encampments, the roiling anti-Zionism, the sick sound of antisemitism, the wholesale abandonment of the Jewish community by those we thought of as allies, the more profound nature of the campus protests and the responses of various university officials, the number of Jewish kids slavishly supporting ideas and actions that directly threaten other Jewish kids… It’s been a nightmare, a straight-up waking horror show.

Since October 7^th, I have written about these things or some variation of a theme almost every week. And it’s been harrowing. On more than a few occasions, I’ve had to sit and meditate in my office or at home to gain a semblance of calm after entering this painful place. So, this break comes at a good time to stop and look around for goodness. A walk on Nauset Beach. My newest beach chair open and ready to receive me with a Diet Coke and a good book or two (Marytr!, and Night Watch). Fresh fish. Family and friends. The sounds of the sea. These have always been a balm for my troubled soul.

I suspect I will be writing a lot more about Gaza and Bibi and antisemitism when Before Shabbat resumes in September. We will continue to struggle to stay afloat on this overwhelming sea of tears and anger.

 I send you my love and blessings for a summer filled with the opportunities to give thanks for the things we must be grateful for, things we all too often lose in the darkness. Breathe. Embrace. Live.

Hunter Biden has been on my mind a lot lately. I didn’t pay much attention during his trial, as the facts presented beforehand made it seem inevitable that he would be found guilty. To be clear, I acknowledge that Hunter Biden broke the law, and the judicial system, though far from perfect, reached a verdict based on the evidence considered by a jury of his peers. I support the rule of law in this case, as I do in almost every judgment made in courtrooms across America. However, it’s worth noting that Hunter had the misfortune of being Joe Biden’s son at a time when some individuals have made it their mission to attack the president by any means possible. Had he been anyone else, it’s likely that this case would have never gone to trial. For Hunter Biden, if it wasn’t for bad luck, he wouldn’t have any luck at all.

The full weight of this tragedy struck me after the verdict. I have been gripped by the devastating human wreckage in this story. It begins when Hunter, as a little boy, nearly died in a motor vehicle accident that claimed the lives of his mother and infant sister and injured his brother. Hunter suffered a fractured skull, and his father, Joe, a newly elected senator from Delaware, was utterly devastated by the loss. One can only imagine how difficult it was for this motherless child to witness his father’s grief, anger, and even suicidal thoughts.

This terrible, unimaginable loss and trauma formed the foundation of Hunter Biden’s life. While some people can traverse the valley of the shadow of death relatively unscathed, others are undone by it all. The pain of living can become unbearably crippling.

As a rabbi, I have had the opportunity to know people struggling with addiction. They are individuals with stories of hardship, grappling with feelings of being broken or cursed. They are in pain and seek relief. Addicts often find themselves caught in a cycle of using, self-recrimination, seeking help, perhaps staying in rehab, and then relapsing. When they do emerge after ongoing work and dedication, it is a daily struggle to make it through to the other side.

The wreckage caused by addiction can be widespread and extensive, hurting many people when a loved one falls into darkness. This thought occurred to me as I observed the number of Hunter Biden’s relatives who attended his trial every day – uncles, aunts, sisters, daughters, and his stepmother. This unwavering support for Hunter Biden was not political theater or a calculated move by a media team. It was the natural response of a close-knit, loving family who has watched Hunter battle numerous demons. Regardless of one’s opinion of President Biden, witnessing his family’s pain as their loved one faced an unrelenting barrage from the prosecution revealed the source of the president’s strength as a leader. It highlighted the deep familial roots of his empathy for those who have been wounded by loss and addiction.

I am moved by the courage and love Hunter Biden’s family has shown him. I hope that he can truly embrace this heartfelt offering of grace. The Biden family teaches us the importance of humility and loyalty. The fact that his daughters listened to his addiction stories, that he had to strip away all pretense of dignity and reveal the depths to which he sunk in front of the people he hurt the most, and that they sat there, ready to forgive him – this is the definition of rachmones, mercy. It reminds us that forgiveness is incredibly challenging, requiring us to set aside ego and expectations and instead open our hearts to one another, even when we feel broken and ashamed.

Without family, love, and loyalty, we drift in a cold, heartless world. But with family and community, there is always love, hope, and… forgiveness.