Monthly Archives: November 2024

Nov 29 2024
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Thank you

I hope everyone enjoyed Thanksgiving Day and is now in the recovery zone. Maybe you’re watching football, cheering for your team or simply enjoying the background noise of the game. Maybe you’re streaming a cheesy Hallmark movie or a romcom, finding comfort in those predictable storylines with just the right mix of shmaltz and tears to keep you tied in. You may be huddled under a blanket, sitting by a fire, feeling that deep contentment that comes with simple moments. You might be reading a novel, lost in another world, or scrolling through emails or texting a friend who’s far away, sharing virtual hugs and “wish you were here” messages.

At some point you’ll take a nap and chill out – it’s almost mandatory after all that tryptophan! The beauty of this long weekend is in its unhurried pace, the permission we give ourselves to slow down and simply be. Hopefully you’ll have access to some leftovers and luxuriate in the long weekend, discovering that sometimes turkey sandwiches taste even better the next day, especially with a little cranberry sauce and maybe stuffing.

We’ll be zooming Shabbat, and I hope you’ll come online to join me. We’ve found new ways to create sacred space together, to bridge the physical distances that separate us. There’s a lot to be grateful for, and nothing is so good for the soul as thanking God for it all. The act of gratitude itself is transformative, lifting our spirits and opening our hearts to the abundance that surrounds us.

And if you’re an atheist, or simply not sure where you stand when it comes to the Holy One, it still can do your heart a world of good to stop and consider where you stand right now – alive, aware, appreciated. Gratitude doesn’t require a specific belief system; it’s a universal human experience that connects us to something larger than ourselves, whether that’s community, nature, or the simple miracle of consciousness.

In the meantime, the next time you stand up to get some leftovers or a diet Coke from the fridge, walk by someone and just spontaneously give them a hug or a kiss or whatever passes as a comfortable expression of love and appreciation. Just because. Because life is short and surprising, and you never know what your last show of love and thanks will be. 

Make it work. Make it last. Let these moments of connection and gratitude extend beyond the holiday weekend. Let them become habits that enrich our daily lives. In doing so, we create a ripple effect of appreciation and love that extends far beyond our immediate circle, touching lives in ways we might never know.

Nov 15 2024
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A Visit From My Grandmother

It’s a scene we’ve all encountered in fiction: someone going about their ordinary routine—preparing for bed, driving down an empty road, working at their desk—when suddenly, they receive a visitor from beyond the grave. Usually a recently departed loved one, these apparitions arrive not as mere voices or memories, but as fully formed presences. Though noncorporeal, they occupy real space, initiating conversations that often stretch across multiple visits, each laden with meaning and purpose.

Despite my years as a rabbi, officiating at countless funerals both intimate and grand, I’ve never experienced such a visitation. No departed soul has materialized to engage me in spirited dialogue, though I confess I’ve longed for such encounters. The opportunity to catch up, debate, share laughter or tears with those who’ve passed—what a mind-expanding gift that would be.

Yet this morning, at 5:30 AM, something happened. My grandmother Helen appeared to me—not as a ghostly apparition (to borrow from Ghostbusters terminology), but as a startlingly clear mental image. The timing puzzles me. Perhaps it’s her birthday, or maybe her yahrzeit approaches. I can’t ask my mother; she passed fifteen years ago. My sister Joan, our family’s dedicated historian, might know. But the question remains: why this morning?

We called her Nanny, a name choice that irritated me from age five onward. Why not Grandma or Granny? Even Bubbe seemed preferable to Nanny. My memories of her exist in fragments: her scandalously young marriage, her determination to work full-time after my grandfather’s death, and one particularly vivid incident involving her unorthodox cure for a childhood toothache—chasing me around the house to administer medicinal whiskey, a treatment I strongly resisted.

Though not the type to sprawl on the floor for playtime, her love was constant and clear. Her culinary legacy lives on in my kitchen, where her brisket recipe still perfumes our home every Passover with unmistakable, mouth-watering aromas.

When she moved in with us, leaving behind her lifelong home in Pittsburgh, she was already in her early sixties and battling cancer. I remember her slow, painful walks through our house. At fourteen, I encountered one of the most frightening moments of my young life—seeing her without her wig, her vulnerability brutally exposed. No one had prepared me for the reality that she was dying.

If this morning’s remembrance had followed the dramatic conventions of film and literature, she would have materialized fully, explaining her sudden appearance in my consciousness. We could have caught up on fifty-five years of family history. I would have introduced her to my wife, Liza, shared stories of her great and great-great-grandchildren. I would have begged for her chicken soup recipe and collected precious stories about my mother and uncle. Most intriguingly, I would have sought her perspective on our current tumultuous world.

Among my grandparents—all of whom died prematurely, two from illness and two by their own hands—Helen alone offered me unconditional love and care. She was my anchor to a generation now lost to time.

Unlike the neat resolution of fictional visitations, real-life memories rarely arrive with clear purpose or explanation. I may never understand why Helen chose this particular morning to surface so vividly in my thoughts. Yet I’m grateful for this unexpected reunion, however brief and incorporeal. It has granted me a precious moment to reflect on her influence in my life and the enduring power of her love, which transcends even the finality of death.

In the end, perhaps these quiet morning visitations, these unbidden but welcome remembrances, serve a purpose as profound as any ghostly encounter: they keep our connections to the past alive, allowing us to honor those who shaped us, even as we continue to shape the future they never lived to see.

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Nov 08 2024
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Liminal Space

In his 1909 book “Les Rites de Passage” (The Rites of Passage), anthropologist Arnold van Gennep identified liminality as the middle stage in ritual passages, where individuals exist “betwixt and between” social categories or personal identities. He described this as part of a three-phase structure in rites of passage: Separation (preliminal), Transition (liminal), and Reincorporation (postliminal). Sixty years later, anthropologist Victor Turner explored how liminality applies to both ritual practices and broader social and cultural phenomena. Turner explored the transformative potential of liminal spaces and states, where standard social hierarchies and structures may be suspended.

We are living in a liminal state. The election created a clear demarcation line between what was and is yet to be. I know this liminal space is filled with great expectations and excitement for some. That’s why Trump voters elected him. And I know that for members of the LGBTQ+ communities, American citizens born in the US to undocumented immigrants, civil servants, and others, this liminal space is filled with anxiety and fear.

That’s the thing about liminal space. We know that which was is finished and that which is yet to be is vague and unformed. In other words, this is the perfect space for wild enthusiasm and unbridled panic to bubble up simultaneously. It is a crazy moment.

Frankly, I’m exhausted. The campaign period through to election day was nonstop media coverage, and I was sucked in every day. I perused my news sources, listening to podcasts and talking to my family, my peeps, and anyone who wanted to review the issues. I then would weigh the conversations and information I gathered as it related to my family’s welfare, our collective congregational welfare, the welfare of American Jewry, my fellow American citizens, Israel, the socially disadvantaged… And then add those countless texts asking for money (please, isn’t there any way to curtail those???!!!); well, you see why I am exhausted.

In my personal liminal space, I’m filled with worry and deep concern. The future of America, both domestically and internationally, is uncertain. The path to combatting antisemitism is unclear. The ongoing conflicts in Gaza and Lebanon are escalating, and the hostages are still not home. These are just a few of the many concerns weighing heavily on my mind.

From this liminal space, I cannot declare that everything is going to be alright. I wish I could, but that would be utterly disingenuous of me. No one has the prophetic ability to declare that kind of message. So much hangs in the balance.

I know that Jews have lived in the Diaspora for two millennia and change. We have confronted a variety of conflicts and conflagrations. We have coped with revolutions, coups, purges, pogroms, expulsions, and genocide. In many ways, we’ve lived in active liminal space for centuries by virtue of our own sense of destiny and uniqueness and our unwillingness to compromise our Jewish ethical standards. Our strength was and has always been our sense of communal solidarity. I urge us all to lean into that strength as we slowly move into a more definitive, postliminal time. Of course, our congregation has folks on different sides who voted for different candidates. We will continue to have disagreements, which is a healthy aspect of an open and empathic congregation. I will continue to respect our diversity of opinions on all matters. And I will continue to champion ideas and actions that exemplify the best of our Jewish tradition, even if the waters get choppy. The Jewish people thrive on resilience and chutzpah. Even now, that truth gives me a sense of stability and certainty in this foggy, exhausting, liminal space.

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Nov 01 2024
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Living in Interesting Times: A Pre-Election Reflection

The ancient Chinese curse, “May you live in interesting times,” has never felt more prophetic than in these feverish days before the election. I’m drowning in a digital deluge—podcasts, op-eds, breathless articles, late-night monologues, and round-the-clock coverage swirling into an information maelstrom that’s left my mind reeling. I’m suffering from what I can only describe as a pre-election hangover, complete with blurred vision, a churning stomach, and a newfound phobia of news app notifications. My mental hard drive is maxed out, refusing to process any more data points.

I exercised my democratic right weeks ago, casting my mail-in ballot with the same certainty I’ve felt in every election since my first vote in 1972. While the referendum questions demanded careful consideration, my candidate choices were crystal clear. Throughout my voting life, I’ve maintained an unwavering vision of America’s essence and its potential trajectory. The candidates earning my support have consistently embodied the values I hold dear both as an American and as a Jew. These values are ineluctably tied together.

Let’s be honest—defeat stings. I still remember the sharp disappointment of losing to Diane Snow in that 1962 Student Council election, just as I recall the gut punch of watching George McGovern fall to Richard Nixon in ’72. But in a democracy, the freedom to choose our leaders comes with an implicit contract: winners and losers alike must honor the people’s voice. We can’t retroactively alter the rules or manipulate the results when they don’t align with our hopes.

This principle haunts me now as we approach an election balanced on a knife’s edge. A nation unable to reach a consensus on electoral outcomes courts disaster. Such discord isn’t merely divisive—it’s combustible, a spark that could ignite something far more dangerous than political disagreement.

These “interesting times” would have been unimaginable to my younger self – to all Americans just two decades ago. Storm clouds mass on the horizon, and while I’ve weathered my share of political thunderstorms, I’m deeply troubled by what might catch fire in the lightning strikes: free speech, constitutional rights, the very notion of truth itself.

To those who haven’t yet voted: this is your moment. Exercise this sacred democratic right that, for Jews and other minorities, remains a relatively recent historical privilege. Never take it for granted.

I’ll be watching the results roll in, prepared to accept my fellow citizens’ decision, whether it favors my chosen candidate or not. My deepest hope is that all Americans will do the same, honoring this cornerstone of our democratic experiment.

After all, interesting times don’t have to become dangerous ones—not if we remember what binds us together as a nation is stronger than what pulls us apart.