Al Kol Eleh

Day 482

Al hadevash ve’al ha’oketz, “on the honey and the sting”

Dear friends,

When someone is ill or experiences a loss, those of us around them envelop them with love and support. They are the center of concentric circles of family and friends. For the last 16 months, it’s as if the entire Jewish people are in the center circle. We have experienced the ongoing trauma of the October 7 attack, the horror of the hostages, and the rise of antisemitism in our communities and on college campuses. We’ve been desperate for acknowledgement of our suffering, and we’ve sought out Jewish spaces, safe spaces, in hopes of feeling cared-for and comforted. As a Jewish people, we hold each other tight as we wait with baited breath for the hostages to return home throughout the ceasefire deal. We pray it holds steady and that the beloved individuals for whom we’ve been praying are able to return to their families and begin the healing process. We pray that those who are no longer alive are returned and given the proper burial and mourning they so deserve.

At this time of devash–sweet honey–and oketz–the sting, we continue to rely on one another. That’s the strength of our Jewish community. Am Yisrael Chai!

Day 486

The most important function of prayer is to enable us to dwell for a moment in the world as it might be. Prayer buoys our hope and maintains our faith that the world can someday be different from the way it is right now. To this we might add that God is the power that helps make our prayers come true. We might say that God is the power that helps us transform the world as it is into the world that we know it can be.

For over a year, at each Shabbat service in our sanctuary, we have adopted the language of our ancient liturgy for a contemporary purpose. Each Shabbat we have prayed for our hostages, saying, Baruch Atah Adonai, matir asurim: “Blessed are you, God, who frees the captive.”

Even when we had every reason to be hopeless, even when we doubted that a deal would ever be secured, or that any hostages would even remain alive, we said Baruch Atah Adonai, matir asurim. This was our way of creating — even if just for a moment — the possibility of a different reality than the one we were living. It was also our way of calling upon God to act as we know God can. Even when all seemed lost it was our liturgical equivalent of the hostage signs that you’ll find all over Israel and the “Bring Them Home Now” posters we have placed in Temple Israel’s windows. We would not let ourselves succumb to hopelessness and we would not let ourselves forget the hostages and their plight. We were calling upon God — and we still call upon God — to be our partner in bringing them home.

God, miraculously, your will has prevailed in our world. Our prayers have come true. Baruch Atah Adonai, matir asurim.

Day 487

As a Zionist rabbi with two children living in Israel, one would think that it might be lonely living in Fairfield County after October 7th. While there have certainly been moments of isolation, I can say that I have been uplifted by this community more often than I have felt deflated.

When the buses for the pro-Israel march in Washington didn’t show up and we immediately got into cars and carpooled to D.C. on our own, I was proud to be a member of this community.

When I drive through our neighborhoods and see Israeli flag lawn signs, I am proud to be a member of this community.

When we gathered to observe the anniversary of October 7th, and the attendees raised over $30,000 in one night to support Magen David Adom in providing trauma resources, I was proud to be a member of this community.

When grassroots efforts result in placing chairs for the hostages on Compo Beach or walking in Westport and Fairfield every Sunday to make sure the hostages are not forgotten, I am proud to be a member of this community.

When I walk through the doors of The Community Synagogue (TCS) and I look up to see the banner “TCS Stands with Israel,” and I hear the voices of our religious school students singing Hatikvah every day, I am proud to be the rabbi of this synagogue and a member of this community.

In a world that is often polarizing, it is easy to point out the things that are “wrong” about the community in which we live. Please join me in celebrating all that is “right” about our community and help be a part of making it even better.

Day 488

I can’t stop thinking about Agam’s braids.

Twenty year-old Agam Berger was just one day into her new post at the Nahal Oz base when the horrors of October 7th unfolded. She was taken hostage to Gaza that day, along with several other female soldiers from her unit. Back in November of 2023, during the first round of ceasefire and hostage release, some of the female hostages returned home with braids in their hair. Initially, it seemed as though the braids were put there by Hamas, in another malicious propaganda attempt to convince the world that the hostages were treated well.

But with time, the truth behind the braids eventually came to the fore.

As one former hostage recently recalled, “Agam braided our hair before we left. It felt like she was giving us a piece of her strength to carry with us.” Last week, former hostage Chen Goldstein-Almog told us that “the braids gave us that bit of humanity, when we wanted to feel like a person again, and feel normal in the midst of something so abnormal.”

Agam wove her own, quiet resistance into each curl that she fashioned. With each braid, she reclaimed a piece of her identity, weaving a distinctive message that was beyond her captors’ control. With each braid, she declared: “You do not define me. Despite it all, you have not extinguished our strength. Our resilience. Our humanity. And so even in the depths of our suffering, we will continue to braid love, and dignity, into the darkness.”*

As Jews, this is how we have survived. As Jews, this is how we will continue to survive, time and time again. When others try to write our story for us, we respond by writing our own chapters, showcasing our integrity, our compassion, our strength, and our love.

Thousands of years ago, the beloved Talmudic sage, Rabbi Hillel, penned a fundamental blueprint for how to live our lives. “In a place where no one is human,” he wrote, “we must always strive to be human.”

This is our mission. This is our calling. This is what it means to be Jewish.

Later on, Rabbi Chaim Stern said it this way: “When evil darkens our world, let us be the bearers of light. When fists are clenched in self-righteous rage, let our hands be open for the sake of peace. When knowledge is denied, let us be champions of learning. When Earth and its creatures are threatened, let us be their guardians. In the places where no one acts like a human being, let us bring courage, let us bring compassion, let us bring humanity.”

And even when the bleakness feels interminable, let us always continue be the ones who braid dignity into the darkness.

*With thanks to Rabbi Menachem Creditor for his recent piece in the Times of Israel, “Braiding Dignity into the Darkness,” which helped inspire this message.

Day 489

As we continue to watch the devastating situation unfold in Israel, we are reminded of the deep connections we share with the people and land that are integral to our heritage. The pain of seeing so many lives affected by violence, loss, and uncertainty weighs heavily on us all. Who among us is not deeply affected by the atrocity of October 7, and knowing there are still hostages being held in appalling conditions in Gaza. it has been devastatingly sad that as we bear witness to these heartbreaking events, we are also faced with the growing challenge of antisemitism across America.

It is essential that we, as a Jewish community, remain united and steadfast in our commitment to our traditions, values, and each other. The rise in antisemitism reminds us of the importance of staying proactive. We cannot allow ourselves to retreat into silence or fear. Our presence, our voices, and our stories need to be shared, and celebrated. It is only through strength in numbers, and solidarity, that we can combat this hatred and ensure that our voices are heard, respected, and understood.

In the political, cultural, and social arenas, our community must be well-represented by leaders who will advocate for our rights, for the safety of our families, and for the preservation of our cultural and religious freedoms. This is a time for us to amplify our presence by supporting Jewish organizations, standing against discrimination, and engaging with allies who understand the importance of fostering tolerance and inclusion. Our strength as a community lies not only in our numbers but in our ability to make sure our values are reflected in the policies that shape our society.

Our children must grow up with a deep sense of pride in their Jewish identity, while also understanding the importance of standing up for themselves and for others.

At the heart of it all, we must remember that our strength comes from our community—from the ties that bind us together, from our shared history, and from the unwavering belief in the importance of standing up for justice and truth. Together, we can navigate these challenges with dignity, courage, and an unshakable commitment to the future of our people.

Day 490

Shortly after October 7, one of the minyans I attend in New Haven (I don’t live in Fairfield County) began adding the following communal plea at the end of every service:

Acheinu kol beit Yisrael – Our brethren, the entire family of Israel, who are subjected to oppression and captivity…may the Holy One have mercy on them and deliver them from distress to relief, from darkness to light, from subjugation to redemption, now, speedily and soon – and let us say, Amen.

Every time I chant this prayer with the congregation, my heart turns to the hostages who remain in Gaza and to their families. I am reminded of the cruelty of the oppressors. I pray that the hostages who remain alive and their families find strength and hope. I pray that the hostages who have been released find healing from the severe trauma of their captivity. Acheinu kol beit Yisrael reminds us of our deep connection to our brethren in distress. When they suffer, we suffer. When they are freed, we rejoice. Kol Israel areivim zeh bazeh. All Jews are interconnected.

Applying the theology of Rabbi Harold Kushner z”l, God had nothing to do with the catastrophe that was October 7. God was not involved, nor was the murder, torture, rape and kidnapping part of any divine plan. Acheinu kol beit Yisrael turns our attention not to God’s power but to God’s mercy (in Yiddish, rachmones). Can God’s mercy flow into the hearts of the victims and their families, infusing them with hope, strength and courage? Can God’s mercy help our Israeli brethren continue to build a country that is safe from terrorism while healing from the horrors of October 7? Can God’s mercy light the path for all Diaspora Jewry as we carry on the struggle against Antisemitism while vigorously defending the cause of Zionism and Israel’s right to exist as a secure Jewish homeland? May it be God’s mercy that keeps us from despair and helps us look ahead towards a brighter, more hopeful future for the hostages, their families, Israel and the Jewish people worldwide.

Day 495

My favorite blessing in Judaism has always been Shehechyanu. I have a print of its words hanging on the wall in my office, and it’s embroidered on one of my favorite tallitot. This blessing is often associated with times of great joy, or moments of ‘firsts.’ But this blessing can be more universal than that. The end of the blessing says “v’higiyuanu laz’man hazeh, which can be translated as, “for bringing us to this moment.” This one. Not this joyous one, or this special one, or this specific holiday. Laz’man hazeh. Simply, this moment. And therein lies the power of this blessing for me. In times of fear, anxiety, and uncertainty, as I know many of us are feeling at this moment, the words of Shehechyanu are available to us. They offer an important reminder that we can embrace this complex situation, while still acknowledging moments in our lives for which we can be grateful. Each hostage we welcome home with open arms, is worthy of our gratitude and blessing. And even – maybe especially – when things feel darker, when we are unsure of what’s to come, we can say Shehechyanu, and using the blessing itself to bring about a glimmer of hope for the future. Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, shehecheyanu, v’kiy’manu, v’higiyanu laz’man hazeh.

Day 496

Lessons From an Almond Tree

Tonight at sundown we begin the celebration of Tu B’Shevat marking the new year of the trees. This marker in time always reminds me of the Tu B’Shevat I spent up in the Golan, leaf peeping almond tree blossoms with their beautiful white and pinkish flowers.

The almond tree has special significance on Tu B’Shevat. The word for almond in Hebrew (shaked) means to awaken, and it’s no coincidence that the almond tree is the first of the season to awaken after a winter slumber. For this reason, the almond tree has become a Jewish symbol for positive change or the emergence of a new era.

At this tense time, as hostages are slowly being released, as Hamas is announcing more delays, and as Trump is clumsily interfering in this very delicate process, our anxiety over bringing home our loved ones and ending this war is under increasing strain.

Our hearts sink low over the condition in which the hostages are returning. Most of them look like they’ve been starved to death, and it pains us deeply knowing that some of them will not be reunited with their loved ones who were lost earlier in this conflict.

When I see their faces on TV or on social media, the strength in their eyes reminds me of Holocaust survivors at their time of rescue, eighty years ago. With the gift of hindsight, we know well the stories of how those survivors fared later in life; many of them putting the past behind them, starting over, and eventually flourishing once again like a hearty and resilient almond tree.

May G-d send courage and fortitude to us all, as we pass through these uncertain times waiting for a new era to blossom. We pray that it will happen soon, and it will be one of lasting peace.

Day 497

As long as there is life, there is hope…

I have held this ancient Jewish proverb close to my heart since the nightmare of October 7th began 497 days ago. In our tradition, hope is a force that has sustained us through millennia of challenges and dark times. Hope remains for the Jewish people a driving force behind each breath we take – a grounding element from which our spirituality and identity spring. Even in the darkest of times our wisest thinkers have counseled us, hold fast to hope.

Hope is what burst out of my heart as I sat glued to my phone watching any recording I could find of the first hostages being released and returned on January 19th. At the darkest point of despair, suddenly hope was present. Could you feel it? Could you see it in the eyes of Emily Damari, Romi Gonen and Doron Steinbrecher? On the faces of Naama Levy, Liri Albag, Daniella Gilboa and Karina Ariev? Through tears of joy, I could feel the hope rising to meet Arbel Yehoud, Agam Berger and Gadi Moshe on January 30th. And again a few days later with the release of Ofer Kalderon, Keith Siegel and Yarden Bibas. The flame of hope burned for Ohad ben Ami, Eli Sharabi, and Or Levy, even inside the shock of seeing them so frail.

This week’s events have threatened to extinguish our fragile flame, and yet, we must remember that is not an option! Rabbi Nachman of Breslov taught, “There is no despair in the world. Despair is forbidden! Even if you feel you are at the lowest possible point, that is precisely when you must find within yourself new ways to begin again.”

And so, we must hold out hope and move forward together, collectively putting this prayer into the world,knowing in our hearts that more of our beloved will return.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks reminds us that, “Hope is the Jewish faith transformed into active virtue. It is the conviction that by acting as God’s partners in the work of creation and redemption, we can elevate the world from what it is to what it ought to be.”

A world in which all our hostages are returned safely, speedily and soon to the loving arms of their families. A world once again of Shalem and Shalom.Kein Y’hi Ratzon….

Day 503

For the past several weeks, we have experienced so many poignant, tearful, yet heartwarming reunions. I have been riveted by the coverage of hostages reuniting with their loved ones after 500 days in captivity, experiencing their first Shabbat meals at home, and even meeting their children for the first time. Each hostage release during this first phase of the ceasefire agreement has been a miracle unto itself, a time of incredible joy and elation.

Today, we are faced with the opposite reality. Today, Hamas turned over the bodies of Oded Lifshitz as well as Shiri Bibas and her two little sons, Ariel and Kfir. Four beautiful, precious souls kidnapped from their homes on October 7th and robbed of their lives by the heinous brutality of Hamas.

How can we cope with such unbelievable cruelty and evil? How can we look at the adorable red hair of Ariel and Kfir, or the warm smiles of Shiri and Oded, and not be overwhelmed by grief? I lack the vocabulary or the capacity to even begin to find words of solace during such a devastating moment of despair.

All I know is that, today, we mourn Shiri, Ariel, Kfir, and Oded together as Am Yisrael, as a united Jewish people. In Judaism, when we are at a funeral or a house of mourning and are unsure of what words to say, our tradition offers us words to share with the bereaved: HaMakom Yenahem Etkhem B’tokh Sh’ar Aveilei Tzion v’Yerushalayim. May the Source of holiness bring comfort to you amongst all the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem.

Whatever words we choose to use in this painful, horrific moment, let us also serve as sources of comfort to one another. Let us find opportunities to hold one another, to hug and cry with one another, and to find some small measure of solace in the warmth and camaraderie we can feel when we find ways to come together. All are welcome to join us as we recite the names of these four precious souls at our 7:30am morning minyan today (Thursday) at Or Hadash. And I encourage everyone, to the extent you are able, to come this Shabbat to any of the fantastic synagogues we have in our community for the solidarity we so desperately need in this moment.

May Shiri, Ariel, Kfir, and Oded always be remembered as sources of blessing.

Day 509

These days, despair feels like the path of least resistance. Our hearts shatter with the closeness of loss – it could have been my child, my dear one – who was stolen and murdered simply for being Jewish. We Jews are a small and inextricably linked family. When one of us suffers, we all suffer. When one of us dies, a piece in all of us dies. With such terrible events unfolding around us, how can we wake up in the morning and continue to engage with the world? It seems impossible, but our tradition insists that we do just that.

Our Torah portion this week, Parashat Terumah, describes how the Israelites built their tabernacle, their portable sanctuary, in the wilderness. God says, “Build for me a sanctuary that I may dwell among them.” Notably, God doesn’t say, “Build me a sanctuary that I may dwell in IT, the sanctuary,” but rather, “that I may dwell among THEM, the people.” The 19th-century Rabbi known as Malbim explains, “We are each to build a Tabernacle in our own heart for God to dwell in.”

Our Jewish values compel us to nurture and tend to our own hearts, especially when we are in a wildness. This practice enables us to forge a path that pushes against the tide of despair, so that light and divinity may dwell among us. As Jews, it is our sacred obligation to do what we can to repair our broken world. If we are overcome and paralyzed by grief, we cannot fulfill the commandment to bring our best selves to a world that desperately needs us.

How can we tend to our hearts in this wilderness? First, let us allow ourselves a little time today to cry, or to grieve in whatever way we need. Give ourselves over to the despair, but for a finite period. I invite us to literally set a timer for no more than 20 minutes and allow ourselves to be present with all the emotions that arise. And then, we will get up and do one self-nourishing act that brings us back into our bodies. Let it be simple: drink a glass of water, take a short walk, listen to our favorite song, stretch our arms into the air, eat something delicious. We will give ourselves permission to experience any amount of pleasure, and peace.

Like our ancestors before us, we will find our way in the wilderness. We acknowledge the pain and fear of this moment, and we cultivate a tabernacle of peace in our hearts. In this way, God may dwell among us, and we may bring much-needed healing to the world.

Day 510

This weekend, we usher in Adar, the month of Purim. Mishenichnas Adar, the rabbis instruct us,marbim b’simcha: “When Adar comes in, we are to increase our joy.” Religious imperatives to feelany emotions on demand are difficult to understand, and we have numerous ones in our tradition; but these past 510 days, it’s sometimes all we can do to feel exactly what we’re feeling and keep moving through our day. How do we relate to this calling this year?

I want to share with you a song that has helped me address this. When our enemies were vanquished at the denouement of the Purim story, and we knew we were safe from harm, the book of Esther (8:16) relays: Layehudim hayta ora v’simcha v’sason vi’kar,“and the Jewish people had light, joy, gladness and honor.” Some of us know these words to be a part of the havdalah service, wherein we symbolically experience the light through the havdalah candle, and many tunes have been set to these words. But something curious is added to the text in the havdalah: at some point, the rabbis tacked three words on to the end of that sentiment that do not appear in the original text, which have been immortalized in all those aforementioned musical settings: kein ti’hiyeh lanu,“ so may it be for us.”

When I first heard Noam Katz’s musical setting of “Layehudim,” in all honesty, I was not fond of it. It was the slowest “Layehudim” I had ever heard, and it felt to me as though it went against the entire spirit of Purim. But the more I heard it, the more I appreciated its value. If it weren’t for those last three words, kein ti’hiyeh lanu, the song would be about joy, full stop. But for me, these last three words grant us permission and blow open the emotional spectrum along which we can access these words. They can become not an affirmation of resonant joy, but a prayer, a cry for help from above that just as the Jewish people experienced this joy many hundreds upon hundreds of years ago, so far back that we can’t quite feel it today, so may it be for us.

And that is the beauty of a musical setting. The music itself can be a commentary on the words, and to a tune that does not traditionally match the words, it can become a challenge. Is it true? Are we in fact so joyous? What if we were to sing a setting of those words that could call all of it into question? Layers of emotional depth are unearthed in the rhythms and notes of this beautiful, meditative song.

I invite you to listen, wherever you are emotionally in relationship to this song. Let it be an affirmation. Let it be a prayer. Let it be whatever you need it to be.

And so may it be for us.

Day 511

My favorite Hebrew song is “Al Kol Eleh.” At some time after a Shabbat or Yom Tov dinner, when my family has finished with the more traditional melodies, they will burst into this song and even some of my grandchildren now join in.

This bittersweet song brings a smile to my face and sometimes tears to my eyes. This song reminds us that life is a combination of both joy and sorrow. Perhaps that is why the Federation and our area clergy chose to give the song’s title to this month-long email campaign of comfort. How fortunate that our community clergy stepped up to be there for us at a time when they too are in pain. I thank all of them.

“Every bee that brings the honey
Needs a sting to be complete.
And we all must learn to taste the bitter with the sweet.”

Our need for comfort is far from over. Four more bodies of hostages came home to Israel yesterday. This tenuous ceasefire seems even more fragile than ever. How do we face the news every day and not become inured to the pain that we as a people feel? How do we see the images of mothers hugging and fathers kissing their returning children and not feel both their joy for being able to hold them and their anger for the 540 days of anguish from missing them and worrying about them? How do hostages and their families heal from the trauma inflicted on them and how do we as a people share the burden of this collective trauma of Oct. 7th and a post-Oct. 7th world?

And what about those who came home in coffins? As a mother who has lost a child and as a wife who has lost a husband, I know only too well, in a very small, personal way, how their families’ lives will never be the same. There will always be a sting even in the sweetest times. There will be new babies who will proudly carry their names. They will rebuild their lives but there will always be an empty chair at their tables. Life will go on, as hard as that is to imagine.

In addition to this constant anxiety, we are struggling with a huge increase in antisemitism and a sense of isolation as our “friends” are less and less supportive.

My message for this last day of February 2025 is to not be afraid of the sting, but rather find a community of like-minded people where you can share both the sting and the sweetness of Judaism. Whether it is a synagogue, a Sunday-morning walking group, a Federation event or volunteer opportunity, or a Jewish organization, find strength in community so that your pain is diminished and your joy is amplified.

Wishing you and your loved ones a sweet Shabbat. Try some honey on your challah.