A High Holiday Message from Gottlieb
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High Holiday Sermons 2024
Rosh Hashana Day 1 and 2 - YouTube Links
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Rosh Hashanah Day 1, Rosh Hashanah Day 2, Kol Nidre, Yom Kippur - Rabbi Gottlieb
Kol Nidre - Barbara Wade Rose
Rosh Hashana Sermon - Day 1
Rosh Hashana Day 1
Note: This sermon is the work of Rabbi Danny Gottlieb. It came into being as a result of collaborative work with Rabbi Nancy Wechsler some years ago.
Satan, Te Hebrew equivalent to Devil, once decided that he would retire from business and sell all his diabolical devices. On the day of the sale—a fire sale no doubt—all his tools were put on display, each with its own price tag.
One rather plain looking and much worn tool was priced considerably higher than all of the others. Satan was asked what it was. "Why, that's Discouragement" he said. "Why is it priced so high?" "Because," answered Satan," it is more useful to me than all the others. I use Discouragement to get into people’s minds and hearts, and once inside I can use them to do my work. It is greatly worn because it is my favourite tool. I have used it on nearly everybody, yet few people know that it belongs to me."
Well according to the fable, Satan's price for Discouragement was so high that nobody bought it. And he is still using it today.
How do we know he is still using it?
I think of the issues that you and I struggle with at different times during our lives.
We suffer losses of loved ones. We miss out on promotions and job opportunities. We become bored in our work and tired in our marriages. We have difficulties and disappointments with our partners, our families, and in our friendships. We worry about our parents. We worry about our children. We worry about how much things cost. We worry if we are having as much happiness as we deserve. We worry about financial security, about our retirement years. We worry about our weight; our hearts, our ability to remember things (unless we forget to include that one... )
In addition to our own personal issues, there are issues in our community—rising anti-Semitism and growing intolerance and hatred of “the other”, and those of global concern—wars in Ukraine and in the Middle East, the rise of right-wing and fascist governments, racists and white-supremecists emboldened south of our border—and within our borders as well. This has been, for the Jewish people, the worst year in living memory, with the exception of the memories of those who lived through the Holocaust. There is enough pain out there to give Satan ample supplies. His diabolical device, Discouragement is alive and well. It creates even more dangerous devices; complacency, isolation and pessimism.
To the mere suggestion of doing teshuvah at the start of the New Year—returning, seeking repentance and reconciliation; making changes, bringing fresh solutions to old problems—old Discouragement gives the predictable response: "I just can't do it".
So how can we, as Jews, engage in the acts of introspection and return required of us on this Rosh Hashanah and throughout the Ten Days of Repentance that will lead us to Yom Kippur, in the face of Satan and his efficient instrument of obstruction? How can we overcome discouragement, so that we can look deep within our souls, and respond to the recognition of our own need for personal and communal change.
We begin by acknowledging that we live in a troubled world, one filled with hatred and violence, economic inequality and social injustice. But that it is our world, nevertheless... And we also acknowledge that the pain we feel is shared by us all, we who exist on the same planet at the same time. Ours is a storm tossed, sadly troubled world. And we need to have a little faith.
"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil. For You are with me.
With rod and staff, You comfort me." (Psalm 23)
Think of the courage of our ancestors; how they dealt with their reality—not by looking away. I think of the strength of our people who rebuilt their lives in the face of brokenness—not because they had any training to do so—but because they had something even more precious than Satan's Discouragement.
They had Faith. In Hebrew…Emunah.
When we have Emunah—faith that despite how things appear, they will improve, then we have more motivation to do the right thing. When we have Emunah—faith that despite death and destruction, and all of our sufferings and our disappointments, there are reasons to start the day on the right foot, then we are walking in the path of the Jewish people. share with you some snapshots from our history.
Let me share with you some snapshots from our history.
It was the first century in Jerusalem. The city was in flames, Rome had laid siege to our Temple. It looked like it would be the end of Judaism, if the Roman armies had their way. Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai had faith. And from his faith in Jewish survival, he was able to generate an absolutely brilliant plan.
Faith gave him chutzpah. In some cases, having faith at all in the face of discouragement is chutzpah.
Rabbi Yochanan had his students carry him out of the city in a casket; telling the guards that their great rabbi had died and needed to be buried in sacred grounds beyond the city walls. This simple plan worked. From there Rabbi Yochanan climbed out of the casket and made his way to the Roman General, Vespasian. They made a deal, where by Yochanan and a few students could have some land in the North of Israel called Yavneh. Yavneh became the centre of Jewish learning and culture. Jerusalem fell, but Judaism lived on, on account of Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai and his faith ... emunah…and the rest is history.
Nachshon ben Aminadav stood with Moses and all of the tribes at the shore of the Red Sea. Egyptians in hot pursuit, the rough waters of the Red Sea in front of them. Despite the perilous moment, Nachshon had faith that things would work out...and from his faith alone, he got the crazy idea to enter into the water and just start walking. According to the midrash, the waters parted only after Nachshon went in so far that the water rose above his mouth and nose. Because of his action, driven by his faith, our people walked on dry land to freedom.
The Baal Shem Tov, the founder of Chassidism once said : "When Israel gained faith, only then could they sing." And we all know how important singing was to the Baal Shem Tov. "In the struggle with evil," he said, "only faith matters."
The inscription in a Cologne cellar where Jews hid from the Nazis says:
"I believe in the sun even when it is not shining. I believe in love even when not feeling it.
I believe in God even when God is silent."
On Oct. 7, Argentine-Israeli Luis Har was taken hostage by Hamas from his kibbutz near the Gaza border, along with his partner Clara Marman, Clara's brother Fernando Marman, Clara's sister Gabriela Leimberg and Gabriela's daughter, 17-year-old Mia Leimberg. While in captivity, they tried to keep quiet and avoid anything that would make the guards nervous, because they knew Hamas wasn't afraid to shoot. They couldn't leave the room they were in and had to ask permission to go to the bathroom. "It's very difficult to be in this situation…” he said. “The possibility if you talk no good or say something, maybe they shoot you. We were very afraid."
All of the women in Har's family were released as part of the November hostage release, including 17-year-old Mia Leimberg and her dog Bella. But it was not until many months later, on Feb. 12, that Har and Fernando Marman were finally rescued in an overnight raid by the Israel Defense Forces in the southern Gaza city of Rafah. At 2 o'clock in the morning, Har heard explosions. He thought the IDF was bombing the building they were in. "We listen in Hebrew...the soldiers call my name and say to me, 'It's OK, Luis, it's OK, we are the army, we're coming to take you home.'"
Sustained all those months only by sheer force of will and the faith that their redeemers would come.
Rabbi Moshe Chaim Ephraim of Sudilkov, in his work Degel machaneh Ephraim, writes:
The fundamental requirement to living a life of mitzvot is faith, to have faith in God. One who has such faith
can pray every day. If we have faith that God renews each day, always, the works of creation,
then every day we are a new being, and all the worlds are new creations.
I think of one of the most inspirational thinkers of this century. Dr Victor Frankel. He was a known psychoanalyst in Germany, who became a number…and then became a person. The attempts in the concentration camps to dehumanize him and millions of others we all know about.
One particular story about Victor Frankel haunts me even today. He tells a story that when he arrived in Auschwitz he had in his coat pocket a manuscript of a scientific book. It contained basically his life work. At the camp, however, part of the dehumanization process was to take a man's jacket and give him another in its place. To lose this scientific book was like losing all of his identity, but no one cared. No one knew him except by his number. In his agony of losing that which gave him dignity, with absolute brokenness, he reached painfully into the pocket of the jacket he had been given—an ill-fitting rag from a man who was no longer alive. Victor Frankel's fingers touched a piece of paper. He took it out and found it was a page torn from a siddur with six words:
Shema Yisrael Adonai Eloheynu Adonai Echad
Six words. Six words at that moment reminded him that there was meaning. Meaning somewhere. Meaning to keep living. Meaning to have focus. Meaning to love. Yes, even in Auschwitz, he realized that the very salvation for himself and others was through the ability to love.
In some mysterious way, having his scientific book become the six words of the Shema gave him a mission to stay alive.
Sometimes to live is to suffer. But to survive is to find meaning in the suffering. And if we can find meaning in our lives then we have hope. Nietzsche said:
"One who has a ‘why’ to live can bear almost any ‘how.’"
To share bread when there is little; to be kind when we are forlorn; to smile to others even when our reserves are below empty. To give some tzedakah to a cause we believe in. These actions are blessed. These actions are sacred. They remove our isolation. And they give us hope in the face of discouragement.
In the case of Victor Frankel, discovering the six words of the Shema was that tiny spark; it gave him enough faith to keep him functioning day after day in the camps.
For Nachshon, he decided that life was worth too much to give up. Perhaps he figured it was worth one more try.
For Yochanan ben Zakkai, perhaps the idea came to him when he saw his beloved Temple being savaged. Perhaps seeing Jerusalem dying gave him the very idea to pretend he had died...and that led to his dramatic exit from the city.
Who Knows?
In all these cases, life had gotten just about as bad as it could get; yet from that despair came the energy, the chutzpah, the creativity to make a difference. What I think happened for them is what happens to us when we have a breakthrough in our struggles as well. They experienced God as what my colleague and friend, Rabbi Nancy Wechsler calls, "Holy Shift."
Over the years of our friendship Rabbi Wechsler and I have spent a great deal of time thinking and talking about Holy Shifting. Holy Shifting is when the situation may remain the same, but we are able to see things differently. And because we see them differently we are able to make changes.
Rabbi Wechsler's favourite prayer is the Ge'ulah which includes the Mi Chamocha. "It teaches that God brought us out of Egypt," she reminds me. The Hebrew for Egypt is ‘mitzrayim’, which means ‘narrow’ or ‘troubled places’, and so this is a way of reminding all of us that it is God who brings us up and out of the narrow and troubled places in which we find ourselves. And it happens.
I think about my friend and chevruta study partner, Rabbi Bob Freedman, who in retirement serves as the Jewish Chaplain at a hospital in Princeton, New Jersey. He says that when he is counselling people who are battling all kinds of illness; cancers, MS, heart attacks and strokes, or accidents; he will ask them ; "Where is God in all of this?" He has found that these patients discover that they are able to find meaning in their lives during the darkest hours; far more readily than when they were well.
Holy Shift.
Even the greatest of challenges a human being will experience has windows. The question is not whether or not we will open them, it is, "Do we know they are there?" Despite the fact that the Holy Shift happens frequently, I am always amazed, as though I can hardly believe that the heavy curtain has lifted. But it has and it does and it will.
On this Rosh Hashanah morning, we begin to search. We search our innermost being, seeking the ability to see the signs of a curtain lifting or even a window opening. We ask God to help shift our perspective so that we may see our lives differently. Holy Shifting is when we begin to see the possibilities of a "Yes" where before all we could hear was "No".
Look, we all have dreams in our hearts. I have a dream in my heart, too. I don't speak about it a lot, because, like you, to put a dream out there, we risk someone putting us down or scoffing at us. But I have a dream about my life and what it can be and what kind of contributions I can still make in the years allotted to me. It is right in here. The challenge is to bring it out.
And I know that you too have dreams in your hearts. I know that you know what you have to do to make them happen. I know that you know how hard it is to do the work necessary to make your dreams a reality. It takes tremendous courage to push it through.
We need to remember that our tradition teaches that if we take the steps toward something holy and good, God meets us half way.
“hashiveynu Adonai elecha v’nashuvah—Help us to return, O God, and we shall return.”
We stand, this day, on the start of a new year. The Book of Life is open to a new page for each one of us. So, I ask again, as we sit in the safety, the comfort of this House of Prayer. "With emunah, with faith in your heart, what do you pray for in the coming year? What is your dream; for yourself, for your family, for this congregation, for the country, for Israel and Gaza, for the Ukraine, for the world?" The key to fulfilment of your prayer is to replace fear with faith.
Kol ha-olam kulo gesher tzar me’od—All the world is a narrow bridge.
V’haikar lo lefachet k’lal—and the secret is…not to be afraid at all.
A story...
An unbelieving scoffer came before the famous story teller, the Maggid of Dubnow, and he laughed at the idea that there was a Creator who was actually present in our lives. The man said to the Maggid, "If you can convince me that there is a God, I shall admit that you are a great teacher."
The Maggid said, "Let me tell you a little story."
Once upon a time a merchant brought home a large bellows and gave it to his servant and said to him," When you want to make a large fire, move the bellows back and forth like an accordion and the fire will get bigger and bigger."
The next day the servant came to the merchant and said to him, "The bellows doesn't work. No matter how hard I worked there came no fire." The merchant looked at the stove and saw that the coals were all cold and extinguished. There was not even one spark in them. So the merchant said to his servant: "How do you expect to make the fire grow larger, if there is not even a single spark to begin with? If you had just one little spark, you would have been able to use the bellows and blow the spark into a huge fire."
"And so it is when we lose faith," said the Maggid to the man, "if a person has at least one spark of faith inside, then I can blow upon that one spark and make that belief even greater."
So let all of us begin. Keep on beginning. Every day; searching for that first single spark and building upon it; working on fanning those sparks into action. Encouraging each other. Work on replacing discouragement with faith. We need to remember that we stand on the shoulders of the courageous; women and men with faith enough to move mountains. If they had kept saying, "I just can't do it" where would we be?
And by the way, what shall we tell Satan when he tries to sell us DISCOURAGEMENT?
We shall tell him that we are not buying, that we have shares in FAITH.
Ken Yihi Ratzon
Rosh Hashanah Sermon - Day 2
As a rabbinical student at the Leo Baeck College in London, England, quite a number of years ago, I had the privilege of learning from Rabbi Jeffrey Newman, who at that time was the rabbi of Finchley Reform Synagogue and an adjunct faculty member of the College. The following story is his work. Like the best stories, it plays well a second time, so even if you have heard it before, I invite you to learn from it again.
A man was going from village to village, everywhere asking the same question, "where can I find God?" He journeyed from Rabbi to Rabbi, and nowhere was he satisfied with the answers he received, so quickly he would pack his bags, and hurry on to the next village. Some of the Rabbis replied, "Pray, my son, and you shall find Him". But the man had tried to pray, and knew that he could not.
And some replied, "Forget your quest, my child, God is within you". But the man had tried to find God within himself, and failed.
One day, the man arrived, very wearily, at a very small village set in the middle of an enormous forest. He went up to a woman who was minding some chickens, and she asked whom could he be looking for in such a small place, but she did not seem surprised when he told her that he was looking for God. She showed him to the Rabbi's house.
When he went in, the Rabbi was studying, so he waited a moment, but he was impatient to be off to the next village, if he could not be satisfied, so he interrupted, "Rabbi - how do I find God?"
The Rabbi paused, and the man wondered which of the many answers he had already received would he be told this time. But the Rabbi simply said, "You have come to the right place, my child. God is in this village. Why don't you stay a few days; you might meet [God]".
The man was puzzled. He did not understand what the Rabbi could mean. But the answer was unusual, and so he stayed. For two or three days, he strode round and round, asking all the villagers where God was that morning, but they would only smile, and ask him to have a meal with them. Gradually, he got to know them, and even helped with some of the village work. Every now and then he would see the Rabbi by chance, and the Rabbi would ask him, "Have you met God yet, my son?"
And the man would smile, and sometimes he understood and sometimes he did not understand. For months he stayed in the village, and then for years. He became part of the village and shared in all its life. He went with [them] to the synagogue on Friday and prayed with them, and sometimes he knew why he prayed, and sometimes he didn't. And sometimes he really said prayers, and sometimes only words. And then he would return with one of [them] for a Friday night meal, and when they talked about God, he was always assured that God was in the village, though he wasn't quite sure where or when [God] could be found. Gradually, too, he began to believe that God was in the village, though he wasn't quite sure where. He knew, however, that sometimes he had met [God].
One day, for the first time, the Rabbi came to him and said, "You have met God now, have you not?"
And the man said, "Thank you, Rabbi, I think that I have. But I am not sure why I met [God], or how or when. And why is [God] in this village only?"
So the Rabbi replied, "God is not a person, my child, nor a thing. You cannot meet [God] in that way. When you came to our village, you were so worried by your question that you could not recognize an answer when you heard it. Nor could you recognize when you met [God], because you were not really looking for [God]. Now that you have stopped persecuting God, you have found [God], and now you can return to your town if you wish".
So the man went back to his town, and God went with him. And the man enjoyed studying and praying, and he knew that God was within himself and within other people. And other people knew it too, and sometimes they would ask him, "Where can we find God?"
And the man would always answer, "You have come to the right spot: God is in this place".
(Rabbi Jeffrey Newman,
in Returning, J. Magonet , ed., RSGB)
Like the man in the story, many of us find that the search for God is difficult. For some, it may even seem as though the search is never-ending. Often, it is a life-long pursuit. And yet here we are, assembled together at the beginning of another New Year, searching for God, calling out to God to heal our wounds, forgive our trespasses and return us once again to God’s loving and compassionate embrace.
In our story, the man finds God through engagement in community, even though he is not sure exactly how or when. It happens, somewhat mysteriously, when he lets go of his quest and simply takes part in the everyday activities of the village...working alongside the others, sharing in meals, in conversation and in prayer. I want to suggest to you on this Rosh Hashanah morning that this is true for us as well, especially here at City Shul. One path to finding God is to engage in Jewish communal life, and in particular, to engage in the life of the synagogue.
Over the past few months, I have had the opportunity to meet many of you at the synagogue, and I have listened as you shared with me your strong sense of connection and commitment to City Shul, as well as some of your hopes and dreams for the shul as you make the transition from the leadership of a beloved rabbi to a new and, as yet, unidentified rabbi who will lead you into the next stage of your journey. Over the course of a long and varied rabbinic career, I have had hopes and dreams for the synagogues I have served, and I would like to share some of them with you this morning.
The synagogue is the central institution in Jewish religious life. In modern Hebrew, the synagogue is called “kehillah kedoshah”, a “holy community”. Complimented by religious life in the Jewish home, it is the guardian of Jewish continuity and growth. In our tradition, the synagogue is known by three other names as well: Beit Midrash, Beit T'fillah and Beit Knesset.
As Beit Midrash (a House of Study) the synagogue is meant to be a place of learning for Jews of all ages—from pre-schoolers to those in their later years. Formal and informal learning opportunities, adult and family education and individual study, are all part of the variety of opportunities that have made City Shul a dynamic place of learning. Opportunities to learn through music and the arts, through spiritual exploration and religious experience are also a part of the life-long learning that can be found in this synagogue. A primary role of the rabbi, and this will be especially true for your new settled rabbi, is to teach, and those who have engaged in the life of this synagogue have found many opportunities to learn with their rabbis...as well as opportunities to learn from the lives and varied experiences of other synagogue members. I share the hope that has been expressed that such a dynamic program of learning will continue to be a cornerstone of City Shul’s communal life in this year, when we are together, and in the years ahead.
As Bet T'fillah (a House of Prayer) the synagogue is meant to be a place filled with the joy of worship and blessing. I believe that music is the key to warmth and participation in communal worship, and City Shul is blessed with an amazing Hazzanit, who together with lay leaders and the Shira Harmony ensemble, bring the beautiful sounds of music to our services. (I sing a little bit, too...) It is important to find ways to make all aspects of worship and ritual equally accessible to all members of the congregation, and we do this at City Shul through egalitarianism in language and ritual. We offer Shabbat and holiday worship in a variety of styles and settings, in order to be inclusive of families with young children and to address the special needs and interests of individuals...and we also livestream the services to those who are unable to attend in person. I share the hope that City Shul will continue to expand the menu of worship experiences to include Erev Shabbat services in some of the neighbourhoods where clusters of our members live, and continue its tradition of holding Havdalah programs in members’ homes as well.
As Beit Knesset (a House of Communal Assembly) the synagogue is meant to be a truly caring community. Respectful of the needs of others, a synagogue becomes a kehilah kedoshah [a holy community] when it serves as an extended family to its members—welcoming of others, tolerant of individual differences, affirming of each person's value—and when it offers a variety of social, cultural, Zionist, and tikkun olam programming, recognizing that our community is part of a larger civic and global community so badly in need of repair. I believe that the synagogue is at its best when it is a cooperative venture in which the values of volunteerism are upheld and acknowledged by its members, and when it functions as a truly democratic institution in which the rabbi and the congregation work in sacred partnership to deliver programs and services and to determine the directions for its future.
My colleague and friend Rabbi Mark Cooper shares a rabbinic legend, which he learned from his mentor, Rabbi Harold Kushner:
When God created the world, God placed the sun and the clouds in the sky together. It is said that the Hebrew word for heaven—shamayim—is derived from the word “eish,” meaning fire, and “mayim,” meaning water, the former representing the sun and the latter representing rain clouds. The angels questioned how such disparate elements—sun and rain clouds—could exist together. Either the sun would chase away the clouds and cause perpetual drought, or the clouds would obscure the sun so the earth could not survive. So, God caused a miracle to happen by enabling the sun and clouds to co-exist. That is the meaning of “oseh shalom bimromav,” making peace in the heavens. When we pray those words, we are asking God to cause that same miracle to occur for us by enabling human beings with competing agendas, with different needs, different aspirations and backgrounds, with different life-styles and family configurations, to co-exist in harmony. We are praying that nobody gains a total victory and obliterates the other, uprooting the other from their place in the world so there will be more room for themselves. We are praying for shalom in its truest essence and form—a world in which everything and everyone is in its proper and natural place, a world in which everyone makes room for everyone else, a world in which everyone understands that if we don’t do that then we will have the chaos of displacement and exile.
Like the man in our story, I have travelled for more than forty years from village to village, and now I am here, back in my home town, and here at City Shul. I accepted the call to this bimah because I believe that City Shul wants to continue to be the kehillah kedoshah that I have been talking about. With your participation and engagement, we can broaden and extend the scope of our programs and activities, and work to fulfil our vision for this synagogue and, in particular, for the community and global village that we share.
In my going from village to village, I am always looking for a community in which the atmosphere and the style of the congregation would speak to me in a warm and welcoming manner, one in which there is joy of spirit in worship and celebration. I hope to find communities that are blessed with good leadership, that embrace a genuine sense of partnership; places where everyone—young and old—are valued members of the community; a place where God dwells; a place where Jews learn and celebrate and pray. City Shul is such a place. It calls out to me and I hope that it calls out to you as well.
I share your hope that City Shul will see renewed growth and strength in this New Year, as you extend your warm welcome to new families and re-engage former members and current members who have been on the periphery for a little while.
Let us begin this morning, at the start of this New Year 5785, to reaffirm our commitment to City Shul as a kehillah kedoshah. We may not know exactly how or when it happens, but I believe that we will meet God here, for indeed, God is in this place.
Ken Yihi Ratzon.
Kol Nidre Sermon
In my 40+ years as a rabbi, and counting also my 4 years as a student rabbi, I have given somewhere around two thousand sermons (more or less). On Erev Shabbat, at Shabbat and Festival morning services, B’nai Mitzvah and, on occasion, at events in the interfaith or civic community.
They say that every rabbi really has only one sermon in him, but somehow he manages to deliver it in thousands of different ways. So tonight, I am going to share with you the sermon that has been inside of me all these years, the one that has come out of me in myriad disguises for almost five decades. It begins with this Biblical verse, from Psalm 16, “Shiviti Adonai l’negdi tamid—I have set the Eternal always by my side.”
In many ways, this has been the guiding principle of my life, and I have tried to express and role model this teaching as a cornerstone upon which one might build a Jewish religious life. You see, I believe that in order to embrace this teaching, we have to develop a heightened awareness of God’s presence in our lives, draw ourselves near to God, and walk the path of life together with God at our side. Now, I know that there are some of you who are beginning to tune out right about now, because you don’t believe in God. I do believe in God, without reservation, even though I do not always know what God is up to, and despite the fact that I cannot define or comprehend every aspect of God’s being. Nevertheless, I get it, that not everyone believes in God, and that may include many of you, and that you still feel Jewishly-connected enough to be here tonight. To those who are not God-believers, I ask you to stay with me anyway, substitute “the sacred” or “holiness” or “a Higher Being” in place of “God”, (as in, “develop a heightened awareness of ‘the sacred’ in our lives…”) Perhaps that will work for you (and I can assure you that God won’t mind).
The first step toward this awareness is to understand God’s Will, and I would argue that this is the purpose of religion—not just Judaism—but all religions. Each religion has its own system of sacred texts, beliefs and doctrines by which its adherents try to understand God’s Will.
For us, it begins with the Torah. In our evening and morning prayers, just before the Shema, we say that God gives us the Torah as a sign of God’s love for us, and that we will learn it and take it into our hearts. This is precisely because the Torah is the window through which we can discover God’s Will. And that is why Torah study was such an important part of the life of my Thornhill and San Francisco congregations, as it has been in all of the communities I have served as rabbi.
The second step is to draw ourselves nearer to God. This, too, is common in many religious systems, particularly those Eastern, mystical traditions like Taoism and Buddhism. Silence, meditation, incantation and a sacred prayer language are often the ritual tools that these religions use to draw nearer to God. You may be surprised to learn that all of these tools are part of the Jewish religion as well—our religious life and our services include silence, meditation, niggunim, and our own sacred language (or as we say, lashon ha-kodesh) Hebrew. Judaism has all of these, as well as mystical contemplation (which we call kabbalah), and we use them in the same way as the Eastern traditions—to elevate us to a higher level of
consciousness, and help us draw nearer to God.
In Judaism, the word for “drawing near to God” is deveikut, and our rabbis teach that the primary avenue to drawing near to God is avodah, by which they meant prayer and study, but which I will translate a little more broadly tonight as “devotional service”. Our evening and morning prayers remind us that God not only gave us the Torah out of love, but God gave us the Mitzvot as well. Torah for understanding God’s Will. Mitzvot for living according to God’s Will. And it is by doing God’s Will through “Divine service”—avodah—that we draw ourselves nearer to God.
The Mitzvot also help us to heighten our awareness of God’s presence by elevating the mundane in our lives to a place of holiness. Saying a blessing before you eat, before you get out of bed, put on your clothes, wash your hands—all of the mundane and routine daily acts, elevates these actions into the realm of the sacred, and reminds us of God’s presence, reminds us that “God is always by our side—shiviti Adonai l’negdi tamid”.
There is a story from the Talmud about a wise king…
The king was concerned about the loyalty of his soldiers, so every day he would dress in a
different disguise and wander about in the marketplace, observing his soldiers and
listening to what they were saying. Some of the soldiers became aware of this practice,
and they were careful to comport themselves accordingly in word and in deed, because
they never knew which disguise the king would wear on any given day… And so it is with
God, who appears many disguises. The wise among us know to comport ourselves
accordingly, because they understand that God is always present in our lives.
Try it. Say the motzi before you eat—every day, not just on Shabbat. Learn the blessings for getting out of bed, getting dressed and washing up, or even better—make up your own blessings for these and other daily routines. Say the shehechiyanu when something special happens, or just make a habit of saying “Thank You God!”—and meaning it. I believe it can be life-changing, reminding you of God’s constant presence, and reminding you that you are a Jew, one of God’s treasured possessions.
The third step is to try to repair the brokenness in our world and to make the world better—for ourselves and for those who will come after us.
When God placed Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, humanity was given the responsibility to be the stewards of creation—to have dominion over the land, the seas, and all of their inhabitants. Dominion, of course, implies power and authority. But it also carries the connotation of beneficent responsibility. As stewards of God’s creation, we have the responsibility to care, preserve and protect the earth, the seas and all that dwell therein. Tikkun Olam—the repair of the world, and Shemirat Olam—protecting the world are responses to the Divine Command. When we do them, we are responding to God’s Will, drawing ourselves nearer to the Holy One of Blessing.
In order to do any of these things, however, we have to strive to be good people, and here Torah and Mitzvot can help us as well. The rabbis teach that as part of the human condition, each of has two competing inclinations—the Yetzer Ha-tov (the good inclination) and the Yetzer Ha-ra (the evil
inclination). And in all of the moments of choice in our lives, these two yetzers compete for control of our actions (like the angel and devil whispering into cartoon characters’ ears…probably drawn by some Jewish cartoonist). The rabbis say that the yetzer ha-ra (the evil one) is inherently stronger as it controls our appetites and our passions, our sexual desires, acquisition and so on, and that left to our own devices, it would win out every time. But Torah and Mitzvot strengthen our inherently weaker yetzer ha- tov so that it can conquer our yetzer ha-ra and we can make right choices and act for the good. This is another way that the rabbis understand Torah and Mitzvot as God’s gifts of love to us.
Musar—that is the Jewish practice of studying our individual character traits; humility, patience, empathy, generosity, moderation, responsibility and the like, and exercising them through repetition and spiritual practice—is another way to achieve balance between our good and evil inclinations. Living a life that includes prayer, study, spiritual practice, striving to be better people, and commitment to repairing and caring for the world is Judaism’s prescription for heightening the awareness of God’s presence in our lives and drawing ourselves nearer to God.
The experience of our history, from the moment that Abraham responded to God’s call with the word, hineni—"Here I am—[ready to do Your Will]”—enables us to believe in reconciliation, reunion and redemption. It gives us hope in the face of catastrophe—courage and strength to endure our sufferings, and faith that “tomorrow there’ll be sun”. In Psalm 126 we read, “Those who sow in tears shall reap injoy.” This is another verse I hold dear.
The Jewish People have always been leaders in the struggle for social justice. Thirty-six times the Torah reminds us that “we know the heart of the stranger for we were strangers in Egypt”. The emergence of our People from slavery to freedom was the defining moment of our history, and it gave us a value system firmly grounded in social justice. They say that nations are judged by how they treat the weak and vulnerable in their society. The Torah teaches us to ensure the welfare of the widow, the orphan and the stranger—its definition of the weak and vulnerable—providing food, shelter, education and protection from harm, and wherever possible, helping them to achieve self-sufficiency.
Engaging in acts of tzedakah (righteous giving) and g’milut chasadim (acts of lovingkindness), and doing the work that is required to bring about a more just society in which these Jewish values are reflected in our civic and communal life is also an avenue to draw ourselves nearer to God, by bringing God’s light into the dark places so badly in need of illumination.
The sermon inside of me begins, "Shiviti Adonai lenegdi tamid—I have set the Eternal always at my side”. It ends with, “Kedoshim tihiyu, ki kadosh ani Adonai eloheychem—You shall be holy because I, Adonai your God, am holy.”
With this verse, the Torah reveals our job description as human beings in no uncertain terms—to be holy—as individuals and as a community (mamlechet kohanim v’goy kadosh—a kingdom of priests and a holy nation). We strive toward holiness through the devotional acts about which I have spoken tonight, that lead us to be better people and our world a better world. We strive toward holiness when we embrace the teachings and live by the values of our Torah and our tradition. We strive toward holiness when we honor our history and pass it on to our children and grandchildren. And in striving toward holiness, we draw ever closer to God.
May our lives be renewed with strength and purpose on this holiest of nights. As we do the work of our self-examination throughout this Yom Kippur and set our course for the year ahead, may we know that that God is with us as we walk the paths of our lives, in all of our troubles and triumphs, in the sorrows and joys of our journey. And may we know that God is also just beyond the horizon—awaiting our arrival.
Ken yihi ratzon.
Yom Kippur Sermon
It has become my practice to study the parashat ha-shavuah—the Torah portion of the week—on Thursdays and Fridays each week as Shabbat approaches. I study Chassidic texts in a study partnership with my chevruta, Rabbi Bob Freedman in Princeton, New Jersey, and I review a number of midrashim and commentaries in preparation for Torah study, and (during my years in Thornhill and San Francisco) in order to write a weekly d'var torah. I have tried to make it my regular practice, in fulfillment of the instruction in Pirke Avot, and as part of my commitment to living with integrity, to make the study of Torah a “fixed habit”. So even when I am vacationing in the summer, or no longer leading Torah study each week on Shabbat morning, I still set aside the time to study
the parashah.
And it is a good thing…because this summer I was asked, rather suddenly and without warning, to give a briefd’var torah at a Shabbat dinner table where I was a guest.
The parashah was Mattot, the penultimate portion of the book of Numbers, and the verse I chose to speak about was the one where the tribes of Reuben and Gad and the half-tribe of Dan approach Moses with the request that they be permitted to settle permanently on the West Bank of the Jordan River, and not enter into or settle in the Land of Israel. Now I must point out that this can be taken as a Biblical proof text that the West Bank is not actually a part of Eretz Yisrael, otherwise they would not have had to make this request of Moses. But that was not my point then, nor is it now.
The point that I was making then, and that I want to make this morning is about Moses’ response—God’s response as the Torah tells it—to the question that the 2-1/2 tribes’ inquiring minds wanted to know.
For in the Book of Numbers, chapter 32, verses 4 and following, the question was put to Moses, Eleazar the
Priest and the chieftains of the community:
“…the land that Adonai has conquered for the community for Israel is cattle country, and your
servants have cattle. It would be a favor to us,’ they continued, ‘if this land were given to your
servants as a holding; do not move us across the Jordan.’ Moses replied to the Gadites and the
Reubenites, ‘Are your brothers to go to war while you stay here? Why will you turn the minds of
the Israelites from crossing into the land which Adonai has given them? That is what your fathers
did when I sent them from Kadesh-barnea to survey the land…”
“…Then they stepped up to him and said, ‘We will build here sheepfolds for our flocks and towns
for our children. And we will hasten as shock-troops in the van of the Israelites until we have
established them in their home, while our children stay in the fortified towns because of the
inhabitants of the land. We will not return to our homes until every one of the Israelites is in
possession of his portion…”
“…Moses said to them, ‘If you do this, if you go to battle as shock-troops, at the instance of
Adonai, and every shock-fighter among you crosses the Jordan, at the instance of Adonai, until
God has dispossessed God’s enemies from before God, and the land has been subdued, at the
instance of Adonai, and then you return—you shall be clear before Adonai and before Israel…”
“…The Gadites and the Reubenites answered Moses, ‘Your servants will do as my lord
commands.’”
What is interesting to me, is that Moses’ answer to the tribes’ request was that it is actually “ok” to live outside of the Land. Now this may come as a surprise to religious Zionists, who follow the teachings of Rabbi Avraham Yitzchak Hacohen Kook z”l, the first Chief Rabbi of Eretz Yisrael and the father of Religious Zionism. They believe that Jewish life outside of the Land of Israel is “hevel”—without meaning and without purpose, except of course for the purpose of preparing for a life inside the Land. Rav Kook teaches that Eretz Yisrael (The Land of Israel) has a special quality and only the union of Am Israel to Eretz Yisrael (the People of Israel to the Land) can make both of them whole.
But I wish to take issue with Rav Kook, because I do not think that that is actually what the Torah is saying. I think that the Torah is saying something very different…that some Jews will choose to live, as some Jews have always chosen to live in Eretz Yisrael, and some Jews will choose to live, as some Jews have always chosen to live outside the Land. And that those of us who have made the choice not to “cross the Jordan”, those of us who have built “sheep-folds for our flocks and towns for our children” outside the Land, have an obligation to ensure the settlement, security and well-being of those who choose to “cross the Jordan” and settle in the Land. Only then will we be clear before Adonai and before Israel.
So the question that is before us on this Yom Kippur morning is “What does this obligation mean to us, especially in our day when Israel is engaged in a war against terrorists who are sworn to Israel’s destruction, and therefore present an existential threat to the Jewish State, and when the resultant warfare causes the death, injury and displacement of thousands of innocent civilians in Israel, the West Bank, Gaza and Lebanon, and rising anti-
Semitism here in our city and around the world?
And how can we go about fulfilling this obligation?”
But before I go there, I want to say a word about Jewish life in the Diaspora.
I believe that Jewish life in the Diaspora can be vibrant, nourishing of the soul and spirit, religiously satisfying and fulfilling in every way. I believe that Jewish life in the Diaspora has enriched the Jewish People, and indeed has saved us from extinction during periods of history when we were exiled from the Land. I believe that Judaism and its teachings have enriched the world because we have spread to its four corners —yamah, v’kedmah, tzafonah
v'negbah—west, east, north and south—and that it is a part of our covenantal mission and part of God’s plan for humanity that we live in the Diaspora as well as in the Land. I believe that there is meaning and purpose for Jewish religious life in the Diaspora—for my life—and that I can find complete religious fulfillment and complete connection to God here in Toronto, where I was born, and even in Las Vegas, where currently reside and “where everything that happens stays…!!” Otherwise, I would not choose to live there.
This past year, war and loss became very personal. It became personal for everyone of us on October 7th. It has been a year of tears, a year of suffering, of blood shed, of horror and loss. The noted Israeli Philosopher Micha Goodman has said that 2023 has been the worst year in the entire history of Israel.
If you are Israeli, I have been told, you were raised to believe two things as surely as the belief in gravity or thatthe sun will rise in the morning; that the State of Israel was founded to prevent a pogrom or a Holocaust from ever happening again, and that the Israeli army would make sure that Jews would never again know the kind of helpless vulnerability that the Jews of Kishinev, or Warsaw or Baghdad once felt. Powerless in the face of killers and bloodthirsty mobs.
The Israeli Declaration of Independence declared in 1948 that we will pursue peace with our neighbors but we know how to defend ourselves. And still fresh in our memory, as we have just observed the anniversary of October 7th, the day not called in Israel Sheevah October, which means October 7 th , but Shiva October, acknowledging death and mourning, on Shivah October, helpless unarmed Jews were slaughtered in a modern recreation of Kishinev and Baghdad and the killing fields of the Shoah, men and women were shot and killed, blown to fragments by grenades rolled in to their small rooms. Women raped and killed, some murdered while still in the act of being violated. Young people dancing at a music festival were slain with no one to help them, no one
to respond to their screams and the army did not come to protect them as they had been assured from birth. A pogrom happened in a place that had promised: No pogroms ever again.
Some years ago, Ricki and I visited K’far Azza, then a beautiful kibbutz near the Gaza Border. Today it is marked by the thousands of bullet holes and the depressions left by grenades into the sleeping quarters of teenagers, sleeping quarters that looked like our children’s summer camp cabins. On the grounds of the Kibbutz today, one can see the ruined and crumbling sukkah huts that are still standing as they were a year ago, on the 7th day of October, 2023.
The war that began in response to the pogrom of October 7th has now become the longest war in the history of the State of Israel. Bloody and terrible. Israelis and Palestinians have suffered greatly. In the efforts to remove the possibility of another such pogrom, the Israeli army has striven to protect the borders and remove the leadership and the capability of Hamas and now Hezbollah as well. The displacement of thousands of Israelis and Palestinians. The horrific loss of Palestinian lives; their children, their elderly, generations of possibility destroyed. The sickening loss of Israeli lives, and hostages still in captivity. And we grieve every suffering and every loss of innocent life.
In one synagogue in Jerusalem, every returning soldier is asked, “for what do you pray? And they respond, “peace.” “I pray only for peace.” We are the people of hope, The Hebrew word for Jew—yehudi—is from the word to give thanks. Our very name is imbued with gratitude, hope, and search.
In January, Rula Daood, a Palestinian Israeli citizen, spoke at a rally calling for peace, cease-fire and a hostage deal. She said:
I am a Palestinian, and I am also an Israeli . . .
I feel all the pain of this land.
I understand all of the eulogies.
Those that are said in Hebrew and those that are said in Arabic.
And I also know all of the dreams.
Here and there, the vast majority want quiet.
Here and there, the vast majority want their children to go to sleep without fear.
Here and there, the vast majority want to know
that also on the other side, they feel the same.
At a similar rally in December, Sally Abed, a Palestinian journalist and peace activist who is married to a Jewish Israeli peace activist, said the following:
I truly hope we’ll come out of the place we are in
Stronger and more hopeful.
Hope is something we create.
Hope is our belief in our ability to change things.
Together we are powerful.
We can come together . . .
We need to go out, to be angry, and not just be hurt --
Be angry about this reality . . .
Here and now we will start to imagine a better future. . .
The distinguished rabbi of Temple Israel in Cape Town, South Africa, Rabbi Emma Gottlieb (whom I have known for all of her life…let us call her Rabbi Gottlieb, the Younger) shared a teaching from Yehudah Kurtzer, of the Shalom Hartman Institute:
She teaches that Kurtzer reminds us that memory is different to history.
In his book, Shuvah, he argues that “history informs, while memory obligates. Memory,” he
explains, “is the technology that we use, sometimes consciously and sometimes
unconsciously, to assimilate the past into our present and our future. . .
The way that we derive meaning selectively from events in our past will shape how we act and
(will) shape our values. . .
So what are we supposed to do about an event like October 7th,” Kurtzer asks, “which didn't take
place 3000 years ago, or even two generations ago, but just a year ago?
And what about the fact that we're not yet at a place where there was an event and an
aftermath? It's more like we are still in some ways inhabiting the original event.
If memory creates obligation (as opposed to blame),”
he suggests, and “if memory forms identity (in positive ways), then it (can be) a really powerful
tool.”
Rabbi Gottlieb the Younger continues: “I wonder: How much distance do we need from a loss? How much time, before our memories lose the sting of grief, anger, despair and regret, and can start to become instructive in positive and productive ways…?”
This morning, I want to suggest that there are several positive and productive ways to fulfill our obligation to our brothers and sisters, our sons and daughters and grandchildren, our aunts and uncles and cousins, and our friends…and their brothers and sisters, sons and daughters…who have chosen to settle in the Land—to ensure their settlement and security, and to help them imagine and realize a better future—and that all of these components are necessary, and eminently doable from right here in this northern outpost of the Diaspora.
First, informed advocacy on behalf of Israel.
We cannot be supporters of Israel unless we are informed about her situation. We need to be much more conversant about life in Israel, the social, political, religious and economic challenges that Israel faces as a society, the Israel-Gaza war and the Israeli-Palestinian peace process, the challenges to Israel’s democratic and pluralistic character, the way in which her government is structured, Israel’s place in the larger theatre of Middle East politics and international security, and the specific relationships—social, political, religious and economic, between Israel and the Diaspora, between Israeli and Diaspora Jewry. We need to know the names of her cities and where to find them on the map. We need to know the names of her leaders, and how her political system
works (though, these days, some might say that only God knows…)
As individuals, we can and should be reading about Israel in local and national media. We should read at least one Israeli newspaper regularly (English language versions are available on-line). And we should check out recent books and publications about Israeli society, culture and politics, either on-line or whenever we go to a bookstore. As a congregation, we should, and we will, bring speakers and informative programming to our member families and establish links to sister-congregations and agencies in Israel that are worthy and badly in need of our support.
We can and must advocate for Israel in the community-at-large, especially in this moment. Beginning with our friends and neighbours, talk about Israel and her situation and give them information they might not otherwise have. Monitor local and national media, and write letters to the editor when you feel that Israel’s interests are not being fairly represented. Support our kids on their university campuses, where anti-Semitism and anti-Israel activity continues to be rampant and misinformation is spread.
This does not mean that you have to support the policies or actions of the current Israeli government, and I am not suggesting that you need to do so. It does not mean that you have to prefer a two-state solution to a one- state solution, though I certainly do, or to support expansion of the settlements or the move away from democracy toward theocracy, which I certainly do not! Advocacy simply requires that you believe in Israel’s right to exist as a Jewish State whose citizens will determine her future while living peacefully with her neighbors and securely on the Land, and with whom Diaspora Jewry can partner to strengthen our own communities while advancing the State as an exemplar of Jewish values. And advocacy means speaking up, without fear or equivocation.
Second, financial support through charitable donations, investments and “buying Israeli”.
Israel is a country that has been in a state of war since her inception. The strain on her economy is tremendous, and social welfare programs often fall victim to insufficient resources. The needs of Israel’s poor and elderly, her religious and educational institutions are often passed over by government, only to be met by the private and charitable sectors and by philanthropists from Jewish communities in the Diaspora. You can help. At least one Israeli charity should be among those you support annually. I would be happy to talk with you directly to help you identify worthy causes in need of support and how to reach them with your donations.
For those who, even in a difficult economy, have active investment portfolios, you can and should include investments in Israeli projects and corporations. And just like we buy “made in Canada” products to support our national economy, we can be on the lookout to “buy Israeli” in order to support Israel’s economy as well. And when we know of someone who is travelling to Israel, we can give them a little extra “spending money” to drop while they are there. Israel’s shopkeepers and manufacturers, and their children and their parents will thank you.
Third, support of Israel through Zionist affiliation and support of the Israel Movement for Progressive Judaism.
We should all be members of a Zionist organization. We should stand up and be counted among those who support Israel. Zionism is not a dirty word. Zionism is not racism, even if racists and bigots and anti-Semites in the United Nations say it is. It is not a dirty word, even if some in the Jewish community have disdain for it. You know, there is an old Jewish joke that a Zionist is a person who gives some money so that the child of some other Zionist can make aliyah…but it is not that, either.
Zionism is, in its variant forms, a philosophy, a religious movement, a political ideology. For some, it is simply to be a lover of Israel. I am proud to be a Zionist. Eretz Yisrael—The Land of Israel—is an integral part of my Jewish identity and my being, as it has been central to Jewish identity and Jewish theology, literally, from our genesis (or at least from our Exodus). And it has been so, even through the thousands of years when there was no Medinat Yisrael—no State of Israel—whose politics, policies and achievements sometimes enhance my Zionist feelings, and at other times present me with difficult challenges. Nevertheless, I want people to know that I am a Zionist, an unabashed lover and supporter of Israel and her people. That is why I am a member of a
Zionist organization—ARZA-Canada.
ARZA-Canada is our Canadian Reform Zionist organization. It is dedicated to educating our community about the complex reality in Israel and presenting it in a balanced and nuanced way. ARZA-Canada has a vision of what Israel can become and is dedicated to work towards that ideal. To fulfill the prophetic vision of the state of Israel, ARZA Canada works to ensure that Israel provides justice and democracy for all its inhabitants.
If you are not a member of ARZA-Canada, you should be. Especially this year, when there will be a World Zionist Congress taking place in Jerusalem. The make-up of the Canadian delegation to the Congress is based on the number of members of each of the Canadian Zionist Organizations. It is essential that ARZA-Canada’s membership be strong, and that the voice of Reform Zionism is strong in the Canadian delegation, since the Congress provides financial support for our Movement in Israel and for education in the Diaspora.
That is why I stood for election to the Canadian delegation of the World Zionist Congress when I lived in Toronto, and why I was proud to have been elected as one of Canada’s 21 delegates. And that is why I am asking you to stand up and be counted. You can join ARZA-Canada on their website or by contacting the City Shul office.
Zionist affiliation, however, is not enough. As a Progressive Jew, you should also be a supporter of the Israel Movement for Progressive Judaism.
As we know, the current Israeli government is totally dependent upon the Ultra-Orthodox bloc for its survival, and the move toward theocracy can be seen in increased segregation in public spaces and on public transit, in the determination of marriage and funeral eligibility, adoption, military service and the like, expansion in the territories, the continued war effort, and in the attempt to weaken the institutions of civil law. Though it has fallen away from our memory, it was only one year ago, days before the atrocities of October 7 th , that Israelis took to the streets to protest measures that would further these and other theocratic moves. The Israel Religious Action Centre, the Progressive Movement’s social justice arm, together with Rabbi Gilad Kariv, the first Progressive rabbi to sit as a Member of Knesset, have been in the forefront of the battle against Orthodox hegemony, but the battle continues.
and Fourth, regular (and frequent) travel to Israel.
One can only know Israel after setting foot on her soil. One can only know Israelis and understand their lives and partner with them by meeting them on their own turf. One can only feel “at home” in Israel by “going home” to Israel, even it is only for a short stay.
I believe that it is a religious obligation of every Jew, especially those of us who have chosen not to live in the Land, to visit Israel. In ancient days, those who lived outside the Land made pilgrimage to Eretz Yisrael at Sukkot, Pesach or Shavuot. It was their ideal to make that pilgrimage as often as possible, but at least once in their lifetime. Surely it should be our ideal to do no less. Programs like Birthright were established to ensure that our high school and college-age children and our young adults would carry out this ideal, have this experience and fulfill this obligation. And programs like Sar-El make it possible for adults of all ages to travel to Israel and volunteer on military bases, freeing Israelis from their miluim (Reserve Duty), and to travel throughout the Land.
If you have never visited Israel, this is the year to go. If you have visited Israel before, this is the year to go. As crazy as it might seem, this is the year to go. Our People are suffering, grieving and in mourning. And what do we do when our friends are suffering, grieving and mourning—we visit! So go to The Land, and see it from west to east, north to south—yamah, v’kedmah, tzafonah, v’negbah—the Mediterranean Sea to the Sea of Gallilee, Rosh HaNikra to Eilat. And of course, spend time in Jerusalem, Israel’s heart and her treasure. These are the things we can do, and we must do, as inheritors of the mantle of Reuben, Gad and the half-tribe of Dan. To fulfill the obligations Moses placed upon them, and upon all of us who have chosen to live on this side of
the Jordan river. Only then “shall we be clear before Adonai and before Israel.”
May this year be one in which we strive to achieve such clarity.
Ken Yihi Ratzon
Horror, and Anger, and Heartbreak
I may not know how you’ve suffered this past year, but I know that you have suffered.
Horror came first. One year ago, Hamas slaughtered and kidnapped innocents. Jews and allies were shocked and moved quickly to mobilize support. Horror also came about the loss of life that followed.
Then came BOTH horror and Anger at the rise of antisemitism. It did for me, at least. In late October last year I watched an anti-Israel protest in downtown Toronto mutate into antisemitism within the space of half an hour. A group of 50 anti-Israel protesters had assembled outside the office of Chrystia Freeland at 344 Bloor Street West. The protesters shouted that Israel is an agent of genocide and held out red paint-streaked dolls at passersby. No one from Freeland’s office came out to talk to them, so police told the protesters to move along.
They turned east and walked the half block to Bloor and Spadina, where the Miles Nadal Jewish Community Centre is. Members of the JCC in workout gear, including me, and children holding hands with their caregivers were heading towards the front doors.
The protesters stopped outside the JCC and resumed shouting that Israel was an agent of genocide.
“You are an anti-Israel protest,” I said to the woman with the megaphone. “This is a Jewish community centre. What are you saying to the Jewish people?” She looked blankly at me, turned away and resumed shouting.
We all know stories of the protests, the encampment and the hatred. Friends of my daughter took their mezuzah off their door. Jewish businesses have been attacked, reminding us of Kristallnacht in 1938. And sometimes friends have said things that shocked and hurt. This summer a very close friend of mine for over 30 years asked me, in all seriousness,
Why, after the Holocaust, did the Jews have to go to Israel to found a Jewish state? Couldn’t Germany, she said, have been them some land as reparations?
I may not know how you’ve suffered this past year, but I know that you have suffered.
Horror, and Anger, and then Heartbreak
–heartbreak at how the Jewish community in Toronto has suffered from without and from within. Many of us don’t want to give our opinions at all. Some of us are shouting others down.
A rabbi of a thousand-member synagogue told his members not to discuss the war in public. A modern Orthodox synagogue in North Toronto held a real-estate sale of contested Israeli settlement land. On the other hand, a liberal Toronto synagogue has split into two passionate factions that cannot find common ground.
First Horror, and then Anger, then Heartbreak, and now maybe Hope.
This past Saturday night, City Shul held an observance of Oct. 7 at the Wolfond Centre on the University of Toronto campus. Earlier in the day anti-Israel protests had choked the intersection in between the Wolfond and my house. Inside the Wolfond there were maybe 30 City Shul members. Rabbi Gottlieb led us in reflection, singing and prayer. Then he invited us all to talk about how we were feeling. Remember, he said, we are here to listen to one another. We are not here to change anyone’s mind.
We talked, we listened, we thought, and we cried. At the end of the evening we had all learned something. And of course, of course, we were still one synagogue.
Because we at City Shul believe that the complexity of Judaism is a holy thing.
This is how we help. This is how we help Jews like you who may also believe that the complexity of Judaism is a holy thing. In the past year many of you have craved the community that City Shul provides, and the safe space in whatever way you need.
Now we need you.
City Shul members have the choice of what to contribute for membership dues according to their means. We sell High Holiday tickets at what we think is a fair price. But tonight, look in your heart, and think about what City Shul provides for you and the people around you. And what a precious thing it is to believe, in this tension-filled time, that the complexity of Judaism is a holy thing.
City Shul is here for you. Be here for us.
It is astonishing to me that Hillel’s words of two thousand years ago are still so relevant today:
If I am not for myself, who will be for me? And being only for
myself, what am I? And if not now, when?
Your Kol Nidre ticket doubles as a pledge form. Please fold down a tab on the ticket to make the donation of your choice and hand it to members of the Leadership Team passing through the aisles.
Thank you, and g’mar tov.
Barbara Wade Rose
President, City Shul
