Watch, Listen, Learn

Even as the fires burn, let us hold on another, give voice to what we have lost, and turn toward what remains.

How did Joseph, a man hardened by one life experience after the next, soften his heart to forgive his brothers?  A remarkable midrash imagines a conversation between Joseph and Benjamin that changes everything.  Ten names and all the worlds of meaning, of missing, of memory they contain.

What is Joseph’s legacy? And what can we learn from the character with the most costume changes in all of the Torah?

Jacob tried to flee from his estranged brother. Did he fear more the battle, or the potential reconciliation? What happens when victimhood is built into our self-definition? What do we lose when we stay at the table, and what might we gain? What will it take for us to understand that there is no future until we see one another?

There is a teaching in Pirkei Avot that says that the mouth of the well was made during the first Shabbat of creation. We have long accepted it to be Miriam’s well, but what if it’s the well from this week’s parsha – the one Jacob encounters after his dream, and where he meets Rachel for the first time? If it’s that well, then maybe we, like Jacob, have to find the well, roll off the stone, and discover what exists underneath.

Who is Isaac?  The man perpetually trapped by his father’s story, still bound to the altar, forever defined by the core trauma of his life.  What will it take to break free?  For the once bound to become unbound?

After a life of heartache, two estranged brothers affirmed each other’s humanity, and rediscovered their own. We, too, can make that choice. Let us push back on the encroaching darkness as a force for good—a light force—that counters the cruelty, racism, and violence poisoning our culture with compassion, tender presence, and forgiveness. This is what solidarity looks like.

Loving your neighbor, who is like you, whose identity you share, is not enough.  You must stretch the boundaries of love to wrap into its embrace the stranger, the people in our society who are furthest away from power.  To counter the frenzy of rhetoric and the aspirations of policy that demonize these human beings, we need to love them fiercely.  We need to love them fully.

One day our dreams will be realized. Just not today. And not tomorrow. And maybe not for many years. But just as hope doesn’t die, dreams don’t die.

There’s an eerie resonance between the Noah narrative and this week.  What does Noah’s Flood teach us about navigating chaos and coming once more to land?

After the death of a beloved child in our community to suicide, we reaffirm our commitment to combatting shame with tenderhearted love, to meeting one another in the dark, to never giving up on each other. May Benjamin Ellis’s memory be a blessing.

Sukkot reflects our people’s ancient narrative, balancing the transience of a wandering nation and the fragility of life with our yearning for home and the Eternal Divine. How does our tradition compel us to relate to those who yearn for home, but who are left to wander?

There is a dominant story in America today—a story of isolation, alienation, and narrow-minded extremism, fueled by a deeply unsettling convergence of right- and left-wing antisemitism. This story—propagated by a would-be authoritarian—plays on our worst instincts: the smallness, the fear, the ever-present sense of scarcity. And it threatens to do untold damage. We must write something new.

The only way forward is one broken heart next to another, crying together, awakening to the reality that grief is our common bond.

The Torah of Joy, and the Power, Promise, and Necessity of Laughter in Dark Times. | Rosh Hashanah II 5785

Hope doesn’t die, and despair is a privilege we cannot afford. | Rosh Hashanah I 5785

What can returning to a place surface for us? And what does our tradition show us can come from that journey? | Erev Rosh Hashanah 5785

As we prepare for the High Holy Days, what difficult things do you need to say to God?  Covenantal relationship must be able to hold it all.  The anger and the disappointment, the heartbreak and the rebuke.

We say Psalm 27 100 times in the High Holyday season. Why?

Six beloved hostages were executed in a tunnel beneath Rafah, leaving behind broken-hearted loved ones and a shattered nation. We must be clear about who is responsible.

At this time of year in our Jewish calendar, we are in a season of second chances. We are reading Moshe’s retelling of the people’s journey through the desert in Deuteronomy, and we are about to enter into the month of Elul, the month of spiritual preparation for the High Holy Days. It is also the moment when Moshe went back up the mountain to get the second set of tablets – the ultimate story of second chances. We are about to start our own month of reflection and repair – let’s see what we can do.

Water is not only a building block of life, but also of culture. How we receive water shapes our consciousness and has the potential to remind us of the ultimate truth of our existence: we are always, and inevitably, dependent…

An extraordinary rabbinic story re-imagines the final conversation between Moses and God, exploring core questions foundational to the human experience. What happens in the moment of death? And, what peace can be found when learning to let go?

Some years, the mourning and reflection of Tisha b’Av can feel performative. This year, it will be deeply personal. Even as we approach the abyss, we must remember the redemptive vision planted deep within our souls.