Calf – עֵ֣גֶל – Eigel
This he took from them and cast in a mold, and made it into a molten calf. Exodus 32:4

It may be the most infamous barn animal in history and certainly in the Torah … the golden Calf – עֵ֣גֶל – Eigel.  Moses ascends the mountain to draft the terms of the covenant on a couple of stone tablets. The people feel alone and isolated in the wilderness. Overcome with worry and anxiety, they turned to a familiar symbol … a golden Calf – עֵ֣גֶל – Eigel. They felt abandoned by their deity, so they turned (back) to another. (Even though the other deity had enslaved them for centuries.)

Why a Calf – עֵ֣גֶל – Eigel? We are told or we assume that it was god to the Egyptians .. but why? Why not a full grown cow? What am I missing about the regal nature, grace and majesty nature of the Calf – עֵ֣גֶל – Eigel that makes it worthy for godhood? Seriously, have you ever heard those descriptions associated with a calf?

When I think about it, the calf was probably pretty common and mundane to the life lived lived by the Israelites in Egypt. It was a creature (and others like it) who were part of the everyday fabric of their existence … the thing they turned to in a moment of crisis, the item they chose to fill the god-shaped hole that consumed them in the wilderness was something common and easily accessible. It was something that in and of itself was not not negative or destructive. In fact it provided essential and necessary elements to their lives. The Calf – עֵ֣גֶל – Eigel was also something of which they could make an idol – something that would stand in the way between them and authentic divinity.

We are not building gold calves theses days.  However, it seems to me that thousands of years after this story was first told, it still points us to acknowledge an important human struggle. Identifying and committing ourselves to what is authentically divine and vigilantly paying attention that our attitudes, choices and actions do create obstacles that keep us estranged from from that which is ultimate and essential.

Heavy – כָּבְדוּ – Kavdu

Now Israel’s eyes were dim with age (Genesis 48:10).

The end of the book of Genesis is also the end of Jacob’s life. We are told that he (Israel) cannot see. The word the Hebrew uses is Kavdu – כָּבְדוּ or Heavy … his eyes were heavy, weighed down by age. What makes our sight or vision heavy? Perhaps it is the double edged sword of experience. As we grow, age and live our lives we find ourselves learning from every encounter and endeavor. We use this accumulation of experiences to formulate our ideas of how the world works and what to expect of it.

Whether it be personally or professionally, we need this studied accumulation to navigate the world, to sustain ourselves and continue to thrive. We are aided by having a good perspective of what to expect and how to react in familiar situations and with different personalities. This kind of approach lightens the ways in which we view the world.

Sometimes, these accumulated experiences weigh down our sight. The weight of what we think we know darkens our vision. When our vision becomes heavy – כָּבְדוּ – Kavdu with age — we do not allow room for wonder or we enslave people in our expectations of how they will act. Instead of cultivating wisdom and wonder, we engage the world with cynicism and skepticism.

Since Father Time is undefeated, we must consider the ways we maintain the clarity of our sight – whether it is what we see with our eyes, our minds or our hearts.

“Any immigrant who lives with you must be treated as if they were one of your citizens. You must love them as yourself, because you were immigrants in the land of Egypt; I am the Lord your God.” (Leviticus 19:34)

2,059 miles.

2,059 miles is the distance Google Maps says it is from my previous home in Miami Shores, FL to my current apartment in downtown Denver. My wife, Alicia, and I moved from Florida to Colorado this past summer so that I could serve as the Lead Pastor of Park Hill UMC. This cross-Conference appointment required us to move across the country; it was a relatively easy move and transition. It was a move not unlike millions of people make at some point in their lives.

643 miles. 1,125 miles. These are the miles respectively that Google Maps says it is to the Mexican border cities of Ciuad Juarez and Tijauna from downtown Denver. My wife and I traveled much further than anyone hailing from or traveling through these cities to reach Denver and all that our great city offers. Yet, despite this large discrepancy in distance traveled, because of where my wife and I were born, in the eyes of the United States government, our move is deemed legal and likely drew very little attention from federal authorities perhaps besides the postal service when we updated our address and recently the IRS when we filed our taxes. We were born in the United States.

Many people seeking to travel to and perhaps live in the United States through various ways in Mexico were not born in the United States. As such, if they make the journey and enter our country without prior permission from the proper authorities they are deemed to have committed a criminal act.

This hit home for me while I was attending the Western Jurisdiction’s Immigration Task Force training earlier in April in Los Angeles. We kept hearing stories about people migrating to the US. I couldn’t help but think of my own recent migration. We had been listening to several individuals share their stories of how they had made the dangerous journey by foot, train, and other means from Central American countries through Mexico and to the United States only to be detained once they entered the United States.

Their stories were powerful, painful, and sobering, but unfortunately their stories aren’t unique. In fact, I’ve heard these stories before. After all, I serve as the Lead Pastor of Park Hill UMC. For almost nine months, we have partnered with our friends at Temple Micah (whom we share a building), to offer our space as sanctuary to Araceli Velazquez. Araceli traveled from El Salvador, making the roughly 1,500 mile journey to McAllen, Texas many others have made and continue to make to seek asylum, to seek refuge, to seek help here in the United States. She was granted it temporarily until this past summer when her asylum case was denied. Since August, she has lived in the basement of Park Hill and Temple Micah in large part because she migrated to the United States for a better life, but wasn’t born here, while I migrated within the United States and have freely lived my life because I was born here.

I am fairly new to the realm of immigration work and the various implications of such. As I tell my church and larger community, we are all learning as we go. I readily admit that. I understand that laws, rules, and order are important.

However, I am not new to the love and justice that God calls us as Christians to practice. I also know that we are called to be followers and participants of God’s family and ways above and before those of others. The passage quoted above from Leviticus is one of many throughout the Bible of God’s imperative and example that we are called to love those labeled as immigrants, aliens, and outsiders as if they are one of us. By offering sanctuary to Araceli and welcoming her husband Jorge and their sons, Jorge Jr., Christopher, and Kevin, we at Park Hill UMC are trying each day to live in this manner.

Araceli, others in sanctuary, and thousands of others seeking help in and through our country need your help. First, pray. Pray for all those people seeking the same life you and I are fortunate enough to experience every day, challenges and all. If you are in the Metro Denver area, we at Park Hill and Temple Micah can always use more volunteers to help in several different ways with our sanctuary efforts with and for Araceli. You can learn more about the help that is needed by following this link: https://www.sanctuary-phumc-micah.com/volunteer.

Finally, wherever you may call home today, from wherever you might have come, but especially if you call Colorado your home, I invite you to sign the People’s Resolution. Araceli has joined the other three strong women in Colorado currently living in sanctuary, Ingrid, Sandra, and Rosa to create a resolution that asks our elected officials to help create a path for each of them and others to citizenship. You can follow the link below to read their stories, read the resolution, sign it, and take action on it. http://www.peoplesresolution.org/

I offer a special thank you to my clergy colleagues the Rev. Angie Kotzmoyer and Rabbi Adam Morris whom help our communities to live this life of love each day and to the Rev. Dr. Eric Smith, my predecessor at Park Hill UMC, who led in this work before my own migration to Denver.

No matter how many miles we have traveled to call the Mountain Sky Area our home, God loves us and implores each of us to share that love with all people no matter where they were born, what language they speak, or what borders they may have crossed whether they were in compliance with our countries laws or not. We are called to love. Love as if they are a part of us. Love as our God loves them and us as God loves us all. May we all continue to strive to do so. May all people know that they are indeed a part of us. May we know it too.

Grace and peace,

Rev. Nathan P. Adams

Tears for Gaza … Tears for Israel
by Dalia Landau

Israel is the reality I have known since early childhood. She is my home and my mother.

At this time we are approaching Memorial Day -Yom Hazikaron-when we remember and mourn all those fallen during the wars for the creation of Israel, including attacks on Israeli civilians.

These severe wounds are fresh in the collective memory. On Yom Hazikaron at 11am, the graveyards are filled with tens of thousands of bereaved families. Mostly the fallen were young. And we all know there will be more families here next year.

This is our darkest day.

Tears for Israel who has been fighting for her life for so long.

Growing up in Ramla, all of us at school participated both in the day of grief and in the celebrations of The Day of Independence when we walked in excitement along the crowded streets, knocking each other on the head with toy hammers. In all of this, I used to feel a bit lost. There always seemed to me to be some question hanging in the air, an emptiness.. what was it? What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I just blend with the crowd?

Some years later, I began to see, the other side. I began to see that the sadness that was included for me in that most joyful of days, an emptiness that wished to be filled with a true joy, depended on the well being of those who did not participate in our joy.

What is happening on the Gaza border has shaken me to the core. Violent resistance is comparatively easy for Israel to deal with–force encountering greater force, but a relatively peaceful demonstration as was on Friday the 30th of March is much more threatening, especially when the title of the demonstrations is ‘Al Awda’–The Return. This might not have been the provocative title of the demonstrations had Gaza not been to all purposes a prison. And the prisoners say, ‘you are celebrating your independence, your prosperity your success, your 70 years of democracy whilst we are here in an economic siege without the most basic necessities or possibilities, four hours a day of electricity no clean water no employment no airport no seaport no freedom of movement. We do not have an horizon to aspire to’.  Can human beings live without aspiration?

Israel is by no means the only one responsible for this dire situation. The cruel dictatorship of Hamas internally, and its declared intentions of destroying the State of Israel are nothing new. Its use of international resources meant for civilian infrastructure for militarization and tunnels help no one. And most importantly the presence of Iran in Gaza and Syria and the link between them. There is no doubt that many young people in Gaza would find a sense of purpose, a sense of meaning to live and die for ‘The Return’ but the majority are silent victims of their own fundamentalist theocracy. How can Israel afford to do away with the blockade when Gaza would certainly become an arsenal for Iran, another fundamentalist theocracy, which buys weapons from North Korea?

What to do in this deadlock?

Empathy for ‘the enemy’ is unpopular. It is considered by many on both sides as betrayal of the national cause. It is as if to say that in a time of crisis we need to be in solidarity with our own country no matter what, especially when the world criticizes us. Therefore empathy is not encouraged or taught. On the contrary.

One observes this and feels helpless. Where to go from here?

‘A conflict cannot be resolved on the same level of consciousness in which it occurs’, observed Albert Einstein.

What I understand from his words is that when consciousness broadens, life changes.

It is a journey of a life time..

Listen to Rabbi Mo’s High Holiday sermons (through links here or search ‘Micahcast’ on Apple Podcasts):

• Erev Rosh Hashanah – Taking Up Space
• Rosh Hashanah Morning – Breath. Light. Dance.
• Kol Nidrei Conversation: Rabbi
• Yom Kippur Morning – Wrestling With Israel

Listen to Rabbi Mo speak with Jon Ekstrom in his podcast – Jon of All Trades – that seeks to learn more about the various professions in our world.

Have you ever found yourself in a dark, strange and frightening space (existential or physical) wondering/hoping that it is actually a dream from which you will wake up soon? This morning,  I keep hoping that the sound of the shofar might be that wake up call … waking me up from this bad dream I’ve been having since last November (November 8th to be exact).  I continually find myself in this dark, strange and frightening space.

 

Psychiatrist Viktor Frankl – whose life spanned the 20th century – studied, understood and taught others about finding ourselves in such spaces.  During World War II Dr. Frankl labored in four different concentration camps, including Auschwitz.  Based on his own experience and the experiences of others he treated later in his practice, Dr. Frankl wrote Man’s Search for Meaning.  In it he addressed the experience of finding oneself in precarious and dangerous moments.

 

Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.

 

I want to explore what it means to inhabit this peculiar kind of space.   What do we do when find ourselves caught and feeling paralyzed by a threat (stimulus) beyond our making or control?  How do we ever hope to overcome (respond) to such a mercurial and pernicious threat?  

 

Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.

 

Within the anxiety and fear of the moment, lies power, growth and ultimately freedom.  How do we stay present in this moment and begin to access these implausible gifts?  How do we meaningfully dwell amongst forces that seem to conspire against our well being?  How do we inhabit this kind of space?

 

First, we BREATHE.

 

I know that we are already breathing.  There is breathing and then there is breathing.  About twenty years ago I attended a workshop at which I learned something magical about breathing.  The presenter, an expert on brain function, was teaching us about the power of breath.  “The next time you find yourself in a forgetful moment, of a name or detail, stop trying hard to remember and simply take a few deep breaths … and the detail will come to mind.”  Twenty years later this magic still works.    

 

Countless scientific studies confirm this relationship between intentional breathing and its impact on our bodies, minds and spirits.  In one such publication, “The Healing Power of the Breath.” Dr. Patricia Gerbarg (assistant clinical professor of psychiatry at New York Medical College) and Dr. Richard Brown (associate clinical professor of psychiatry at Columbia University) reported upon the physiological impact of intentional breathing.   Consciously changing the way you breathe appears to send a signal to the brain to adjust the parasympathetic branch of the nervous system, which can slow heart rate and digestion and promote feelings of calm as well as the sympathetic system … what that all means is that: If you breathe correctly, your mind will calm down.  Dr. Brown testified,    “I have seen patients transformed by adopting regular breathing practices.”

 

Breathing not only impacts our physicality, but our spirituality, too.  Try an exercise with me.  Let us take the name our tradition gives to the Divine.  YHVH.  We do not know how to pronounce this name.  We have the consonants, but no vowels.  YHVH.  There have been countless guesses through the centuries — some you you know – Yahweh, Jehovah.  The exercise is to take just the consonants – YHVH and without trying to insert any vowels.  Just put those sounds together – YHVH.  For many or most of us what we uttered was the sound of breath or breeze.  Ruach … breath, spirit … the name of the Holy, the Sacred.  Rabbi Arthur Waskow calls this breath, this spirit “the interbreathing that connects all life”.  Our creation myth teaches is that it is the breath/ruach of the Divine that created the world.  When we take the time to intentionally breathe in a dark, strange and frightening space, we invoke the divine into that frightening moment/space.  We re-member ourselves as part of that which unites all life, that which is beyond us and within us.

We begin to purposefully inhabit the space between stimulus and response by finding calm and reminding ourselves of our ultimate connections. First, we BREATHE.

 

Next, we find or ignite the LIGHT.  

 

One of the darkest places I have ever been was in New Zealand.  In New Zealand there are underground caverns, carved out over the millennia by underground rivers.  We were in a boat with dozens of other people in one of these caverns to see the light.  For you see, parallel to the development of these caverns was the evolution of some of the creatures who dwelled in this dark space.  The worms developed the biological ability to create light in these dark spaces.  The glow worms even dwell in the ceiling of these caverns … giving the impression of not being in a dark, enclosed space … but looking up at bright, glowing stars in an endless, limitless sky.  

 

It may be fundamental to our wiring to be wary of the dark.  I believe it is also a fundamental drive within us to find or create light in that same darkness.  

 

When we find ourselves in a dark space, we may be confronted with both inclinations.  Former first lady Eleanor Roosevelt put it simply: “It is better to light a candle than curse the darkness.”  

 

Viktor Frankl, shared a story of such dark space and finding the light in a grey, dark moment while laboring in a concentration camp   …

“We were at work in a trench. The dawn was grey around us; grey was the sky above; grey the snow in the pale light of dawn; grey the rags in which my fellow prisoners were clad, and grey their faces. I was again conversing silently with my wife, or perhaps I was struggling to find the reason for my sufferings, my slow dying. In a last violent protest against the hopelessness of imminent death, I sensed my spirit piercing through the enveloping gloom. I felt it transcend that hopeless, meaningless world, and from somewhere I heard a victorious “Yes” in answer to my question of the existence of an ultimate purpose. At that moment a light was lit in a distant farmhouse, which stood on the horizon as if painted there, in the midst of the miserable grey of a dawning morning in Bavaria. “Et lux in tenebris lucet” — and the light shineth in the darkness.

 

As foreboding and frightening as the darkness may be … seeing, kindling or igniting some light in that darkness are the next steps in our surviving and ultimately creating a new reality.  We continue to purposefully inhabit the space between stimulus and response by igniting light in the darkness and uncovering the hope that is found in the light. First, we BREATHE. Next, we LIGHT.

 

Then, we DANCE.

 

For those that know me, you may be laughing at me.  Hearing me advocate dancing as an important component of a spiritual response to a dark, strange and frightening space may be more than slightly amusing.    I think, however, I can appreciate what happens when someone can and does let loose on the dance floor or bedroom carpet or kitchen tile.  There may be no more authentic moment when someone allows their body to move as it feels — without fear or awareness of judgment from any other source — fully trusting  oneself to ride the wave to where one’s gut or spirit may be taking them.  The experience of the literal dance, mirrors that of a more figurative dance.  What stronger more potent way can we inhabit a dark, strange and frightening space than to have the courage and resolve to be our true, dynamic selves.  The great sage, Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav taught his students exactly this principle:   “By means of dance one can transform the evil forces and nullify decrees.”

 

Rabbi Lawrence Kushner thought that his synagogue’s Simchat Torah celebration was pretty special … especially the joyous, raucous dancing with the Torah scrolls.    One year at this fabulous Simchat Torah celebration, we met a man who had recently immigrated from the Soviet Union.  He asked the man what he thought of their Simchat Torah celebration. To his surprise, the man said that while it was very beautiful, in Leningrad, Simchat Torah was better. Kushner was curious and a little insulted by his response.

 

“How is it better?” Kushner asked.

 

“In Leningrad,” He explained, “If you dance in front of the synagogue on Simchat Torah, you must assume that the secret police will photograph everyone. This means that you will be identified and sooner or later your employer will be notified. And since such a dance is considered anti-Soviet, you must be prepared to lose your job! So you see, to dance on such an occasion, this is a different kind of dance.”

 

Once we have breathed and are calm and centered, and have lit the light that illuminates the dark space … we must have the courage to dance our dance.  No matter what the outside forces of the world may be dictating to us … we must have the spiritual courage to give ourselves over fully and honestly to our essential nature, our whole being and engage in a sacred dance in the world.

 

We fully purposefully inhabit the space between stimulus and response by courageously and creatively allow our authentic selves and spirits to flourish and flow.  First, we BREATHE. Next, we LIGHT.  Then, we DANCE.

 

And here we are, still inhabiting that same space.   What might it look like — to Breathe. Light. Dance.

 

On one hand it may be quite literally … breathing, lighting and dancing.  We might take a few moments to intentionally breathe when we experience the frustration, anxiety or fear of these times in which we live.  We make take those few moments to breathe before we respond to that post or email or statement.  We might make sure that the lights in our lives are not only the television or screen that delivers us the news or commentary of this historical space, but the lights of creation – sun, moon and stars that feed us, inspire and ground us.  We might confront the sadness with the joy of music,  movement and celebration with people who love us unconditionally – no matter the precision or fluidity of our dance moves.

 

To breathe, light and dance in this historical moment may also go beyond the literal.  Perhaps we might be more intentional and disciplined about creating times in our busy lives for the rituals and practices – privately or communally that like breathing – calm us and ground us.  Perhaps we endeavor to keep the lights on as much as possible … in our words and demeanor, with what we watch, read or listen to … in shining the light on who and what is most valuable and important to us.   Perhaps we dance our authentic dance and speak truth to power; spend our time and money in ways that mirror our values and ideals; and with joy and hope help uplift those who feel threatened, hurt or alone.  

 

Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.

 

The call of the shofar will not awaken us from this or any bad dream.  That does not diminish its power.  May the shofar’s piercing and agitating sound, call us to respond to the dark, strange and frightening spaces in which we find ourselves.    May the call of the shofar inspire us to Breathe … to Light … to Dance.

 

Today, some in the Jewish world will observe Tisha B’Av … a day of mourning and lamentation … for all of the calamities that history and folklore attribute to this day in the Jewish story.   It’s meaning and relevance has waned for many Jews, your rabbi included.  However, this reflection (from Dr. Aryeh Cohen, professor of Rabbinics at the American Jewish University) on finding meaning in this day spoke to me … 

Tisha B’av Does Not Have A Happy Ending

Tisha B’av is not yom kippur. We are assured neither atonement nor redemption on Tisha B’av.

Tisha B’av is not the day that we beat our chests and promise to do better.

Tisha B’av is the day that we force ourselves to look into the heart of darkness, the darkness that we have created, the ways in which we are complicit in the evils of the world and we must be overwhelmed and distraught and paralyzed. There is no ray of hope on Tisha B’av.

Tisha B’av is the day of reckoning.

Tisha B’av is Isaiah standing in Jerusalem on the way to the Temple in sackcloth and ashes screaming that we are the heirs to Sodom and Gomorrah – that God is so sick of our worship service that the smell of the sweet incense nauseates her.

Tisha B’av is Isaiah standing outside the AME church in Charleston telling us, the nice right-minded liberal white community – God is sick of your weeping for dead black people. First wipe the blood off your hands. Your hands drip with the blood of slavery and slave profits.

Tisha B’av is Jeremiah standing at the checkpoint in Kalandia and outside the gates of Kiryat Arba telling all the the nice liberal Zionist American Jews – I am sick of your empathy and sympathy. Your handwringing and whining that there is no good solution. Your hands are dripping with blood. Jerusalem, the city in which once dwelt justice and righteousness is now the home to murderers.

Tisha B’av is not the day for the nostalgic fog of victimhood. We are the most powerful Jewish community that ever lived on the face of this planet and look what we have wrought.

Tisha B’av is Isaiah standing at the Women of the Wall Rosh Chodesh service screaming: you are protestinginequality while praying on the ruins of a Palestinian neighborhood destroyed by the Israeli army on the night they captured Jerusalem.

Tisha B’av does not have a happy ending.

On March 12, 2016 about 150 people from Temple Micah and Park Hill United Methodist Church gathered to learn more about the Sanctuary Movement.  We were moved by the urgency we feel in the current political climate to offer protection to those whose freedoms are threatened.  We listened to and asked questions of Jenn Piper from the Metro Denver Sanctuary Coalition; Chris Wheeler of First Unitarian Society of Denver (whose congregation is currently housing Jeanette Vizguerra) and Arturo Hernandez, who beginning in the fall of 2015 spent 9 months in Sanctuary at First Unitarian.  The meeting was positive, frank and thoughtful.  Pastor Smith and I came away feeling that our communities could continue to walk the path toward becoming a Sanctuary ourselves …

Pastor Smith received a call in late April from Jenn Piper, asking if we were ready to welcome someone into Sanctuary.   He told her that we were not.  On April 26, 2017, Arturo Hernandez was on his way to get tile to install on a job and detained by ICE agents.  Arturo was the reason for Jenn Piper’s call to us.

The inertia of living our lives is powerful.  The constant stream of information detailing potential or actual injustices overwhelms and even numbs us.  We must navigate the powerful pull and sway of these forces and continue to be present in our larger world.  We must choose to act in ways that – even in small measure – cultivate justice, compassion and peace in our world.

This week the Torah presents to us – an oasis in the textual desert of Leviticus – the Holiness Code.  We are commanded: BE HOLY!!  And as if the Author knew that the concept of the ‘holy’ is often misconstrued, the Torah lists some examples of what ‘holiness’ might entail…

• You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against your the people of your land.
• Do not place a stumbling block before the blind.  
• Do not curse the deaf.  
• Do not deal deceitfully or falsely with one another.  
• Do not render an unfair decision.  
• Do not favor the poor or show deference to the rich.  
• Judge your kinsman fairly.  
• Love your neighbor as yourself.  

… just to mention a few.  With all of the cursing, stumbling blocks, unfair judging (well, you get the idea) out there, we have plenty of opportunities to work on this ‘holiness’ of ours.  It is time to get to work.

I still believe that Temple Micah and PHUMC can honor and cultivate these values by becoming a Sanctuary for those undocumented souls who choose to walk the path of Civil Disobedience.  Volunteers from both of our communities are working hard to move along in this process.  In the coming weeks we will be working on the following aspects of this effort:

• Creating opportunities for our communities to learn, discern and discuss the various facets of the Sanctuary movement
• Evaluating and planning logistical issues around physically housing someone in our sacred space
• Providing each of our communities the opportunity to separately and formally sanction opening our shared sacred space as a Sanctuary to a soul in need.

Please keep your eyes and ears open for these opportunities to: learn more; ask tough, honest questions; get involved and add your voice to Temple Micah’s sanctioning discussion.  (Most likely culminating at our Annual Meeting on Wednesday, June 21st.)

The next time we we get the call to BE HOLY, we will be ready.

 

Dad, how come all dark-skinned people live in neighborhoods like this one?

My son, Dakota, innocently posed this question to me a few months ago.  Cody had a friend over after school.  As the time came for his friend to leave,  Cody and jumped in the car to take his friend home.  His neighborhood was not even a mile or so away, so it would be a short trip.  Distance wise, it is a short trip.  Just within the few blocks between our homes, the neighborhoods changed dramatically.  We left our idyllic, well-manicured confines of Stapleton to enter into the older, more desolate looking and feeling neighborhood of northeast Aurora.  Cody clearly noticed this stark difference between his friend’s neighborhood and his own.  And yes, Cody’s friend is African American.

As we drove away, Cody posed his question: Dad, how come all dark-skinned people live in neighborhoods like this one?

There was a lot to answer for in that short drive home.  I did my best to address the complexity of the question.  I tried to speak to the societal inequalities and injustices his question revealed.  I hoped to express the sympathy that was in my heart and the willingness I felt in that moment to make change.  (I am sure he stopped listening long before I was done speaking!)  And then we arrived at home, and soccer practice or homework or dinner called our attention and focus.  The reality Cody addressed had not changed and nor – do I believe – did my sincere thoughts and feelings about it.  But, I was back in my own community and facing its needs, demands and challenges.  There is only so much that I can do, so much that is my responsibility …

Even as I say those words, I do not fully believe them.

There is something happening in our country that is eating away at our societal core.  Even though our plates are full … even though it seems that the roots and impact of what is happening feel well beyond our realms of responsibility … Well, we, too, were strangers in the land of Egypt.  There are communities of people, who live houses, blocks, neighborhoods away from us, who do not have the same chance to live in the same kind of house, get the same kind of education, receive the same treatment by the law as you or me.  All because of the color of their skin.

What Cody saw that afternoon is a reality:

• In the United States, according to Federal Reserve’s 2013 survey of Consumer finances, White families hold 90% of the national wealth, Latino families hold 2.3%, and black families hold 2.6%.
• The median wealth for a single white woman in the US is $41,000, the median wealth for a black woman is $100. And for single Latinas it’s $120.
• According to the Pew Research Center, for the past 60 years, black unemployment has been twice as much a white unemployment.  
• In May of 2014 Atlantic magazine detailed a study that showed that blacks with college degrees are twice as likely to be unemployed as all other graduates.  
• The US Department of Education reported in 2014 that when all age groups are examined, black students are three times more likely to be suspended than white students, even when their infractions are similar.
• And once black children are in the criminal justice system, they are 18 times more likely than white children to be sentenced as adults.
• While blacks constitute 13% of the population of the United States, they make up 40% of the prison population.  

The opportunities, the possibilities the very realities that are available to us in this room this morning are not open to everyone who is part of our country, our state, our city … our very neighborhoods.  All because of the color of their skin.  

While our outrage may be genuine and our concern may be sincere, at the end of the day we still go back to our own communities and live our own lives … not seeing, any more, what outraged us or gave us cause for concern.

This morning’s Torah portion mirror this experience of ‘not seeing’ of ours.  We read the account of the people entering into a great social contract — offering opportunity and prosperity.  “You stand this day, ALL of you … your tribal heads, your elders and your officials, all the men of Israel, your children, your wives, even the stranger within your camp, from woodchopper to water drawer ….  it is the whole community, of Israel.”  It seemed like everybody was there, accounted for … part of this great covenantal contract.   However, it is not EVERYBODY.  It is just all of the Jews and a few others mixed in who also left Egypt.  However, In the setting of Deuteronomy there are numerous peoples living in that same land … Hittites, Amorites, Canaanites … Perizzites, Hivites and Jebusites.  They were there, but they were not seen by the authors of Torah, by the Israelites, by God.

They were not seen.  They did not count.  This menagerie of ‘ites’ did not get to be part of the promise of that covenantal contract.  Even though the Torah says ‘all of you’, it really did not mean ‘all of you.’   All did not mean all.

Torah mirrors our society today.  We feel as if we are part of a great societal covenant, that ‘all of us’ are in … but, there are Hittites, Amorites, Canaanites … Blacks, Hispanics, Muslims … who we do not see, who we do not include.  Are we comfortable living with the fact that ‘all’ does not mean ‘all.’  We have to begin to take responsibility for our place in this exclusion.  All must mean all.  

Responsibility?  Yes, responsibility.  Well, we, too, were strangers in the land of Egypt.  Wait, we have not intentionally voted for any politicians, supported any laws that would promote racism.   Most of us work hard to act kindly, fairly and respectfully when we have the chance to engage people of color. However, even though we do not act with intentional malice, it does not mean that we do not do damage.

There is a helpful, if not obscure, Talmudic concept of one’s responsibility for communal damage.  The Talmud categorizes this damage through the perspective of an owner of an oxen to the community:

• The keren or horn represents damage done with intent to harm.  (Think of an ox that attacks with its horns.)  
• The regel or leg represents damage done in the course of how the animal regularly behaves.  (Think of an animal that steps on a piece of pottery and broke it.)  
• The shain or tooth represents damage done while seeking pleasure.  (Think of an animal that ate someone else crops because of hunger or damaged a fence trying to scratch an itch.)

Let’s say that we can agree that in regard to damage done with an intent to harm – keren/horn – by us to the Black community, we can determine that we are not guilty.  What about the other categories?  Might there be things we do  – in the normal course of doing what we do – that beyond our awareness we never know how we impact an already difficult status quo of the Black community?

Rabbi Avi Killip, director of an educational organization called Project Zug, further elaborates on these categories of damage and this question of racial injustice:

… much of the damage caused by racism in America is not motivated by any hatred or anger; it just comes about through the way the system itself is set up. I may cause damage just by nature of how I walk in the world … When I go to the store to buy a shirt, I likely fail to notice that the salesperson immediately caters to my every need while the black woman next to me is ignored or maybe even followed around suspiciously. I am not trying to hurt anyone. I am just living my life, walking my walk … Most of the damage we do as white Americans is not out of malice to minorities, but in pursuit of bettering our own lives … These categories remind us that there are many ways to do damage. The intent doesn’t need to be malicious for the damage to be real … The Talmud categorizes harm in order to address fundamental questions: Who is responsible? Who is liable? And most importantly, how will we make it right?  It’s not enough to avoid intentional harm. We have to see ourselves as responsible, as liable, for our involvement in upholding, even benefiting from, a rigged and racist system. How will we make it right?”

What does making it right, look like?  I believe that making it right starts with us … trying to see beyond what we already think we see and know.  Even when doing so makes us uncomfortable, uncomfortable as thinking of Hittites or Jebusites or Amorites as Israelities.

Black Lives Matter recently made it uncomfortable — by aligning themselves with the Palestinian cause.  That alignment and the language they used to describe that alignment provoked many Jews.  But, even when that story or those who tell it provokes us we cannot stop listening, we cannot stop trying to see beyond ourselves.

Making it right begins with us beginning to see those whom we do not normally see … the Hittites, Amorites, Canaanites … Blacks, Hispanics, Muslims.  Making it right starts with realizing that we truly want All to mean All.

It is in the spirit of trying to see beyond ourselves and glimpse at this truth, I have invited our community to read and then take some time to reflect and discuss, Ta He-nasi Coates’ book, Between the World and Me.  The book is a series of essays written by Mr. Coates as a letter to his son.  He confronts the notion of race in America and how it has shaped American history, many times at the cost of black bodies and lives.  Mr Coates beautiful writing that pulls no punches feels to me like a compelling way for us to begin.  As to the ways he might provoke or challenge us, I think his owns words to his son offer us good counsel:

I drew great joy from the study, from the struggle toward which I now urge you … the struggle and rupture has made me several times over  … The changes have awarded me a rapture that comes only when you can no longer be lied to … the changes have taught me how best exploit that singular gift of study, to question what I see, then to question what I see after that, because the questions matter as much, perhaps more than, the answers.

I urge you – whether you come to reflect and discuss communally or not – to begin this process of seeing beyond what we already think we see, to study, to question and to keep on questioning.

Dad, how come all dark-skinned people live in neighborhoods like this one?

I want there to come a day when there is no need for sons or daughters to ask mothers or fathers such questions.  And why it may not be my grandchildren whose world has no need ask questions, perhaps my great-grandchildren … but only if we begin the work today.  The work of frankly confronting the inequalities and injustices in our world.  The work of seeing everybody in our community – not just those who look like us.  The work of understanding, intending and living that when we All Stand Together that when we say ‘All’,  ‘All means All’ … and even when we might say or sing ‘We’, We will mean We’

 

? We shall overcome,

We shall overcome,

We shall overcome, some day.

Oh, deep in my heart,

I do believe

We shall overcome, some day. ?

 

I am going to blame it in the Muslims.  It is the all the Muslims fault.

I had every intention of not taking this sacred time of mine – that you entrust to me – to talk about the political season, the election.  Knowing when the New Year would fall this year, knowing that the election season would be approaching a crescendo … I knew that I had a choice to make.  I don’t make it a practice regularly speak to you on politics.  I do so when I believe that addressing a spiritual aspect of whatever is happening is needed.  I do so when I believe that I feel I need to add something to the societal conversation. I do so when I believe that there is a concern, a fear or a loss or anxiety that we as a community need acknowledged.  After serious consideration, I did not think I had anything to add to this conversation – a lot of thoughtful, intelligent people have been contributing plenty already.  I did not think that our community needed any help finding clarity or perspective on the nature of this political season.

And then, along came the Muslims …

One week ago yesterday, on Sunday morning, I found myself at Masjid Taqwa – the Northeast Denver Islamic Center here in North Park Hill.  I was there at the invitation of my colleague Imam Abdur Rahim Ali.  Congressman Keith Ellison, the first Muslim elected to congress, was in town to meet with some Denver Muslim community leaders.  Imam Ali invited me and a handful of other non-Muslim colleagues to sit in on the meeting.  I listened a lot.  Congressman Ellison spoke about the importance of getting out the vote.  He did not endorse or push the Democratic candidate, but simply appealed to Muslim values and the need to respond to the prejudice, anger and hatred directed at his community during the election.  Those leaders in attendance listened, too … and then talked about their challenges and hopes in leading their communities to stand up and participate at this crucial moment in our country’s history.

I was one of only a handful of non-Muslims in the room.  I was only one of two white skinned people in the room. I was the only Jew in the room.  And yet, I felt very much at home.   I was moved by the congressman’s eloquence and passion.  I was humbled by the array of leaders in the room.  Here were people – perhaps with different titles or different ways to name the organizations they led – seeking the exact same things that we would seek and fight for, too.

The Muslims at Masjid Taqwa inspired me.  I was inspired by the simple clarity of the Congressman’s ‘get out and be heard’ message of empowerment.  I was inspired by the palpable sense in the room that these individuals seemed buoyed and energized by being reminded of their tradition’s highest vision for themselves.  I was inspired by the way this collection of souls that morning so contradicted the images and narratives that it seems our world is presenting … about muslims, about our country and about ourselves.

Our Muslims friends have inspired me to speak our truths this morning.  It was the Muslims.  They did not scare, threaten or intimidate me.  They inspired me.  Why do we gather together on this day in this way?  Perhaps one reason is that we can be a forgetful bunch.  I believe we come together to remind us of our best selves and our greatest visions.  There are many external and internal voices that get in the way of our knowing and remembering these highest aspirations.  So, we get together to remember … to be inspired and to be empowered.  Historically, we are in a moment that we all need to be awake, aware and as alive as possible.  We gather together to say the words, sing the songs, hear the ideas and listen for the sounds that wake us up.  

And for my part, in my role in the life of our community, our Muslims friends have inspired me to remind us of our truths this morning.  

We are a community of souls who are not bullies and we stand up to bullies. It does not matter if this bully operates on the playground or on the campaign trail, we stand up to those who manipulate with fear upon our insecurities.  I am not speaking about someone or others with whom we have a severe ideological difference.  (After all, aren’t we the people who boast that it is cool when 2 people have 3 opinions?)  I am speaking about the blatant and violent disregard for the other — whether the other is defined by gender, ethnicity, nationality or socio-economic status.

It may not be any more simply put than in the story of creation – on our minds today, the birthday of the world.  When the human being is created, Torah teaches us that human beings are all created B’tselem Elohim – in the divine image.  We need no reframing or rationalizing, each and every soul on this planet possess that divine spark.  Period.  No discussion.  Confronting those who seem to at best ignore and at worst extinguish the spark is our continual work in this world. No one, but no one is without it.  When we witness those who might forget this … and belittle, diminish or seek to minimize the other – we have no choice.  

We are taught in Torah: Remember the stranger, for you, too were strangers in the land of Egypt.   We are taught by our Sages: In a place where (it seems like) no one is acting like a human being, be a human being, be a mentsch!  Or to echo the words of our First Lady, “When they go low, we go high.”  Even when it seems the deniers of the divine spark are many and we are few – we must remember:  We are a community of souls who are not bullies and we stand up to bullies.

Our Muslims friends have inspired me to speak our truths this morning …

We are a community of souls who have power … and the privilege and responsibility that comes along with it.   In the landscape of this political season this power is most easily recognized by opportunity to vote.  Voting is but one of the ways we can participate in the political process.  To not vote or to abdicate our rights to lobby or organize or simply hound our elected representatives is a gross negligence of the power we have.   It is understandable to feel overcome and overwhelmed by feelings of impotence and insignificance as we look at the way money, big business, lobbyists or extreme voices seem to manipulate our societal destiny.  It is also inaccurate and untrue.  

Back to that same birthday of the world, creation story.  When the mystics read the account of the creation of the human being, they see more than a bedtime story about the birth of the first man or woman.  They teach that it was not a human being of flesh and blood, but a primordial template or software, if you will, for the whole universe.  They called it called Adam Kadmon – the Original Person.  This Adam Kadmon serves as a kind of cosmic infrastructure that weaves in and out and connects each and every human being.  A part of that Adam Kadmon lives within each and every one of us.  So much so, that each of our actions — negative or positive – impacts that cosmic infrastructure. According to this mystic wisdom, we are all ‘wirelessly’ connected into the same system — a system that transcends time and space.  Every act — even the ones we see as little, small or insignificant — changes the cosmic wiring of the universe.  There are no actions without influence, there are no people without power.  Possessing power does not immune us from feelings of fatigue or frustration.  At the end of the day, we neglect or negate this reality at our own peril.  

Our Torah teaches us:  You are holy, because the Source of Your Being, is Holy. Our Sages teaches us: When you save one soul, you save an entire world, when you destroy one soul, you destroy an entire world.  American anthropologist, Margaret Mead, taught it in a different way: “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.” Even if the world seems to tell us that we are feel powerless and insignificant, we must remember … We are a community of souls who have power … and the privilege and responsibility that comes along with it.

Our Muslims friends have inspired me to speak our truths this morning …

We are a community of souls who look at the world and see its capability, not its inability.  We do not have to look far to find the messengers that will tell us that not only that the sky is falling, but it is falling fast and furiously.   Some of this message comes to us from external voices – like the ones from the political campaign.  These voices chide us for not experiencing the same amount of the power, status and success that we once enjoyed.   This message warns us of the countries, groups and individuals who are out to get us. Some of this message comes from interval voices.  When we hear the preponderance of those external voices, the internal ones warn us to fear the consequences for us as Jews and minority.  In the shadow of our Jewish narrative, we fret and worry, wondering about our safety and security.  In this cacophony of noise, we have little bandwidth left to anticipate anything but the worst.   

The wisdom of our tradition – even at our darkest moments – pushes us in this direction of seeing more.  When we stand at the grave of a loved one … we recite the Mourner’s Kaddish.  You may have heard me say it once or a hundred times, there is no mention of death in this prayer.  It speaks of the Source of life … and the blessings of life: the experience of the holy, of joy and of peace.  At a moment of profound darkness, pain, anger, loneliness and emptiness … the Jewish tradition says: Hey! pay attention to life!  In this moment when what we have lost and lack seems so monumental, this wisdom guides us: Remember, embrace and cultivate life!  Perhaps it is our human or even our animal nature for threats and fears to gather all of our attention.  It is our divine nature that compels us to see the full picture.  

Our Torah teaches us: I have placed before you blessing and curse, life and death – Choose life.  Our Sages teach us: There is no thing that does not have its place, no person who has not their moment.  Anne Frank put it this way: “How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world.” At this darkening historical moment, when it seems that the worst of our human nature dominates the stage … we must remember that we are a people who see our gifts and our opportunities, we are a people who see possibility and life, We are a community of souls who look at the world and see its capability, not its inability.

Yes it is our Muslims friends who have inspired me to speak our truths this morning … but it is for us and all of our friends that we must remember and act upon them.  We all need to be awake, aware and alive as possible. Whatever words, songs or sounds get our attention … let us speak, sing and proclaim them. The last sound we will hear this morning — will the sound that spiritually summons them all — the sound of the Shofar.  

As we hear its piercing, startling sounds …

May the shofar wake us up, heighten our awareness and aliveness.  May the shofar startle us to pay attention to the possibility and urgency of this moment of our lives, of this moment in history.  May the shofar urge us on to deeply embody our truths and take this opportunity to stand up to bullies, to wisely exercise our power; and to maturely look out at the world and see not what frightens us, but what inspires us, not our curses, but our blessings, not death, but life.    

 

תקיעה ….

I love having a dog once again.  Rocky entered our life 4 months ago after a 7-year non-dog hiatus.  Aside from the puppy-kind of land mines one might expect, our lives have been filled with the kind of love that one experiences from having a dog in the household.

I took Rocky earlier this week for one of his first hikes in the mountains.  He is new to hiking and he loved it – especially, the veritable cornucopia of scents to smell, bugs to chase and sticks to carry.  It made the hike go at a different pace than I had anticipated — especially the sticks to carry.  There were so many sticks to pick up, transport and nibble.  And when he finally chose one for the next part of the journey, I was more than ready to get moving again.  I queried him (as you do): What are you going to with that stick? You know that we are not stopping again so that you can chew it … you cannot take it in the car … this one is too big … that one has too many twigs.  And all the while there was Rocky blissfully marching along with his new stick.  I swear, I noticed a little extra bounce in his step when he had one of those damned sticks in his mouth.  He was not worried about its size, its mass or even what he was going to do with it.  Rocky was just content to be carrying the stick that happened to be in his mouth.

And then there came moment that instead of my consternation of the how’s, what’s and why’s of the stick … I became acutely aware of his abundant joy.  That dog became my ‘rebbe’ for a moment and embodied a classic chasidic teaching: “Joy breaks all boundaries.”  Accepting the joy of performing each task before us – no matter how mundane; no matter of the toil involved; no matter the complications and complexity that may follow – is a powerful tool.

We are engaged this time of year in the work of evaluating the kinds of boundaries that inhibit or limit our growth.  If this premise rings true – no matter if the boundaries are ones the world puts upon or those we put upon ourselves –  then mastering this joy holds an important key to our success.  With such boundaries broken, we liberate ourselves to feel, experience and encounter more.  More truth.  More love.  More meaning.  More life.  It is in the best interests of our Teshuvah to get our heads and hearts around this formula of joy.

Or from Reb Rocky’s perspective: Be happy carrying your stick!

Mrs. Gold was my 5th grade Religious School teacher … and I remember her well – but not fondly. She left an indelible mark on me. The school year under her tutelage seemed filled with drama. Perhaps, we were an unruly bunch who responded poorly to her limited classroom management skills. The drama, however, mostly resulted from the nature of the ideas she presented to us.

Mrs. Gold told us some pretty outrageous things that year. One of the more memorable ones was when she inferred (it might have been stronger than an inference, but I am giving her the benefit of the doubt) that Jews were more intelligent that other people. When we told our parents about these lessons, Mrs. Gold found herself in some hot water. I vaguely remember she was away for a week or two after that particular lesson.

That canard is not the most memorable idea I remember learning from Mrs. Gold. What I most remember is what she told us about being Jews in the world … that ultimately, inevitably antisemetism would rear its ugly head. She told us that ultimately, inevitably we Jews are on our own because when push comes to shove the world does care about us. She told us that no matter how safe, secure and free we felt living as American Jews in this latter part of the 20th century that ultimately, inevitably the perpetual waves of history would come crashing down on us — just like it did for the German Jews in the middle of the century.

What happened, you ask, when we went to our parents to inform them of these weighty, fear-mongering lessons we were receiving from Mrs. Gold? Well, when we shared with our parents or whoever would listen about this lesson of history and our inevitable fate – unlike with her other ‘lessons’ – there was no hot water to be had for Mrs. Gold. We received the concerned nod and then the weighty acknowledgement of the truth of our situation.

Mrs. Gold is on my mind this morning – and has been prominent over the past several weeks – because I feel as if she is speaking with this same message once again. I hear, see and feel her voice and its message as I have read, listened and observed our Jewish community react to the proposed nuclear weapons deal with Iran.

I asked you a few weeks ago if you wanted me to address the deal in our time together. I am heartened by both the number and the nature of the responses I received electronically and in person. The general tenor of what I heard from you was – “Not so much.” You told me that you really do not need me to tell you if I think the proposed deal with Iran is a good one or a bad. Some of your reasoning derived from your skepticism of my political, nuclear and diplomatic expertise. Most of you told me that you do not come to share this space and this time for that kind of discussion, but wanted to engage in matters of spirit and soul. Most of you also told me – in different ways, but with a similar message – that if I thought I needed to address this issue and/or there was a matter of spirit or soul I felt warranting our consideration – you supported me in doing so.

And in this spirit, I say to you that the matter of spirit and soul that concerns me is not related to the merits of the deal or Iran as a trustworthy partner OR whether the deal will help or hurt Israel or the dozens of other nations who legitimately worry what Iran might do with nuclear weapons OR even the way this proposed deal has starkly accentuated some every growing fault lines within the Jewish community – between liberals and conservatives; secular Jews and observant Jews; Boomers and Millennials. The matter of spirit and soul is the resounding boom of Mrs. Gold’s message that seems to permeate our Jewish psyche. What Mrs. Gold has to say to my class almost 40 years ago is still the same anxious, reactive and fearful message. We as a Jewish people continue to let this worldview dominate our thinking and actions. The matter of spirit and soul is how this deeply ingrained outlook continues to marginalize us as Jews and inhibit us from what our tradition commands us to do.

Iran is a serious threat. The proposed deal is not perfect. Israel should be concerned about the nuclear capacity and ideological capriciousness of Iran and its leaders. These widely agreed upon statements, do not explain why we respond the way that we do. Why has this proposed deal consumed board rooms and meeting rooms of Jewish organizations around the world as they craft statements and circulate petitions to motivate and manipulate our elected representatives to act accordingly? Why have the efforts to motivate our elected officials become personal, petty and even mean? What is up with ‘us’ that we have so dramatically placed ourselves in the middle of this debate?

I do remember the lessons that history teaches us about the precarious nature of being a Jew or part of a Jewish community. I would not dare to naively ignore that history or to show any disrespect to those who have suffered as a result of that history. I do believe that there is more than one way to react to those lessons. There are many voices of understanding -not only Mrs. Gold’s – that we must listen to as we seek to create our future.

In seeking to analyze the competing voices and their messages, I am reminded of an not so traditional interpretation of this morning’s Torah portion that we have studied together in years past.

In the portion from Genesis, God commands Abraham to sacrifice his son. Abraham responds by taking Isaac to Mt. Mariah, binding him on the altar and goes as far as raising the ritual knife to kill him … when God’s (via an angel) demands that Abraham stop the sacrifice and offer something else in Isaac’s place.

We moderns often react to this story with outrage and disgust – at a God who would ask such a thing and a father who would acquiesce. We must remember, that there is a larger tradition than this modern one – that does not question God’s violent request and celebrates Abraham’s faithful response. Rabbi Michael Lerner turns both responses to the Torah portion on their respective heads, by naming the competing voices he hears/sees in the narrative.

In Rabbi Lerner’s careful reading of the text, he points out that there are two separate ‘voices’ that Abraham hears as commands from God. Each is named something different in the Torah. The voice that commands the brutal sacrifice is called ‘Elohim’. The voice that demands Abraham abandon the sacrifice is called ‘YHVH.’ Noting this distinction, Lerner suggests a deeper meaning for this difference. The first voice, ‘Elohim’, (literally gods) is not God at all … but the accepted pain and cruelty of contemporary moral standards (which at that time accepted the violence of human sacrifice as a norm.) The second voice, YHVH, (actually the name of God as understood by our tradition) is a messenger of the true God. This God, one of compassion and justice, does not command the sacrifice of the innocent. Abraham hears two powerful influential voices, voices that seem God-like. One promotes and protects the current status quo, no matter what that status quo might be. One that that promotes and champions a higher ideal of justice and mercy.

Lerner champions Abraham’s ultimate ability to listen to the voice that reflects our highest values, not the voice that perpetuates our pain and suffering.

“The greatness of Abraham is that he doesn’t go through with it. As he looks into the eyes of the son he has bound for slaughter, he can now overcome the emotional deadness that allowed him to cast Ishmael off into the desert. At the very last moment, Abraham hears the true voice of God, the voice that says, ‘Don’t do it Abraham’, says God. ‘You can break the pattern of passing on to the next generation the pain and cruelty that you have suffered.’”

The voice that sees the world through the lens of pain and suffering and that commands us to act accordingly still speaks to us. Abraham heard this voice, too. He passed his test because he was able to pay heed to another voice. We still tell ourselves this story, because we face this test, as well … we need to listen to other voices, other messages.

And what would acknowledging, listening to and responding to another voice look like for us today? It would never mean abandoning rigorous debate about the issues of the day. It would never mean tolerating abuse or violence against our community. It would mean doing so and being able to embrace other paradigms and opportunities for growth, change and peace. Ones that – on the surface – would probably feel uncomfortable and even wrong.

I spoke to you last night about the death of Leonard Nimoy, the Jewish actor who was renowned worldwide for his role playing the Vulcan, Spock, in the Star Trek universe. In his eulogy at Nimoy’s funeral, Rabbi John Rossove tells this story about Mr. Nimoy doing just that …