Behaalotecha
Dear Friends,
This is likely to be the last time that I can address you as a group. In doing so I’d like to share with you some thoughts about the journey of my life, which I see as chapters of a book. My first 16 years (or Chapter 1) were filled with wanderings while clinging to the security of my parents. The second chapter began at age 16, when I began my work in the Jewish community, fulfilling roles as a teacher’s aide, teacher, secretary, religious school director, administrator, and community engagement director. This is not to say, of course, that there weren’t sub-chapters within these periods. In fact, it was during the time that I was a teacher’s aide when I give my first d’var torah, during a junior congregational service. And not long after, I wrote creative services for our youth group, which still are tucked away on ditto paper in my files. Those experiences were the embryos of a lifelong dream to become a rabbi. Life happened, and the dream remained a dream, until the opportunity became a plan last year. And here I am today, on the precipice of achieving what began fifty years ago – Chapter 3.
I am frequently asked what I will do with my rabbinate. Having worked in synagogues my entire career - that is for now, the least attractive path. Building and nurturing relationships, on the other hand, is more in line with my passions. Chaplaincy work seems a route where I can employ my skills to support those in need of an ear, a shoulder, and guidance.
You will note that nowhere in the possibilities is the notion of dabbling in politics. In fact, it was the political structure of the synagogue that led to my retirement in May 2019. And the political scene of our communities, state, country and the world is an area of which I feel entirely inadequate to even comment. And so, I stay as far away as I can when it comes to political matters. Not once in this past year have I included even one comment in a d’var torah about the political scene, whether Biblical or current. However, as a future community leader, I realize that I cannot refrain from what I call “praying with my feet,” and carrying the Torah into the real world. And so, my friends, I am going to step out of my bubble and attempt to make a few comments that may resemble the “p” word.
In this week’s parasha, Behaalot’cha, Moses is noted as being the most humble man on earth. And yet his brother and sister, Aaron and Miriam, speak against him on account of his marrying a Cushite woman. God confronts them, and Miriam is striken with tzara’at, a skin disease, causing her to be confined outside the camp for seven days. Aaron beseeches Moses to pray to God for her return to health, and Moses’ words are simple, yet powerful:”אל נא רפנא נא לה – I beseech you God, please heal her.”
We are in the midst of a pandemic, one that has been around long before Covid-19. Racial inequality obviously goes back as far as Moses being married to a Cushite woman. Trayvon Martin, Botham Jean, Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, Sean Reed, and the latest, George Floyd, come to remind us that we still do not understand that we are createdבצלם אלהים - in the image of God. The pigment of a person’s skin raises a red flag that tells some people that “I am superior to you.” “I am more entitled than you.” “You are subhuman.” We as Jews are all too familiar with that message, having been victims of anti-semitism throughout history. Yes, we were able to hide behind the color of our skin to blend in more easily with our neighbors. But our clothing, our values, our way of life, and our separateness were cause for suspicion and fear from those who relied on easily twisted non-truths espoused by those who sought power.
As those who have tasted the pain of hatred, it is time for us to stand together as Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel stood with the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. in 1965. Mishna Sanhedrin teaches that one who takes a life is as though he/she has destroyed the world, and one who saves a life is as though he/she has saved the universe. The world is not neatly divided into black, white, brown, red, yellow, and other skin colors. No two people are identical. But what I do know is that beneath what is superficial, we are the same. Shoot me and my blood will be the same red as yours. Cut off the oxygen supply to my brain and I will die, just as you would.
On this Shabbat when we read the sacred words of our Haftarah, we hear the echo of God’s rebuke towards those who belittle what is created with holiness. Brought to the forefront of Jewish folk music, Debbie Friedman (z’l) interpreted the words of Zechariah with the lyrics, “Not by might, and not by power, but by Spirit alone shall we all live in peace.”
And so, as I prepare to enter a new chapter in my life’s journey, I pledge to carry the words of our ancient text to keep its message current. My silence is over. That chapter must close. Walking together with you as we have over these past months, I offer the words that we have said together several times as we closed a book and started one anew: חזק חזק ונתחזק – be strong, be strong, and let us find the strength to pursue justice in the hope that we can mend what is broken. May we see the results of the plea that Moses cried: El Na Refana La - may we see healing for all humanity and for our universe speedily and in our day.
Ken Yehi Ratzon – May it be God’s will.
