[W]ith the impact of climate change, wildfires raging out West, continued political unrest, and the spread of the Delta variant…[t]hough we are in a much different place than we were last year, we are heartbroken and afraid. Divine light, the Source of All Blessing, at times feels altogether absent. It is precisely because of this that Torah says to us this week: Re’eh / “Look! I put before you this day a blessing and a curse.” (Deut. 11:26).
Read MoreEspecially during times of great uncertainty, we may not buy into the mystic’s belief God’s hand is literally or metaphorically hidden in everything — so Mordechai’s question invites Esther — and by extension all of us -- to focus, not on the power of God’s presence, but on the power of human action! When faced with a challenge, do we, like Haman, fall into victimhood and cast blame? Or, like Esther, do we step up as the person we want to be, find an opportunity to be kind and do good?
Read MoreBecause Jacob has spent his whole life searching for more, focused on his failures and losses, on what he does not have, imagining his tzuris will go away if only he had something else, he overlooks all he has achieved in this life, and the blessings right before him. In some way, we are all Jacob: We’ve all been touched by loss during this pandemic. This is an irrefutable fact. It might be the most important story we need to tell about our lives right now, the most fundamental fact.
Read MoreLike Jacob, each of us wrestles, at different times in our life to find peace and wholeness, to live lives of integrity. We can all think of a moment when it seemed like we were doing everything right, succeeding in all the ways others expected us to — but…felt…like something was missing... Only after we put aside the expectations others had of us, could we hear the name given to us by God, our higher calling, our deeper purpose. Jacob’s was to become Israel, to move beyond his small sense of self to become the father a nation.
Read MoreYom Kippur is designed to deepen our capacity for self-reflection: some of us fast, abstain from physical relationships, or dress in white like a burial shroud. As we do, we rehearse the death of the old year, the old self. According to our tradition, in order to begin a new time, we need to release everything from the old time. If we want to enter a new chapter in our lives then we must first let go of what we have been, or thought we would be. Before we can return to God, we must first relinquish everything we have said (or been) and everything we expect to say (or be).
Read MoreI recently spoke with a friend of mine about our college days. I told him I e-mailed someone we were friendly with as undergraduates. I felt like I’d been a bad friend for not staying in touch, but chose to reach out anyway. Even after 15 years, our friend was delighted to hear from me, and told me to call her anytime. My friend Keith, now an Episcopal monk, said our relationship with old friends is like our relationship with God: many of us come to believe God doesn’t want to hear from us, that we’re, say, “bad Jews”. We often wait until we’re in a desperate situation to reach out. But the Psalmist counsels us: "Seek out the Source and you will find It / Call to the Divine Presence, and It will be close." When we decide to return, God, like an old friend, eagerly waits at the door to welcome us back home.
Read MoreWe are completing the journey from Rosh Hashanah to Yom Kippur. These ten days are a meditation on what we do between birth and death: Rosh Hashanah is yom harat olam, the Day the World Is Born. And Yom Kippur is the day we rehearse our death by abstaining from life-affirming activities, and wearing white to represent a burial shroud. Between these two days, we confront the fragility of our lives – and reexamine how we want to journey across the length of our days.
Read MoreIn the commencement speech she gave at Sarah Lawrence in 2006, Ann Patchett observes:
Read MoreEvery choice lays down a trail of bread crumbs, so that when you look behind you there appears to be a very clear path that points straight to the place where you now stand.
But when you look ahead there isn’t a bread crumb in sight — there are just a few shrubs, a bunch of trees, a handful of skittish woodland creatures. You glance from left to right and find no indication of which way you’re supposed to go.
And so you stand there, sniffing at the wind, looking for directional clues in the growth patterns of moss, and you think, What now?
