Torah tells us 36 times that we must “love the stranger, for we were strangers in the land of Mitzrayim.” We have been in narrow straits before, and because of our people’s suffering both historical and present we must stand up for those who are oppressed today. Not “may,” not “might decide to” – if we take Torah values seriously, caring for the stranger is an obligation.
This guest post is by cantorial soloist and CBI member Ziva Larson, who led Kabbalat Shabbat services on Friday, January 23, 2026.
This week we’re beginning the book of Exodus – in Hebrew, called Shemot, “Names.” We open this book with the names of those who came down to Egypt with Yosef. And then we read that a new Pharaoh arises who did not know Yosef, and in his eyes the children of Israel are teeming multitudes, like vermin, the “enemy within.”
Happy secular new year! I love having two opportunities each year to turn the page and feel the hope that comes with new beginnings. 2026 is a book as-yet unwritten. With what will we fill its pages?
In this week’s Torah portion, Hayyei Sarah, Avraham sends his servant Eliezer to find a wife for Isaac. And Eliezer says, God, help me out: could You make it so that whichever woman offers to help me get water not only for myself but also for my camels, that woman is the one You’ve intended for my master’s son?
As I write these words we’ve entered the lunar month of Heshvan, during which there are no holidays other than Shabbat. After the densely-packed spiritual season of the high holidays, Heshvan can feel like an abrupt gearshift.
What a beautiful holiday season it has been thus far. It was such a joy to be with you on Rosh Hashanah and during the first half of Yom Kippur!
As you may know by now, I experienced several TIAs during Yom Kippur morning services. (It was difficult for me to speak at times, and the words either wouldn’t come out, or came out wrong.) Thankfully each episode passed quickly and I was able to continue praying with you through the end of Yizkor. After that I went to the hospital for the remainder of Thursday and all of Friday. I am now released from the hospital and recovering at home comfortably.
Several of you asked me: “Could you talk at the high holidays about how we can stay sane? How can we pay enough attention to be connected, but not so much it harms us?”
The first known Black mutual aid society was the African Union Society, formed in Newport, Rhode Island in 1780. Seven years later, African Americans in Philadelphia formed the Free African Society to provide benefits to the needy, aid for the ill and unemployed, and burial assistance. By 1838 there were a hundred of these societies in Philadelphia alone. After the civil war, free Black Americans started credit unions when White-owned banks wouldn’t serve them. They pooled resources to buy farms and land, to care for widows and children, and to bury their dead. I’m not sure if my ancestors knew they were following in those footsteps when, in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Eastern European Jewish immigrants formed landsmenschaftn, mutual aid societies rooted in shared geographic origins.
This is the hardest sermon I have ever tried to write.
My fear this morning is that when I say something that’s hard to hear, you might stop listening or close your heart to what I’m trying to say.
So here is my ask of you this morning. Take a deep breath. Let it out. Maybe do it again a few times. And please make a conscious effort to hold certainties lightly and to keep your heart open.
