In recent weeks, I’ve been paying visits to someone in a skilled nursing facility who has a copy of this very Rosie the Riveter “We Can Do It!” poster propped up in the room. I think it’s an excellent reminder that even when life’s challenges might seem insurmountable (and even when simple physical tasks might feel insurmountable), we can persevere… especially if we focus on what we can do, instead of what we can’t.
This week’s parsha, Korah, begins with a rebellion. The titular Korah gathers 250 of his friends and they “rise up against” Moshe and Aaron, accusing them of “raising themselves above God’s congregation.” In response, Moshe falls on his face: he lowers himself to the ground, a gesture of humility. The rebels rise up against; Moshe does the opposite, bending to the earth.
Last night as I was studying Hebrew with my son, a friend texted me to let me know that Israel had attacked Iran. Many of us expect retaliation over Shabbat. None of us know what is coming, and I don’t have wisdom to offer. All I have is this prayer: may the day come soon when the Iranian people, the Palestinian people, and the Israeli people can all live in safety and peace.
Summer is a quiet time on the Jewish calendar. Now that Shavuot is behind us, the next big thing on the horizon is Tisha b’Av in late August, followed by the seven-week runway to the Days of Awe.
This week’s Torah portion begins with an instruction to take a census for the purpose of knowing how many soldiers could be called-upon to bear arms. There’s a long list of numbers: from this tribe came this many people; from that tribe, that many. In years past, these verses felt dry and kind of irrelevant. This year they’re landing differently against the backdrop of current news.
During the Passover seder, we name the ten plagues listed in Torah, and remove a droplet of wine or juice from our glasses as we recite each one. The tenth one is “death of the firstborn,” and Torah tells us that before that happened, our ancestors were instructed to kill a lamb and paint the doorposts with blood so that the angel of death would “pass over” our houses, leading to the name of the festival Passover. (The wordplay works in Hebrew too.)
I had already written a d’varling for tonight, about Aaron’s response to the death of his son and how the silence of those who suffer invites us to respond with care. And then a congregant reached out to me this morning and asked if I could speak tonight about a breaking news story, the FBI’s arrest of Judge Hannah Dugan in Wisconsin, and what our response to this as Jews ought to be.
Yom HaShoah arrives every year, and yet for many of us this year feels different than any other.
The familiar words of the haggadah landed differently with me this year. We speak every year of freedom from Mitzrayim – meaning not only מִצְרַיִם / مصر / literal Egypt, but also more broadly all of life’s narrow places and times of constriction. But this year I’m keenly aware of constriction and lack of liberty in ways that go beyond the metaphorical.
During the Passover seder, we name the ten plagues listed in Torah, and remove a droplet of wine or juice from our glasses as we recite each one. The tenth one is “death of the firstborn,” and Torah tells us that before that happened, our ancestors were instructed to kill a lamb and paint the doorposts with blood so that the angel of death would “pass over” our houses, leading to the name of the festival Passover. (The wordplay works in Hebrew too.)
