Last year we ended our Seders with “Next year in Jerusalem,” imagining a new year filled with hopes and dreams realized, parting ways with visions of a whole new kind of gathering.
Now, here we are, a whole new gathering for sure, but one none of us could have imagined. Instead of the sounds of bride and groom singing in the streets of Jerusalem, we are reminded of Lamentations: Lonely are the streets.
We will gather electronically and spiritually, even if not physically. We will return to the beginnings of our peoplehood to nurture hopes for brighter and healthier tomorrows.
Passover during a pandemic places parents and children apart and together, connected and distant all at once.
Still, look around, look at the screen and see the smiles, look outside and see the season’s new growth, sense the hope so central to Passover and to us as Jews.
Still, take a breath, take in the beauty of the Seder table, no matter the particulars. See the people coming together to retell a tale, finding our own voices in our shared inheritance.
Still, listen to the voices, some near and some far, some with us physically, some on screen, some in spirit. Hear the voices urging us on, helping us to see beyond today to a brighter tomorrow.
Pesach presents an intersection in time for all of us. Our old ways and our new, our enslavements and our freedom, our history and our future.
We are reminded of the intersections of our people—with Egypt, Rome, and so many more. Each presented both possibility and potential problems.
This Passover, as we join in new ways, remind us of our perch at history’s intersections. Will we go back or move forward? Will we survey the land and learn from all that is arrayed before us, or charge ahead into an unknown?
Tonight, the voices of our past join with us. Listen close and you will hear the whispers: We Jews believe in hope. We Jews believe in possibility. We Jews pursue freedom for all. This year we are enslaved. Next year, we pray, may we be free!
Rabbi Daniel Fellman is the rabbi of Temple Concord in Syracuse, New York.
CCAR Press is honored to release Rabbi Karyn D. Kedar’s latest book, Amen: Seeking Presence with Prayer, Poetry and Mindfulness Practice. This collection includes prayers for personal use, prayers for use at communal gatherings, prayers and readings for moments of grief and moments of joy, a collection of daily Psalms, and focus phrases and questions for meditation. Rabbi Kedar’s new book is available for purchase now.
Below, we are share one of the many inspiring passages found in Amen.
I suppose that the archaeologist delights in brokenness. Shards are proof of life. Though a vessel, whole, but dusty and rare, is also good.
I suppose that the archaeologist does not agonize over the charred lines of destruction signifying a war, a conquest, a loss, a fire, or a complete collapse. The blackened layer seared upon the balk is discovery.
So why do I mourn, and shiver, and resist? Why do I weep as I dig deeper and deeper still? Dust, dirt, buckets of rubble, brokenness, a fire or two, shattered layers of a life that rebuilds upon the discarded, the destroyed, and then the reconstructed, only to break again, and deeper still, shards upon shards, layers upon layers.
If you look carefully, the earth reveals its secrets. So does the soul, and the cell, and the sinew, and the thought, and the wisp of memory, and the laugh, and the cry, and the heart, that seeks its deepest truth, digging down, down to bedrock.
Rock bottom they call it, and in Hebrew, the Mother Rock.
God of grace, teach me that the layers of brokenness create a whole.
Rabbi Karyn D. Kedar is the senior rabbi at Congregation BJBE in the Chicago area. Her previously published books include God Whispers, The Dance of the Dolphin (Our Dance with God), The Bridge to Forgiveness, and Omer: A Counting. She is published in numerous anthologies and is renowned for her creative liturgy. Rabbi Kedar teaches courses and leads retreats that explore the need for meaning and purpose in our busy lives, creating an intentional life, spiritual awakening, forgiveness, as well as inspirational leadership and creating the synagogue for the twenty-first century. Her latest work has culminated in the newly released Amen: Seeking Presence with Prayer, Poetry and Mindfulness Practice, now available for purchase through CCAR Press.
I wrote the draft of what would come to be a Reflection for Focus in my book, Opening Your Heart with Psalm 27, “In God’s [Not Yet Perfect] House” on October 4, 2017, a few mornings after country music fans were murdered at the Route 91 Harvest Festival. The reality of what seemed unbelievable was becoming incomprehensibly comprehensible and I reflected on the Psalmist’s affirmation, and deepest desire, to live in God’s house. It was hard that morning to feel like we were living in God’s house—where such hatred was possible.
It was chol hamo’ed sukkot and the fragility of the world felt all too real. In the weeks that followed, as I edited this piece, my goal was to capture that moment in time, and allow it to reflect the timelessness of the psalm, to help us see hope and find courage, to make God’s house a holy place. What I never imagined is that what I wrote would be relevant, over and over again, in just two years, not because it brought illumination to Psalm 27:4 in a new way, but because we would bear witness, again and again, to mass shootings, in public places—in synagogues and mosques, in school and shopping malls, and now in the mid-western city of Dayton and the Texas border city of El Paso. The scenes of bloodshed are horrifically similar, the calls for political action and the lack of it are also despairingly alike, and our urgent questions of faith remain too.
Psalm 27:4 In God’s [Not Yet Perfect] House
One thing have I sought from Adonai—how I long for it: That I may live in the House of Adonai all the days of my life; That I may look upon the sweetness of Adonai, And spend time in the Palace;
The boots scoot, the hats ride high, the beer flows, guitars twang, harmony rings loud. Here in God’s country house the story is always bittersweet: love then loss, pain then healing, doubt then faith, then doubt again.
This is God’s house, but is God home? Some say, no. Thousands plan to party while one has other plans. Ten minutes of sheer terror. Shots. Bullets. Blood. Final breath. Fear. Horror. The dread of death.
This is God’s house, but is God home? Some say, maybe. He uses his body as a human shield. She grasps a stranger’s hand while the life force ceases. They hold each other and move silently toward the exit.
This is God’s house, but is God home? I say, yes. This house of God, where we live, where we gamble with our money, with our values, with our own lives and the lives of others, is not yet perfect.
But God is always home. Rescuers. First responders. Kind people with holy instincts doing God’s work, singing melodies of courage, in God’s not yet perfect house
— In honor of those who survived and in memory of those who were murdered at the Route 91 Harvest Festival, Las Vegas, October 1, 2017, between Yom Kippur and Sukkot 5778.
Rabbi Debra J. Robbins has served Temple Emanu-El in Dallas since 1991 and currently works closely with the Social Justice and Adult Jewish Learning Councils, the Pastoral Care department, a variety of Worship initiatives, and teaches classes for adults. She is the author of Opening Your Heart with Psalm 27: A Spiritual Practice for the Jewish New Year, published by CCAR Press.
This poem was written after hearing the tragic news about the sudden death of the child of dear friends and colleagues. Their lives were suddenly and irrevocably changed as they were thrust into intense grief and loss. The phrase, “Yea though I walk through the valley of the Shadow of death,” found in Psalm 23 has always evoked images of a journey of grief. The mourning process helps us to walk through the Valley, not to be stuck in it. For some the journey is longer and more painful than for others. Most of us are unprepared for the shock of a tragic loss. We do not walk alone, however. We are accompanied both by those who travelled before us and those who hold us up along our painful journey.
For Danny, Elyse and Devra z”l
גם כי אילך בגאי צלמוות (Psalm 23)
Those who walk through the Valley of Shadows wear no shoes. Their feet are cut and torn as they stumble through the darkness. With no time to pack a bag or say goodbye, they begin their journeys unprepared.
Some are dressed in finery: jewels gleaming like stars in the dim light. Others are in pajamas, work clothes, prayer shawls or bathing suits. Some clutch briefcases, papers, blankets or teddy bears.
And everyone wears their grief.
With each cautious, painful step, they move further into the abyss. The chasm narrows. Stretching out their fingers they trace the grooves carved by previous pilgrims – handholds hewn into the cold canyon walls.
Sometimes they march in silence. Other times, singing hauntingly beautiful melodies, their voices echo to the very vaults of heaven.
The river that created this place does not flow from on high: It was formed and filled by the tears of those whose bruised souls traversed the trail.
No one walks here alone: Stumbling pilgrims are quickly caught and held aloft by those who travel beside them – They are caressed and carried through the brambles and branches that, unexposed and hidden from sight, add to the chaos and confusion of the journey.
In time (for some) a light appears in the distance – piercing through the veil of darkness. Hope – long buried, rises to the surface like a beacon
And with it, the weary marchers ascend to find a world that has been changed forever by their absence. They return with pale faces and broken hearts. But now, as experienced travelers, they will always have a suitcase packed and ready.
— Rabbi Joe Black serves Temple Emanuel in Denver, Colorado.
Rabbi Joe Black read this opening prayer for the Colorado State House of Representatives before they began their session on Wednesday, April 17, 2019.
Our God and God of all people:
This Friday night, Jews around the world will tell the ancient story of Passover. We will gather around our seder tables and experience the bitterness of slavery and the sweetness of freedom and redemption. On Easter Sunday, Christians will celebrate the potential to be reborn with hope and faith.
This is a sacred time – when we are reminded of both the fragility of life and the potential for renewal and redemption. Now should be a period of gratitude and introspection that helps us to see the best in all of humanity.
And yet, in the midst of these festivals of holiness and hope, over the past two days our state was suddenly and brutally thrust into a climate of terror and dread brought about by a heartbreakingly disturbed young woman who played out her demons as we anticipated the 20th anniversary of the Columbine shooting.
The juxtaposition of the anticipation of these two sacred festivals with the ugliness and paralysis of potential violence reminds us just how little progress has occurred in the years since our innocence was shattered on April 20th, 1999. We have become numb to the horrors of violence brought about by each new tragedy. For a parent to have to tell their child that it is too dangerous to go to school is an obscenity and anathema to the values that are embodied in this sacred chamber.
When messages of rebirth and redemption are overshadowed by fear, we must take stock in who we are and who we are becoming. We can try to write off each tragic incident as distinct and separate, but taken in an aggregate we have no choice but to acknowledge that there is a sickness in our nation that cannot be ignored. Whether it is caused by easy access to weapons of destruction or the political divisions that paralyze us, it is essential that we come together to bring about change – to strive to see the veracity and sanctity of all humanity – even if we disagree. If the deaths of innocents are not enough to move us to action, then what have we become?
May the messages of hope and rebirth symbolized by both Passover and Easter motivate all of us to see the holiness infused in every soul. As we anticipate this painful anniversary, may we be inspired to use every means at our disposal to ensure that the hopelessness and despair that we have been feeling these past two days will be replaced by a sacred determination to bring about healing and change. Only then will we be able to ensure that we are doing God’s work on earth.
Of course, that is pretty vague. I think about tomorrow, weeks ahead, months ahead…and so on. I also think about the next “Journey.” Some refer to this as the Afterlife…however, what if it is just one continuous life? I have read a lot on this subject – I mean, I am a rabbi. I even teach a class on the Jewish understandings of “Heaven and Hell.”
It makes a lot of sense that we would dwell on our time as a “living biological being” on earth. After all, it is right in front of us. We cannot ignore it. And, we are not really able to comprehend what we do not understand – which of course is everything before and after our time on earth.
When I think about the future, I try to focus on the positive “what ifs.” It is not always easy, though, when I consider so many of the terrible things that are present in today’s world including terrorism, natural disasters, mass shootings and the list goes on. My “inner” Yetzer Tov (my good angel) reminds me of all of the wonderful things – my wife, my beautiful family, my wonderful congregation and so much more.
Times of Wonder
Think back to the first time you smelled a new born baby’s head…what about the first flowers of Spring. Have you found true love? Remember how your heart felt when you saw your beloved after an absence? These are only a few examples of the wonder there is in the world.
When approaching the end of life, people often will tell me they are not afraid to die. They are looking forward…why? Some are looking forward to no longer being in pain while others are excited about the next stage of their lives. Even those who struggle with God or the Heaven/Hell idea are still sometimes excited about finding out what’s next. On the other hand, some are afraid of how their families and friends will cope with their passing.
One of the first words a Jewish person utters in the morning is: Modeh Ani L’fanecha, Melech Chai v’Kayam, She’he’chezarta Bi Nishmati, Bechemla, Rabah Emunatecha. “I offer thanks to You, ever living Sovereign, that You have restored my soul to me in mercy: How great is Your trust.”
Every day that we wake up and open our eyes, we should be thankful for the day that is ahead. Even during our daily struggles, we should look for reasons to be thankful…things to amaze us: the wonders of every day. This is not always easy. For many, this is a rather difficult task. It is, however, a struggle we must work through. We should find these moments of wonder and hold on to the memories.
Looking Back and then looking forward again
When we think of those who have had indelible imprints on our lives, especially those who have died, should we only remember the wonder? What about the pain that we feel? Perhaps we are angry as we do not understand why they are gone. Perhaps there are also uncomfortable or bad memories that are hard to forget. I firmly believe that the “bad” experiences and memories are just as important as the “good” ones.
Do not get me wrong. Sometimes, it is impossible to look past or forget these bad experiences. And, sometimes these experiences overpower the good ones. That is ok. All of the experiences we have in life impact us and help us to become who we are today and in the future. So, look back and find those memories: the good ones and the “not so good ones.”
You have them? Ok, now look forward again. If you do not understand why, that is ok…let these memories help you to move forward. Do not let them overpower you. Do not forget them…hold on to them. Recognize them for what they are. This may be the hardest thing you’ll ever do. That is also ok…this is how we move forward.
Let me end this blog with a prayer:
Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech Ha-Olam, Mi M’vareich et Ha’avar shelanu v’et Ha’atid shelanu.
Blessed are You Adonai, Sovereign of the Universe, who blesses our past and our future.
—
Rabbi Erin Boxt serves Temple Beth El in Knoxville, TN.
As wildfires burned in California, hundreds of missiles rained down on Israel from Gaza. Fire on the ground and fire from the air, with people I know and love in both places. Just a week before, 12 people were murdered in a mass shooting in Thousand Oaks, California. A week before that, the largest-ever U.S. antisemitic massacre was perpetrated at Tree of Life – Or L’Simcha Congregation, Pittsburgh. All this occurred against a backdrop of growing anti-Semitism world-wide and contentious U.S. mid-term elections.
My pen has been grieving, the ink pouring out prayers with titles like these: “Missiles from Gaza,” “As Fires Rage” and “Taharot in Pittsburgh.” In those 2.5 weeks, I wrote a baker’s dozen of ‘responsa prayers,’ dealing with immediate concerns in the wake of news events. Writing ‘responsa prayer’ is one of the roles of a modern liturgist, to give our shared experiences a voice of prayer.
There’s a reason why these pieces resonate. Our prayer book, the siddur, has tuned our ears to the many voices of prayer. We know the voice of grief and the voice of yearning. We know the voice of joy and the voice of hope. We have been praying some of these prayers for more than 1,000 years. The prayers call out to us, as they did to our fathers and mothers.
There can also be a disconnect. While the siddur gives us the spiritual foundation to connect to our inner hearts of blessing, at times the language doesn’t fit. Another role of a modern Jewish liturgist is to bridge that gap, opening doorways back into the prayer book. The goal is to capture the familiar cadences and themes – and at times the familiar idiom – in a way that is true our current sensibilities and language.
The Reform siddur, Mishkan T’fillah, addresses these opposite forces with a faithful, contemporary translation of Hebrew texts, as well as a broad set of alternative readings on the left-hand page of two-page spreads.
This is the goal of my new book, This Joyous Soul: A New Voice for Ancient Yearnings. Structured to reflect the morning service found in Mishkan T’filah, this collection provides a new set of ‘left-hand pages’ to enliven our worship. The prayers in This Joyous Soul invite a deeply personal prayer experience that strengthens our connection to Jewish tradition. It’s written to inspire each of us to make the traditional daily liturgy our own. So, my hope is that it will be used both by individuals as part of their personal prayers and will be adopted for use in congregations throughout the Movement.
For generations, the siddur has given voice to our deepest desires. Every generation has left a mark on this great book that spans centuries, continents and cultures. This Joyous Soul is one contribution to that great endeavor: keeping the prayers of our ancestors vital and alive, with a new voice for these ancient yearnings.
At Neilah, the closing service at the end of Yom Kippur, we imagine ourselves standing at the gates of heaven, urgently pleading for forgiveness until the final second of the day expires and the gates close.
The moment is one of great solemnity. We cry out: “Open a gate for us when the gates are being closed, for the day is about to fade” (Mishkan HaNefesh, Yom Kippur, p640). This is it. A last chance to plead our case.
Each year, surrounded by hundreds of congregants, in the urgency of prayer, I imagine myself standing alone at an ancient stone wall. There are two large wooden gates with iron adornments. One of the gates is already closed, the other slowly closing by an unseen force. They look more like the outer gates of a city than the gates of a castle. My prayer enters through these gates. The day fades. The shofar blows. I haven’t passed through the gates, but I haven’t walked away, either.
In this visualization of the metaphor, there’s a gate for each of us. Each gate is different. It’s the gate created by our own triumphs and our own challenges, our own misdeeds and our own acts of tikkun olam. In this version of the metaphor, each year the gate is different, shaped by our lives over the past 12 months.
We are, in truth, always standing at the gates of heaven. In each moment, we have the chance to build or destroy, to love or to withhold love, to bless or to curse, to be brave or to live in fear. Each moment is both a barrier and a portal.
This is what makes “gates” an enduring metaphor. The metaphor is potent with possibility. It’s a reminder of the challenges ahead.
As the sun fades, as darkness sets in, we pray one final viduii, one last confessional before that closing blast of the shofar. Then it is time to go back into the world, renewed and refreshed with the blessing of forgiveness.
Repentance Inside
This I confess:
I have taken my transgressions with me,
Carrying them year by year into my hours and days,
My lapses of conscience
And indiscretion with words,
My petty judgments
And my vanity,
Clinging to grief and fear, anger and shame,
Clinging to excuses and to old habits.
I’ve felt the light of heaven,
Signs and wonders in my own life,
And still will not surrender to holiness and light.
God of redemption,
With Your loving and guiding hand
Repentance in prayer is easy.
Repentance inside,
Leaving my faults and offenses behind,
Is a struggle.
In Your wisdom You have given me this choice:
To live today as I lived yesterday,
Or to set my life free to love You,
To love Your people,
And to love myself.
God of forgiveness, help me to leave my transgressions behind,
To hear Your voice,
To accept Your guidance,
And to see the miracles in each new day.
Blessed are You,
God of justice and mercy,
You who sets Your people on the road to t’shuvah.
Contemporary liturgy is a response to the call of the siddur and the call of our hearts.
The siddur carries the weight of history, the wisdom of our ancestors, the yearnings of humanity, the fears and the glories of our existence, and the resounding call of the shofar still beckoning from Sinai. The voices of the bereaved, the exalted, the confused, and the faithful, the voice of exile, the voice of redemption, and the voices of our parents, blend in the siddur’s unshakeable faith in God and the Jewish people.
So, too, our hearts desire modern language to capture our yearnings, ancient yearnings as old as humanity. Instinctively, we seek to pray with a contemporary voice, while understanding that our hearts’ desires are as old as life itself. In our time, some question both faith and history. Many struggle with concepts of God.
The call of the siddur begs for a response. Classic t’filah – the prayers written and redacted by rabbis and scholars in our time and for centuries before – require present-day voices to unpack new meaning from the old verses and to give them renewed power. Jewish prayer is reaffirmed and reestablished in each generation with a dialogue between our siddur and our hearts.
This is one of the goals of Mishkan T’filah, with ‘left-hand’ pages offering alternative readings and interpretations to the classic prayers that appear on the right. Essentially, the prayers in Mishkan T’filah are in dialogue with themselves, inviting each of us into the conversation. The words of contemporary liturgy sing with the ancient words of prayer.
This Joyous Soul provides a modern expression to classic prayers: from Birkot Hashachar to the Shema, from Amidah to Aleinu. It’s organized around the weekday morning service. Although it can be used with any prayer book, it’s structured to fit Mishkan T’filah, with many of the section heads matching that volume.
Many of the themes of the weekday morning service recur in the afternoon and evening services, as well as Shabbat and holiday services. So, this volume provides a versatile tool for daily, Shabbat and holiday prayer. Prayers specific to Shabbat and the holy days can also be found in the previously-published companion volume, This Grateful Heart: Psalms and Prayers for a New Day.
This Joyous Soul is a natural follow-up to This Grateful Heart. This Grateful Heart focused on days, times and seasons. Essentially, This Grateful Heart, is about the prayer needs of individuals in their daily lives. While many of the prayers in This Grateful Heart have been incorporated into communal worship by synagogues across North America and the U.K., the focus is on our individual prayer lives.
This Joyous Soul is about the prayer needs of individuals in our communal Jewish lives; in particular, in our worship services. Of course, many of the prayers in This Joyous Soul can be used by individuals in their daily lives, as well.
My hope is that congregations will place copies of This Joyous Soul alongside their regular siddur—in the pews or on the rack of prayer books—either as a supplement to communal worship or for congregants to use in moments of silent contemplation.
Deeper still, I hope that it serves as an invitation for each of us to explore the siddur with fresh eyes, that it opens curiosity – of both clergy and congregant – about the themes and intentions handed down for generations.
Even deeper, I hope that This Joyous Soul: A New Voice for Ancient Yearnings becomes a source of inspiration for you to write your own prayers, for you to actively enter the dialogue between our hearts and our prayers, between our souls and the soul of the siddur, between our voices and the voices of ancient yearnings.
In the Jewish Calendar – this day is called Yom HaShoah – Holocaust Memorial Day.
This morning we stand – not merely in prayer – but in remembrance.
We remember the more than 13,000,000 souls destroyed in the nightmare of the Shoah – the Nazi Holocaust. Among those innocents exterminated by the Nazis were:
Intellectuals
Communists
Socialists
Catholics
The Mentally and Physically infirm
Gypsies/Roma
Gays and Lesbians
And, of course – 6 million Jews – of whom 1.5 million were children.
These numbers are not new. I have lived with them all of my life.
My mother passed away this past June at the age of 91. She was born in Leipzig, Germany. She lived through Kristallnacht – the night of broken glass that took place on November 9th, 1938. She and her parents were able to escape to America and begin new lives here – but the shadows of that night and the months and years that followed, never disappeared from her consciousness until she suffered a stroke on the day after her 91st birthday. As devastating as that event was in our lives, in some ways it was a blessing since it allowed her to find relief from the fears and anxieties that plagued her all of her life as she confronted the memories of her experiences as a young girl in Nazi Germany.
Today, Jews and people of faith all around the world remember how hatred and bigotry came together with modern technology to create a machinery of death that had never before been witnessed in human history.
Auschwitz, Birkenau, Bergen Belzen, Dachau, Treblinka – these and so many other names are forever etched into our consciousness – these places of pure evil that taught the depths to which human beings will descend in order to deny the Divine Image implanted within each of us….
In trying to understand the enormity of evil represented by the dark period of the Shoah we must accept the fact that in some cases there can be no understanding. To state that one and a half million children died for a reason is blasphemy. In a world where we strive to see God’s presence, the reality of evil can eclipse even the brightest flame of holiness.
Our task, in remembering those precious souls who perished, must be to strengthen our resolve to call out and combat evil wherever and whenever it arises. When we are silent, we are complicit.
Elie Weisel – the great writer and teacher wrote:
“The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it’s indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it’s indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it’s indifference.”
When we turn our backs to the ugliness in our world – we are desecrating God’s presence in our midst. Let us remember that with the holiness implanted within us comes the responsibility to shine a light on both good and evil – wherever it may find itself.
—
Rabbi Joseph R. Black serves Temple Emanuel in Denver, CO. This prayer was originally posted here and read for the Colorado House of Representatives.
Jewish Tradition, Reform Rabbis, and Today's Issues
Rabbi Mark Washofsky presents a deep dive into the responsa literature, boldly arguing that Reform Judaism is a movement fundamentally based on halachah (Jewish law).
