A piece of Rabbinic trivia: Only a few times do we take out more than two Torahs from the ark, and this Shabbat is one of them.
A piece of Rabbinic trivia: Only a few times do we take out more than two Torahs from the ark, and this Shabbat is one of them.
On Sunday evening, we will light the first Chanukah candle on one of the shortest nights of the year. Every single morning and evening of Chanukah, we add a prayer to our amidah. Al hanisim–we thank God for the miracles and for redemption. The words are simple, but for them to come alive, we must look at the actions the Talmud proscribes. The Rabbis debate in the Jerusalem Talmud how many candles shall be lit. One Rabbi says a single candle for the entire house, while another says a single candle for each person in the house. The argument continues with the famous Rabbinic pair. Shammai tells us to light eight candles the first night, and reduce to one on the last night. Hillel gives us the tradition of our day: light one candle the first night, and eight on the last, for we must only go up in holiness and not down.
A few weeks ago, my son looked at the moon as we were driving and said, “Abba, Rosh Chodesh is here.” While the rest of the world would simply say, “Look at the new moon,” this young child put it in perspective of his Jewish identity.
We are a people of generations. When we listen to our story, we must recognize the stories that came before us.
The year I lived in Israel, I thought I would miss Thanksgiving. To my surprise, most Americans had a turkey, ate pumpkin pie, and shared the blessings for which they were grateful.
My mother always reminds me that a synagogue should be a place to pray and to play. A sacred space may not be only filled with serious moments of introspection and soul searching. Inversely, the places we frequent in our everyday lives garner the opportunity to bring the holy into the ordinary. This morning, I visited a young family who put up their first mezuzah in their home. As I showed them the shema on the parchment that was put into the mezuzah, the parents told their young daughter—this is the prayer that we say when we ask God to keep us safe.
When the doorbell rang as a child, my siblings and I would race to be the first one to ask, “Who is it?” Today, the doorbell is extinct.
This week, I am visiting family in Philadelphia. While sitting in a café, the table next to ours was engaged in a conversation that I could not ignore. The first person said, “When you give a sermon, it must not be for an imaginary audience. A sermon must be given for the real world.” My father and I, both rabbis, smiled at each other and continued eating.
A journalist recently told me that she was in conversation with a friend who refused to bring children into this broken world. She felt it would be ethically irresponsible. She then asked me, “Rabbi, what should I tell my friend?”
In 1965, Martha and the Vandellas released their musical hit “Dancing in the Street.”