Weekly Messages

I have long pondered over the identity crisis that is Passover. We know this is a happy holiday but, why do we remember and reenact so much that was sad?
We celebrate a feast called a Seder while eating poor people’s tasteless bread called Matzah. We are commanded to eat roasted meats and drink four cups of wine while reclining, all signs of festivity yet, we dip vegetables in saltwater and must eat bitter herbs.

In Judaism, we cannot appreciate freedom unless we remember what slavery was for our ancestors. We cannot partake in a feast without tasting the bitterness of the journey that led to our independence today. In Judaism, we cannot arrive without the sweat and tears of the journey.

This identity crisis perfectly symbolizes my feelings over this past year living through a pandemic. I am pained by the loss of life, the illness, the emotional and physical toll this pandemic has taken on businesses, industries along with families, and communities. Grandparents who cannot hold their children coupled with kids who cannot attend school and valued rites of passages, like prom, Israel trips, and B’nai Mitzvah denied have caused real loss and sadness. It hurts our collective heart. These are all saltwater and horse-radish for our soul.

Yet, at the same time, family units have bonded closer than ever before. We have a new appreciation for health, life, and those who tend to the care of the ill and elderly. This time has reminded us of what matters most in life. By staying home, wearing masks, and taking precautions we are reminded how seemingly small acts by each and every person help shape our world for the better. We have put consumerism and chasing materialism by the wayside and focused on relationships. We have replaced valuables with values.  Technology has tethered us to work, family and community and created new rituals that will continue long past Covid. This is the four-cups of wine and feast for our spirit.

Sometimes, I imagine in prayer form,  that God will grant me health and years and that I will be able to have grandchildren sit at my feet and ask me what it was like to live through a pandemic. I anticipate them asking me how terrible it was and I hope to be able to say, it was terrible and it was beautiful, all at the same time. Just like Passover and so much of our tradition. After all, if we cannot feel pain, we will never know what joy feels like. If we only eat the sweetness of the Haroset, we will have no appreciation for the Marror – bitter herbs. And if we only feast on roasted meats and wine, we cannot appreciate the challenges of our ancestors and our encounters that tried our bodies and resolve.

I pray this Passover, better than last year but not as sweet as year’s previous, will be filled with honey and appreciation for the stinger of the bee; an ability to taste and appreciate the sweetness of the  Haroset and the bitterness of the Marror which all enable us to find better balance and appreciate the arc that is our history and our shared future.

Shabbat Shalom and Happy Passover.

Rabbi David-Seth Kirshner

When something is broken, most of us throw it out. If we didn’t, our basements, closets, and drawers would be even more full odds and ends than they already are!

Yet many of us also have a tendency to throw away things that can be fixed because it’s often much easier to buy new than it is to repair. Sadly we live in a world where single-use is a norm, even when it doesn’t have to be.

The Talmud teaches that the Ark of the Covenant contained not only the two Tablets of the 10 Commandments, but it also held the fragments of the original set of 10 Commandments which Moses broke.

Why clutter this beautiful cabinet with the broken pieces of the original 10 Commandments? Why keep the shards when the whole Tablets were there? Some say it’s so we should always remember the mistakes that led to the shattering of the first set, while others believe it’s a metaphor for our treatment of those who through age or disease have lost their memory and wisdom (we should treat them with respect and honor).

Another option is that the broken tablets enshrined with the whole is a statement about the tenuous relationship between the broken and the whole. How easy it is to break things- even the 10 Commandments, hewed by God, could be shattered.

But similarly- given enough time and dedication- how easy it can be to repair- to fix that which has been broken. Or at least to honor the value of the broken and treat it like it’s whole. Not everything that’s broken should be thrown away, we should repair what we can, and at the very least we should honor the fragments and broken pieces that led us to this day.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Jeremy Fineberg

This week will mark the one-year anniversary since COVID-19 became the widespread pandemic that has changed our way of life. Yes, the virus was around way before March of 2020, but the quarantine, massive hospitalizations and deaths,  and the shutdown of what was a normal operating mode for our world occurred one year ago this week.  The balance of last year from that moment had had our kids learning remotely, stores closed down, professional sports canceled, synagogues shuttered, Amazon overloaded and everyone except for essential personnel, working from home.

None of us would have ever believed that this new mode of operations would have lasted 2 months, never mind 12 months. In that time, we have learned much about ourselves and others.

One thought that has captured me during this time is that this is the first moment in every single living person’s life that affects us and our community and the entire world the same. COVID-19 is a shared challenge for our world and is indiscriminate in who it can attack. Painfully, while the virus is common to all humans in all parts of the world, this moment has shone a light on the hurtful reality that we do not all share the same values: not with our families, our neighbors, or others in our world. For me, while I knew that reality politically and perhaps regionally, I had never felt it as acutely as I have during the past year. At moments, it has stung.

In Parshat Ki Tissa, as the Israelites struggle with delf determination and identity while making the Exodus from Egypt to Israel, a taxation and census is taken. The text specifically tells us that every person over the age of 20 is required to give a half shekel to the communal fund and to be counted. We learn that the rich cannot give more, and the poor cannot give less. It is incumbent on all of us to do our part.

Community and responsibility are important themes for the development of the Israelite people. It has equal application today.   Similarly, the notion of communal sacrifice has application today,  too. While the Israelites might have had different social agendas, political leanings, or even personal passions, communal responsibility remains the same.

Hopefully, we are closer to the end of this pandemic than its beginning. The vaccines and learned precautions, along with warmer weather have buoyed many spirits.  Let us be reminded that while we indeed have 70 faces to our Torah and celebrate the divergent opinions of Hillel and Shammai, there are moments when our unity and coalition must be paramount. From Ki Tissa’s census to today, we all have a role and collective responsibility to help bring this pandemic to its end and to look after the welfare of ourselves and others.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi David-Seth Kirshner