“The Love of Parents and Children” | November 17th
In Parshat Toldot this week, we read the famous story of Jacob dressing up as his hairier brother Esau in order to trick their blind father Isaac into bestowing a blessing. Reading this tale of deception, there is one question that I cannot help but ask. Is it possible that their father actually believed Jacob was Esau? If you read the story closely, there are signs all along the way that Isaac was suspicious the whole time. And there is a very simple explanation for Isaac’s skepticism: he must know who is who because Isaac knows Jacob and Esau in a special way thanks to the intimate bond with his children that only a parent experiences. He has known the feel of their touch since he cradled them in his arms. He has been hearing the sound of their voices since they were just the whimpers of babies. He has been there every step of the way. That is the unique connection that only a parent and a child possess.
As with everything in the last month plus, our view of the world has been changed by the events in Israel, down to the very meaning of a relationship between a parent and child. This past Tuesday, I was among the hundreds of thousands who proudly gathered to show their support for Israel. And I am certain that I was not alone in being particularly moved by the rousing words of Rachel Goldberg, the mother of Hersh Goldberg-Polin, a 23-year-old taken hostage by Hamas on October 7. The night before that fateful day, Hersh’s mother and father laid their hands on their son’s head and bestowed the words of protection from the priestly blessing, just as Jewish parents say to their children every week. Now more than a month later, they have no idea where he is.
For the loved ones of those taken captive, the horror they are enduring is unimaginable. As Rachel Goldberg put it, she and the rest of those families waiting for their loved ones to be returned “have third degree burns on our souls”. They are living in a state of suspended animation and uncertainty as they await any indication of the safety of their most treasured possessions in the world. As parents, all they want is to know that their son is ok. And they are not alone. Their family’s story is just one among the over 200 others who have no idea about the safety of their loved ones. Tragically and unfathomably, they don’t know the next time they will put their hands on their children’s head, feel the touch of their skin or hear the sounds of their voice. We all so desperately want this nightmare to end.
As we enter this Shabbat, we will continue to wait for updates with bated breath, but we must maintain our hope. We will pray with everything we have in our hearts and souls that the day will come soon when those children who were taken will be returned to their parents, and that they will once again be able to lay their hands on each others’ heads and feel the embrace of love.
Rabbi Gabe Cohen
“Grave Sanctity” | November 10th
It is hard for me to speak about any topic or teach any curriculum these days without seeing it through the prism of October 7th. Specifically, every minute of every day, my heart and mind think of the agonizing fate of the hostages and their families who are waiting anxiously for any signs of life.
In 2016, Eldad Regev and Ehud Goldwasser were abducted from within Israel into Lebanon by Hezbollah terrorists. Intelligence brought Israel to confirm that the two soldiers were mortally wounded in battle before their capture. Still, Israel negotiated a hefty price to release five prisoners with bloody hands for the lifeless bodies of these two Israeli soldiers.
Why is it so important to have bodies back?
David Grossman, the famed Israeli author writes in his book, Sea Under Love, about Momik. This little and sweet character knew the difference between a grandparent who died and was buried in a marked grave, versus those who died and had no place to visit them. Momik straddled the generation who had grandparents that died during Israel’s Independence and those who died during the Holocaust with no place to mark their death. The former form of burial was coveted, and the latter was a painful reminder of the ongoing cruelty of the Holocaust.
In Parshat Chayyei Sarah, Abraham buys a plot of land to bury his wife. It becomes a familial and generational burial place. The Machpelah burial site in Hebron, allows links in a chain of memory and connectedness by having a physical space that we can visit and pay respects.
The same is the true for those we remember in modernity. I feel my loved one’s presence with me constantly, yet when I am at the cemetery, that connectivity heightens. That place is sacred. Putting flowers or a stone on the grave marker of family soothes my heart.
That is the reason Israel paid the immense ransom to bring home bodies for burial. It is not only how we honor the dead, but also how we console and honor the living.
Rabbi David-Seth Kirshner
“Praying for the Safety of Loved Ones” | November 3rd
In this week’s Haftorah, we read a story from the book of II Kings about the unnamed Shunamite woman who desperately wants to have a child. The prophet Elisha tells her that in a year’s time, she, like our matriarch Sarah in this week’s parsha, will have a son with the help of God. But in this story, shortly after that son is born and grows up, he suddenly and tragically dies. In a panic, the Shunamite woman rushes to track down Elisha in the desperate hope that he can restore life to her child. And with the divine help of God, Elisha breathes life back into the woman’s son.
In that liminal moment between death and life, what must it have been like for that mother not to know the fate of her son as she ran for help? Would her desperate prayers be enough to bring him back?
As with everything recently, events in Israel have changed the way I read this story. Reading about a mother who only wants to know if her son is alive or dead, my thoughts could not help but turn to those families desperately and anxiously awaiting the return of their loved ones from behind enemy lines in Gaza. What they are going through right now–having no idea about the condition of those they care about most in the world–is unimaginable. Like the Shunamite woman, they do not know if their children are alive or dead.
In the midst of all this worry and anxiety, we can find one small glimmer of hope that there is at least one family whose prayers have been answered. On Monday, the IDF announced that Pvt. Ori Megidish, a 19 year old soldier, had been taken out of Gaza in a successful secret rescue mission. Details are scarce, but she is reportedly in good physical and mental condition, and has been returned safely to her family. While we will continue to pray for the safe and speedy release of the over 200 hostages, for now, her safe return home provides even just a sliver of optimism that the rest of those who have been taken may also find a safe way home. I and the rest of the Jewish world will maintain the hope that we will soon see the day when mothers, fathers, husbands and wives, grandparents and siblings are all safely reunited with the ones they love.
Rabbi Gabe Cohen
“Lech Lecha 5784” | October 27th
I love to travel. Airports give me such an adrenaline rush. The idea of landing and exploring new places, trying new foods, meeting new people and learning about their cultures is reason for excitement.
But I would be dishonest if I told you that my excitement does not have a tinge of anxiety. What will the people be like where I am going? Is it safe? Will the food taste good? Will the language be a barrier? I also know that I am always a little different after the trip. My horizons are always broadened and it adds to the .
I do not know what Abram, Lot and Sarai were feeling when they began their journey headed south to Canaan, also known as Biblical Israel. Though, I imagine many of these feelings – the excitement and worry – were front and center.
The events of October 7th have forced all of us on a new journey that’s path is riddled with worry, anxiety, unity and fear. None of us know where this journey will take us and how it will change us individually, and as a people. But it surely will change us. Our horizons will be broadened, and some beliefs will be shattered.
I wish I had the perfect medicine to calm fears and tell you what every space and turn of this new place will look and feel like. I DO know that we will grow from this moment. Most moments of profound pain always lend itself to positive progress. I also know that the more we are with one another, and can hold each other close, it will help calm fears and fortify our resolve.
This will be a long journey. I am supported knowing you are by my side for all the parts unknown and undetermined.
Rabbi David-Seth Kirshner
“Seeking Hope in a Dark Time” | October 20th
This week we read Parashat Noach, best known for its fantastical elements–an ark large enough to safely carry two of every animal from a flood that will drown the whole world followed by a rainbow that reassures humanity that God will never destroy the world this way again. But beneath all of that, with Israel on our mind and in our hearts, there is a story that resonates deeply right now about a world torn apart by hate. God looks at the world He has just created with great disappointment as He sees that humanity cannot get along with one another. The world’s population has been overwhelmed by wickedness to the point that God determines the only way forward is to wipe everyone out and start all over again.
And as dark as this aspect of the story feels, the lasting image we are left with is not destruction. Instead, it is the hope that the rainbow symbolizes for civilization going forward. That rainbow is God’s promise that no matter how bad things may seem, the world can be a better place. That is a message we desperately need now as our thoughts, prayers and full-throated support turn to Israel.
It is these days when we need those moments of hope and reassurance like we saw with God’s rainbow. And in light of reading the story of Noah now, there is something that makes the image of the rainbow even more powerful. Nachmanides, writing in the 13th century, notes that the shape of the rainbow carries a powerful message of peace. He explains that the shape of the rainbow is the very same arc as that of the bow and arrow. But because the rainbow is pointed towards the sky as opposed to the ground where humans reside, this is the symbol of a warrior holding his weapon in the air with no intention to fire. It is the call for peace. And so, in our dark world, as we pray for the speedy and safe return of those taken captive and that those responsible for these heinous attacks face swift justice, I share the opening words from the Prayer for Peace that we recite every shabbat on the bimah, but which have never felt as necessary as they do right now: “May we see the day when war and bloodshed cease, when a great peace will embrace the whole world.”
May this be a Shabbat of much needed hope and peace in the world.
Rabbi Gabe Cohen