Rabbi's Column - November 2025

Dear Friends,

When I was in college there was a gigantic rock in the center of campus. Every 20th-century war, social upheaval, and local drama probably got painted on it at some point. It had been painted and repainted so many times that it was probably double its original size.

Was there something like this at your alma mater? Tufts University has an old cannon that serves the same purpose. One of our college students recently snapped a photo of it and her mom sent it to me. The Tufts cannon was painted dark blue, with huge white letters: “WELCOME HOME! AM YISRAEL CHAI.”

When I received that photo, I replied that I lacked adequate words to describe how it made me feel. Many of us have had similar emotional responses in recent weeks.

The elation of seeing every living hostage return home is a joy that defies description. It feels as though part of the Jewish soul has been restored. And yet there are so many other feelings—conflicted ones. Psychologists talk about “complex grief.” This moment makes me think there should also be something called “complex joy.” For even as we rejoice, we also grieve: for families who don’t get a reunion, who are still waiting, and for the unanswerable questions: can this really be the end of war? What will come next? How will Israel reckon with the suffering and destruction? How will we?

Then, just as the worry builds, I see something beautiful—those tearful reunions—and my heart explodes with gratitude. A moment later, my brain starts talking to my heart, wondering what healing will look like for those who have survived such horror. Everything has changed for them and their loved ones. A long road lies ahead. And yet—they are home. There is such joy.

In Judaism, joy is a religious precept. The Psalms say: עִ בְ ד וּ אֶת־ה׳ בְּ שִׂ מְ חָ ה, בֹּא וּ לְ פָ נָיו בִּ רְ נָ נָה — serve God with joy, come before God with happy song. There’s even a term for it: שִׂ מְ חָ ה שֶׁ ל מִ צְ וָה — the joy of performing a commandment. Perhaps because of the many dark chapters of our history, joy and humor have always helped us cope.

Hasidic Judaism made joy central. מִ צְ וָה גְּד וֹ לָה לִ הְ י וֹת בְּ שִׂ מְ חָ ה תָּ מִ יד — it is a great commandment to be joyful, always. Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav, the great-grandson of the first great Hasidic teacher called the Ba’al Shem Tov, taught about joy through the metaphor of dance:

Imagine you are in a room full of dancers, but standing on the sidelines because your mood is too dark to let you enter the circle. Finally, someone grabs you by the hand, pulling you in. As you begin to move, you notice your former sadness still standing back there, disapproving. The real task, says Rabbi Nachman, is to make that sadness itself dance, to transform it into joy. (Rabbi Art Green: Judaism’s 10 Best Ideas)

Nachman knew profound torment. He suffered the deaths of most of his children as well as his wife, and likely struggled with depression throughout his life. His teachings on joy are powerful because they are personal. Don’t ignore your sadness, he taught. Chase after it and transform it.

This teaching called to mind a speech that Rachel Goldberg-Polin gave last month. Rachel, mother of slain hostage Hersh Goldberg-Polin, captured the emotional impossibility of the moment:
”We are told there is a season for everything, but now we are being asked to digest all of them at once—winter, spring, summer, fall. A time to weep and a time to laugh, and we have to do both right now. A time to sob, and a time to dance, and we have to do both right now.“

As Rachel describes, the transition from war to whatever comes next is complex, because joy itself is complex. Despite the many questions that remain, we need to let our hearts hope. As the Psalmist writes: “You turn my mourning into dancing; You remove my mourning garments and gird me with joy.”

May th s be our fervent prayer.

Shalom,
Rabbi Moss

Rabbi's Column - October 2025

Dear Friends,

At Rosh HaShanah, I spoke about Levi’s block tower—how he stacked it high, marveled at his creation, and then knocked it down with glee. It was a moment of wonder, impermanence, and impulse control-in-formation. (Very toddler.) And, it reminded me: nothing we build lasts forever.

Some things do endure, though. Judaism has always been more interested in sanctifying time than constructing monuments. Our rituals, our holidays, Shabbat—these are the cathedrals we carry with us. They don’t crumble. They don’t fade. They live in us. We create formative Jewish memories with those we love, and they stay with us.

This year, I invited our community to make 5786 the Year of Shabbat. Not because we need one more thing to add to our calendars, but because we need something sacred to anchor them. Shabbat is our weekly reset. It’s our chance to stop, breathe, and reconnect—with ourselves, with each other, and with the Divine. Think about it less as a thing to do, and more as permission to slow down.

If you haven’t yet received your TBT Shabbat kit, we have one with your name on it! Just drop by the office. If you have one but haven’t opened it yet, I encourage you to do so this week. Light the candles. Enjoy the wine. Try baking a Challah — or grab one from Stop & Shop, there’s no shame in that!

You don’t need to be an expert. You just need to get started. And if you’re not sure how, I’m here for you. Our RAC volunteers are available. You can learn the melodies for the Shabbat blessings here. I’ll be hosting the first Shabbat 101 workshop on Sunday, November 2nd at 11am. This is a judgment-free zone! Come learn the essentials of Shabbat: the blessings, rituals, and history. Everyone is welcome.

Finally, I’d love to hear what you’d like to try this year. Drop me a note, or stop by the office.

Let’s build something together—not in stone, but in spirit. Because in the end, it’s not the towers we build that define us. It’s the time we choose to make holy, together with those we love.

Shalom,
Rabbi Moss

Rabbi's Column - Summer 2025

Dear Friends,

Some things are clearly right or wrong. Sometimes, though, clarity comes only in hindsight. In late May, 1967, three Arab armies were massing against Israel. Egypt had closed the straits of Tiran and ejected its UN Peacekeepers. The mood in the country was somber: Hospitals canceled elective surgeries. 14,000 graves were dug in Tel Aviv’s Yarkon Park, in anticipation of mass casualties. Soldiers wrote farewell letters to their loved ones.

In the face of the Arab armies’ imminent attack, Israel launched a bold pre-emptive strike. IAF pilots destroyed the entire Egyptian air force while its pilots were still eating breakfast. Out of this existential morass came a resounding victory: in just six days, Israel expanded its territory threefold and solidified its place as a rising power in the Middle East.

In a recent poll 83% of Jewish Israelis support the pre-emptive strikes on Iran — despite the certainty of reprisal. This is notable, because Israelis are exhausted. They do not want more bloodshed. They do not want to keep running to their safe rooms. They do not want war, and yet they support this war. During the June 20 Shabbat I tried to explain why this is so. Will history vindicate this operation, furthering the cause of peace and stability? Will it be another Six Day War? Only time will tell. Our judgments today may be disproven tomorrow.

Rabbi Jill Jacobs teaches about a surprising ruling in the Babylonian Talmud: if every judge on a court votes to convict, the defendant is acquitted. (Sanhedrin 17a). The ancient sages identified that, in this instance, the judges may have succumbed to group think. They have not sufficiently raised questions and objections.

The modern luminary Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik expands, “If they all saw him as guilty with no aspect of merit, there is certainly some corruption or perversion of justice in that court.” Certainty, in other words, is not necessarily a virtue.

Within the Jewish and broader American communities, many have jumped to either blanket celebration or condemnation. So many breathless commentators and armchair diplomats fail to consider the nuances and risks of this situation – not to mention the lived experiences of those most in harm’s way. Rather than abject certainty, this may be a moment instead to acknowledge uncertainty; to admit that none of us really know what is right.

There are valid reasons to support this war, and other valid reasons to oppose it. The future is unclear, and the present danger is real. Whatever our views, our hearts are united for safety in Israel.

We also feel the urge to act. If you want to help, you might consider a donation to the Israeli Reform Movement’s Urgent Care and Relief Fund; or support temporary housing for Israelis abroad.

Finally, although peace feels painfully distant, we pray for peace. We will never stop praying for peace.

Shalom,

Rabbi Moss

Rabbi's Column: June 2025

Temple Beth Tikvah is a vibrant, inclusive Reform Jewish community, guided by Torah and interconnected through our traditions and values of tikkun hanefesh (enriching our lives) and tikkun olam (improving the world).

Dear Friends,

These words are proudly on display in our lobby and on our website. But what does TBT’s congregational mission really mean? 

Let’s start with the Hebrew concepts. Tikkun HaNefesh means “self-repair” —  this is the internal work of self-improvement. Tikkun HaOlam means “world-repair” —  this is our Jewish obligation to mend a broken world. You may have heard of Tikkun Olam before. But where does it come from, and what does it have to do with us?

In its modern form, Tikkun Ha’Olam emerges from Jewish Mysticism. In the beautiful mountain town of Tzfat the great Rabbi Isaac Luria (the Arizal) [re]told the story of creation: In primordial existence, God’s presence filled all space and time. In order to create anything in space, God had to contract (tzimtzum) and open a vacuum of God-less-ness. Into that vacuum God launched countless vessels of light. But the delicate containers that held the light could not survive that vacuum, so they broke into millions of pieces. The light was scattered throughout the void. The world came into formation, but its goodness was suffused by the surrounding darkness. The mission of every Jew, therefore, is to locate these scattered pieces of light. Through mitzvot and righteous acts we may lift them out of darkness—  thus sanctifying God, and participating in the work of creation as God’s partners. Hence - Tikkun HaOlam —  the repair of the world.

This is one of the purposes of a Jewish life. At TBT, so many people are engaged in Tikkun HaOlam every single day. I am regularly moved by the passion of our members in the helping professions and who dedicate their lives to serving others. And our volunteers are doing amazing things, too: consider that just this year, our Social Justice committee has been working hard to settle a new refugee family; collect food for those in need; and serve hot meals at the Branford Community Dining Room. The need has grown considerably this year as federal funding for the former two projects has stopped; so our support is really critical. If you might like to get involved with either of these initiatives simply reach out to Robin Baslaw. The commitment is more manageable than you might think, and we’d really love a variety of TBT folks to participate.

Another highlight of the year was our 9th grade trip to Washington, DC.  They joined with our fearless Temple Educator Ira Wise and hundreds of Jewish teens from across the country to learn about creating a better world through legislative advocacy. They wrote position papers on issues of Jewish moral concern ranging from food insecurity to reproductive rights to gun violence prevention —  and then presented their speeches to our members of congress! This impactful weekend is called “L’taken” —  a different grammatical form of that same phrase, Tikkun Olam. You may have heard a few of those terrific young people present their speeches at services earlier this Spring. And the students reported the trip was awesome —  a truly transformative learning experience. Next year’s class is already raring to go!

I’d also like to share with you about a project I am working on. Together with our local congregational justice teams of CONECT and the National Gun Safety Consortium, we are partnering with police departments throughout the state. Law enforcement and military buyers constitute the large majority of firearm purchases, so they can make a meaningful impact in the production, adoption, and availability of firearm safety equipment. The NGSC’s non-partisan project seeks to implement safer storage and access practices, with the partnership of our local police. I am proud to share that Chief Massey (Guilford PD) and Chief Drumm (Madison PD) have both eagerly signed on. If you have contacts in other area departments, I hope you will let me know. These devices will save many lives.

Finally, our Kulanu (combating antisemitism) group is planning opportunities for learning, dialogue and connection with the broader community. Just last week, they organized an important conversation with our college students about their experience on campus.  If you would like to get involved, please reach out to Irma Grebel or Louis King.

My mom and dad joined our family synagogue in the 1980s. My childhood rabbi, a wonderful man named Mark Shapiro z”l, knew that it could seem intimidating to take a first step. So he invited my mom, who didn’t really know much about Judaism, to start with something manageable.  “What about making a sandwich for someone in need?” he asked.  “The committee meets on Sunday afternoons.” That first step led to new friends, the joy of doing a mitzvah,  and a lifetime of joyful Jewish connection. And yes, that one little sandwich is a small but meaningful step in Tikkun Ha’Olam.

So, let this be my invitation for you to “make that first sandwich!” I would love to connect with you, our members, about your Jewish Journey. I would love to hear your ideas about how to make the world a better place. Please let me know when we can get together, so we can get to work, together.

Shalom,

Rabbi Moss

Rabbi's Column: May 2025

Dear Friends,

You may not have heard the name Omelian Kovch. I hadn’t, either, until I learned about him in a moving tribute to Pope Francis, z”l. Father Kovch was a Greek Catholic Priest, a righteous man among the nations. When the Nazis firebombed a synagogue in 1941, Kovch immediately ran to help, ordering the police to desist. Miraculously, they obeyed him, and he began pulling victims from the flames. He was arrested in 1942, and deported to the Majdanek concentration camp, where he later died. While in Majdanek, he wrote:

“Do not be troubled, and do not lose faith on my part. Instead, rejoice with me. Pray for those who created this concentration camp and this system. They are the only ones that need prayers…May God have mercy on them.”

In honor of Father Omelian’s heroism, Pope Francis bestowed an award for courage in ecumenical understanding. After reading the moving story, I was confronted with the implicit question: if I were in Father Omelian’s place, would I have had the courage to do what he did? If I’m honest, probably not. But I hope I would have done something.

Exceptionally dark times demand exceptional acts of humanity. We all must ask ourselves: what would we be willing to do, to save the innocent?

As I write these words, the Jewish people stands on the cusp of three modern holidays: Yom HaShoah (Holocaust Remembrance Day), Yom HaZikaron, and Yom HaAtzma’ut (Israel’s Memorial and Independence Days). These days fall within just a week of one another, making for a roller coaster of emotions — especially this year. Our hostages are not yet free; the war rages on; and the suffering of innocent people is vast. Here at home, antisemitism reached a new record high. Despite many bright spots, Jewish safety on many college campuses is still a major concern. Moreover, our very constitutional order is in question, as people are deported to foreign prisons absent the due process of law. The warning bells of Jewish History are ringing.

In the wake of the Shoah, many of us were raised with the rallying cry, “never again!” Friends, we are living through this generation’s “never again” moment. And for me, never again means many things. It means I won’t stand for attacks on Israel. I won’t stand for hateful vitriol hurled at our children. And I won’t stand for the erosion of civil liberties in the interest of security.

You may have heard that, following the first seder, a domestic terrorist firebombed the home of Pennsylvania governor Josh Shapiro. The motive appears unambiguously antisemitic. Among the charred wreckage was a burnt and shredded haggadah page that, remarkably, contains the closing of HaTikvah, ‘our hope is not yet lost.’

The hope of over 3000 years courses within our veins. We are burnt, bruised, and bullied. We are weary and discouraged. But, as the Haggadah reminds us:

Not only one tyrant has risen up against us; rather, in every generation, a Pharaoh or a Hitler will arise. Yet, we’re still here. Let this be our anthem and our commitment in days to come. Each of us has a role to play.

Shalom,

Rabbi Moss

Rabbi's Column - April 2025

Dear Friends,

What does it mean to be free? This is the question at the heart of Pesach (Passover). The ancient rabbis call it zman cheiruteinu — the season of our liberation. Freedom is a universal human aspiration. Of course, it’s central to the American story, too. And that’s probably why Pesach is the most celebrated Jewish holiday. A climactic moment of the seder is when we read in the hagaddah:

B’chol dor vador chayav adam lirot et atzmo k’ilu hu yatza mi-mitzraim.

In each generation, it is incumbent upon each of us to view ourselves as though we went out from Egypt.

Each year, then, we’re asked to put ourselves in the shoes of a newly freed slave. What does that mean in 2025? It may be helpful to start with where we came from. My great-grandfather Max came to America at the age of 14, traveling alone. His parents stayed behind in Belarus; they were later killed in a pogrom. His brother, with whom he lived in Wisconsin, was then killed in a freak accident. I never got to meet my great-grandfather; I never learned of his suffering, or how it impacted his life. But whether he knew it or not, he turned that suffering into a bridge: to allow a life of freedom and opportunity for my grandmother, my mother, and me. That gift comes with a responsibility I hope I will never squander.

Perhaps your family has a similar story. Our ancestors sacrificed for our freedom. It’s one of the things I think about when we pass the Torah from the arms of grandparents, to parents, to children in our B’nei Mitzvah ceremonies. This is an incredible gift; a rare gift; a gift that for most of Jewish history would have seemed impossible. It wasn’t easy for us to integrate into American society, but we have somehow gone from a hated minority to the most positively-viewed religious group. Despite the widespread and growing antisemitism in our country, we still live as comfortable and integrated a life as any Jewish community has in 2500+ years. That alone is cause for celebration.

We are fortunate to have the sanction of the court of opinion. And I give thanks every day that we still have the sanction of the court of law, too — equal as citizens with any other. Every previous time in history we have enjoyed similar protections, they have eventually been taken away. Around the world — from Turkey, to Sweden, to France, and beyond— these twin protections are diminishing and disappearing for Jews. France used to have the largest Jewish population in Europe. In recent years, they have been making aliyah in huge numbers.

Our American freedom is a gift, not a guarantee. As we gather with our families around the Seder table, let us express gratitude for the freedoms we enjoy. They can disappear if we do not protect them. Maybe this is why we are asked at each seder to see ourselves as crossing that bridge, from shackled in servitude, to the promise of freedom.

Chag Kasher V’Sameach — Happy Passover,

Rabbi Moss

RABBI'S COLUMN - FEBRUARY 2025

רַבָּן שִׁמְעוֹן בֶּן גַּמְלִיאֵל אוֹמֵר, עַל שְׁלשָׁה דְבָרִים הָעוֹלָם עוֹמֵד, 

עַל הַדִּין וְעַל הָאֱמֶת וְעַל הַשָּׁלוֹם

Rabban Shimon Ben Gamliel says: The world stands on three things: on justice, and on truth and on peace. (Mishnah Avot 1.18)

Dear Friends,

I will not soon forget the poignant image of Romi Gonen, Doron Steinbrecher, and Emily Damari in their families’ embrace —  home at long last. I hope that by the time you are reading this, many more Israeli hostages have returned to their families. At the same time, our hearts are riven– we know that not every reunion will be a happy one. The emotional roller coaster of hope, elation, and dread tears at the Jewish soul. This devastating war has changed the Middle East. It has changed us.

One of the most important mitzvot is the redemption of captives. That is why our community has prayed for this moment every Shabbat since October 7th, 2023. But the deal is fragile. It can quickly be derailed by Hamas or another proxy of Iran. On the Israeli side, extremist ministers Betzalel Smotrich and Itamar Ben-Gvir may torpedo the governing coalition over the deal, which they have repeatedly foiled —  and bragged about. Ben-Gvir is an acolyte of the Jewish Supremacist Meir Kehane, whose organization was banned in the US as a terrorist group, and whose followers have been convicted of gruesome crimes. Every day that such extremists are included in a governing coalition is another step toward the normalization of hatred in Israel’s society. We must oppose this with every fiber of our being. 

These are turbulent times. The global ascendency of nativist worldviews poses a danger in our country, too. No matter who is in the White House or the K’nesset, we must remain vigilant of the dangers of nativist populism. That is why I was deeply troubled to see our President pardon 1500 people involved in the January 6th attack against the US Capitol. This pardon extends to those convicted of violent crimes, including seditious conspiracy. (See this briefing from the ADL to learn more.) Surely we have not forgotten January 6th, 2021 – but has our country forgotten? These rioters destroyed property and defiled the halls of congress.  Members of congress of every political affiliation were forced to evacuate,  fearful  for their lives. Police officers died. It was a terrible day for our country —  one that I was horrified to witness and pray will never occur again.

The presidential pardon is a controversial instrument. I feel ambivalent whenever I see it deployed, whether by team “D” or team “R”. While it can rectify injustices, it seems to me that the pardon undermines the due process of law which is the bedrock of our republic. This particular pardon, which amounts to a nullification of the largest criminal investigation and prosecution in US History, broadcasts the message that law and order apply selectively; that “truth” need not correspond to reality; that political violence is acceptable; that election results can be overturned by force; and that the legislative branch serves at the pleasure of the executive. These are characteristics not of a republic, but of a banana republic. I am saddened and a little scared that we are living through such times.

Complex times do not eliminate the need for moral clarity; they demand it more urgently.

For me, one of the more disturbing moments of the recent weeks came when the President referred to the convicted criminals of January 6th, 2021 as “hostages.” He did this while actual Israeli hostages taken captive by Hamas sat on the stage with their family members behind him. Beyond the disgust I felt at this insult to all they had endured, it was yet another moment of clarity. Morality is complex, but right and wrong still matter. Truth is nuanced, but facts are still facts. People may disagree on matters of policy, but there should be no disagreement on matters of fact.  In his recent book Nexus, the modern sociologist Noah Yuval Harari explains the trend we are seeing this way:

In its more extreme versions, populism posits that there is no objective truth at all and that everyone has “their own truth,” which they wield to vanquish rivals. According to this worldview, power is the only reality…The claim to be interested in something else—like truth or justice—is nothing more than a ploy to gain power. Whenever and wherever populism succeeds in disseminating the view of information as a weapon, language itself is undermined. Nouns like “facts” and adjectives like “accurate” and “truthful” become elusive. Such words are not taken as pointing to a common objective reality. Rather, any talk of “facts” or “truth” is bound to prompt at least some people to ask, “Whose facts and whose truth are you referring to?” (pp. xxiv-xxv)

This cynical worldview is the stuff of strongmen and dictators. Populism is, unsurprisingly, highly compatible with conspiratorial thinking. And inevitably, where conspiracy theories thrive, so does the hatred of Jews. Blatant Antisemitism has come from the likes of Marjorie Taylor Greene, Nick Fuentes, and billionaire Elon Musk, who now occupies the President’s inner circle. He and a handful of other billionaires exercise tremendous power over the flow of information in our society. People of goodwill of all political persuasions must come together to fight conspiracy theories and hate from becoming the new “truth.”

Later this month, our ninth grade class will travel to Washington, DC together with teens from across our country. They will prepare diligently,will dress professionally, and engage respectfully with our legislators in the halls of Congress. They will advocate passionately for their values as young Jewish people helping to shape a More Perfect Union. They will engage, in short, in the democratic process. So must we all. Education, attention, and action—  these are required in order for democracy to work. Compassion in our politics will increase compassion in our society. As Rabban Shimon Ben Gamliel reminded us 2000 years ago, truth is one of the pillars of our world. It is up to all of us to fight for the truth to prevail.

Throughout history, we Jews have lived and died at the whim of tyrants. In America, we all have a voice in shaping the future of our country. We must never take that privilege for granted.

Shalom,

Rabbi Moss

Rabbi's Column - January 2025

Dear Friends,

In the days and weeks since Haviv Rettig Gur’s visit as our Scholar-inResidence, my mind has been spinning with so many new ideas. I learned a great deal from Haviv’s visit, which I found highly educational, stimulating, and sometimes very challenging. I hope you enjoyed him as much as I did. As I reflect on all Haviv shared with us, a few points stand out. I thought I’d share my top take-aways with you, as he offered a lot of insight to bridge divides: between generational perspectives; between Israelis and diaspora Jewry; and between our current knowledge and where we all want to be. Because truly, we could be better informed (myself included)

1. Israeli Democracy endures as a function of its dialectic. In Israel, there is no distinction between the executive and legislature. Furthermore, parties with wildly divergent interests such as the Haredi (Ultra-Orthodox) UTJ and the Joint List (majority Arab parties) have sometimes even supported one another’s legislative priorities. Israel’s parties range from ultra-religious to secular; from socialist to communist. They reflect the ideological, ethnic, and religious diversity of the country as a whole. And like the proverbial “two Jews and three opinions,” the discussions on the floor of the k’nesset are often vigorous. They also serve as a sort of check on the society as a whole. Israel has no constitution or formal separation of powers as in the United States. Haviv argued that the inherent dialectic within this parliamentary system is one of Israel’s most important safeguards on democracy, as it presently stands.

2. Israelis want Israel to be moral. But first and foremost, they want their children to be safe. It is difficult for most Americans to understand the sense of existential threat that Israelis experience regularly — surrounded by falling rockets with a dearth of geographic buffers. Thank God we in the United States do not have to build bomb shelters under our kindergartens. Many Israelis, looking back at the failure of the Oslo peace process and the second Intifada, are skeptical that any Palestinian leader can be a true partner for peace. Ariel Sharon’s withdrawal from Gaza in 2005 similarly led to the armament and entrenchment of Hamas. Withdrawal from land in the absence of a peace process has only led to further bloodshed.

3. Israeli Jews don’t know much about diaspora Jews. American Jews don’t know much about Israelis. We used to have shlichim (young Israel emissaries) in our communities, to help build these bridges. We should bring that program back. We should send our kids to Israel, too. Israel should include diaspora relations among its educational priorities. And as Haviv accurately summarized, far too many American Jewish youngsters are unaware of their own story. Our Temple Educator, Ira Wise, and I, are committed to addressing this, with your partnership.

4. Israel’s Right has oftentimes fulfilled the promises of the Left. We’ve discussed this truism of Israeli politics in our Israel reading group and other classes here at TBT. Here are just a few examples:

• Prime Minister Menachem Begin, an icon of the revisionist Zionist camp, signed a peace treaty with Egypt in 1978 that returned the entirety of the Sinai Peninsula. Many in his Likud party criticized him for this, but history has vindicated the decision.

• Prime Minister Ariel Sharon, another stalwart of the right, unilaterally withdrew all Israeli settlers from Gaza. At the time, this was a popular decision, but very few would have expected Sharon to initiate it.

• As part of the Annapolis Conference of 2007, Prime Minister Ehud Olmert, another Likud leader, engaged in intensive negotiations with the Palestinians. He was willing to consider territorial concessions based around the 1967 borders. Unfortunately, these negotiations failed.

Israel’s current government is the most extreme in its history. The current Palestinian leadership is in no position to care for its own people, let alone negotiate for peace. Rather than fall into despair, it is helpful for me to remember that progress toward peace tends to come at unexpected times and in unlikely ways. Just consider the recent Abraham Accords. Normalization with Israel’s neighbors is achievable. There may even be a role for Saudi Arabia to play in the rebuilding of Gaza, as the Saudis and the Israelis inch closer toward diplomatic relations. As Jews, we pray for peace in every service, multiple times each day. We will never give up on peace.

If you didn’t have the chance to learn with Haviv last month, you can find him discussing many of the topics he addressed at TBT on these podcasts: What Matters Now or Call me Back. Finally, I want to exuberantly thank our Programming Committee leaders, Nancy Rosen, David Rosen, and Karen Rabinovici – as well as Temple Educator Ira Wise and our many dedicated volunteers – for making it such a successful weekend. It was a privilege to learn with all of you.

Shalom,

Rabbi Moss

Rabbi's Column - December 2024

Dear Friends,

In the days and weeks since Haviv Rettig Gur’s visit as our Scholar-in-Residence, my mind has been spinning with so many new ideas. I learned a great deal from Haviv’s visit, which I found highly educational, stimulating, and sometimes very challenging. I hope you enjoyed him as much as I did.

As I reflect on all Haviv shared with us, a few points stand out. I thought

I’d share my top take-aways with you, as he offered a lot of insight to bridge

divides: between generational perspectives; between Israelis and diaspora Jewry;

and between our current knowledge and where we all want to be. Because truly, we could be better informed (myself included)!

Rabbi's Column - November 2024

Dear Friends,

It’s time to vote! I hope all of us will make our voices heard at the polls.

I also realize that this election comes with no small measure of anxiety. If that’s so, perhaps we can uncover other feelings at the polls, too: hope, patriotism, and gratitude for this extraordinary and flawed place we call home.

Does that sound hard? Harder still is the family Thanksgiving Table. Uncle Leo always votes the same way, and needs everyone else to know why. Oy vey

I recently officiated a funeral for a man who was passionate about a certain side of the political aisle. On Thanksgiving he would turn on the TV and get into it with those who disagreed. But then everyone would sit down to break bread together, and they’d stop arguing. They remembered they were friends.

Let’s remember that we’re all friends.

Here’s some Torah to help with perspective: During Sukkot, our Torah Study group studied Kohelet (Ecclesiastes), the sacred book associated with the holiday. The book opens like this:

Utter futility!—said Koheleth—
Utter futility! All is futile!
What real value is there for a man
In all the gains he makes beneath the sun? 
One generation goes, another comes,
But the earth remains the same forever. 
The sun rises, and the sun sets—
And glides back to where it rises. 
Southward blowing,
Turning northward,
Ever turning blows the wind;
On its rounds the wind returns. 
All streams flow into the sea,
Yet the sea is never full;
To the place [from] which they flow
The streams flow back again. […]
Only that shall happen
Which has happened,
Only that occur
Which has occurred;
There is nothing new
Beneath the sun!

דִּבְרֵי֙ קֹהֶ֣לֶת בֶּן־דָּוִ֔ד מֶ֖לֶךְ בִּירוּשָׁלָֽ͏ִם׃

הֲבֵ֤ל הֲבָלִים֙ אָמַ֣ר קֹהֶ֔לֶת הֲבֵ֥ל הֲבָלִ֖ים הַכֹּ֥ל הָֽבֶל׃

מַה־יִּתְר֖וֹן לָֽאָדָ֑ם בְּכׇ֨ל־עֲמָל֔וֹ שֶֽׁיַּעֲמֹ֖ל תַּ֥חַת הַשָּֽׁמֶשׁ׃

דּ֤וֹר הֹלֵךְ֙ וְד֣וֹר בָּ֔א וְהָאָ֖רֶץ לְעוֹלָ֥ם עֹמָֽדֶת׃

וְזָרַ֥ח הַשֶּׁ֖מֶשׁ וּבָ֣א הַשָּׁ֑מֶשׁ וְאֶ֨ל־מְקוֹמ֔וֹ שׁוֹאֵ֛ף זוֹרֵ֥חַֽ ה֖וּא שָֽׁם׃

הוֹלֵךְ֙ אֶל־דָּר֔וֹם וְסוֹבֵ֖ב אֶל־צָפ֑וֹן סוֹבֵ֤ב ׀ סֹבֵב֙ הוֹלֵ֣ךְ הָר֔וּחַ וְעַל־סְבִיבֹתָ֖יו שָׁ֥ב הָרֽוּחַ׃

כׇּל־הַנְּחָלִים֙ הֹלְכִ֣ים אֶל־הַיָּ֔ם וְהַיָּ֖ם אֵינֶ֣נּוּ מָלֵ֑א אֶל־מְק֗וֹם שֶׁ֤הַנְּחָלִים֙ הֹֽלְכִ֔ים שָׁ֛ם הֵ֥ם שָׁבִ֖ים לָלָֽכֶת׃

כׇּל־הַדְּבָרִ֣ים יְגֵעִ֔ים לֹא־יוּכַ֥ל אִ֖ישׁ לְדַבֵּ֑ר לֹא־תִשְׂבַּ֥ע עַ֙יִן֙ לִרְא֔וֹת וְלֹא־תִמָּלֵ֥א אֹ֖זֶן מִשְּׁמֹֽעַ׃

מַה־שֶּֽׁהָיָה֙ ה֣וּא שֶׁיִּהְיֶ֔ה וּמַה־שֶּׁנַּֽעֲשָׂ֔ה ה֖וּא שֶׁיֵּעָשֶׂ֑ה וְאֵ֥ין כׇּל־חָדָ֖שׁ תַּ֥חַת הַשָּֽׁמֶשׁ!

Kohelet offers a very different philosophy than we find elsewhere in the Bible. Some might call it cynical or fatalistic. There is some truth there, but it is not, I think, pessimistic. When life is getting us down, Kohelet helps us take the long view. One empire falls, and another rises. Suffering gives way to joy — each in its season turns and returns. Life goes on. This may not give us great comfort about the worries of tomorrow, but it helps us to consider our role in the many tomorrows to come. When we are overwhelmed, Kohelet reminds us that today’s woes are but a drop in the cosmic bucket. When we feel insignificant, he reminds us that life is to be lived with intention and gratitude:

Go, eat your bread in gladness, and drink your wine in joy; for your action was long ago approved by God. Let your clothes always be freshly washed, and your head never lack ointment.
Enjoy happiness with the one you love all the fleeting days of life that have been granted to you under the sun—all your fleeting days. (9.7-9)

The great writer Isaac Babel describes the modern Jew as someone with “spectacles on his nose and autumn in his heart.” I love this turn of phrase. I love its poetic brevity. I love it because autumn is by far my favorite season, and I always have spectacles on my nose. I love our Holy Days, rich as they are with hope, honesty, unity, and the humble bow-of-the-head in the face of mortality. Autumn aligns with the Jewish condition because, for me, anyway, it underscores these truths:

We are a spiritually connected people, not just a religion;
We are a people of action first; and belief second;
We are a people of the land, not just people living in a given land; and
Autumn’s melancholy anticipates winter, but its pragmatism starts in abundance.

At this time of year I think back to a stirring essay by Adam Wilson. He likens Babel's assertion of Jewishness to the experience of a new parent: a condition “of anxiety, of omnipresent awareness of the soft spot on the infant’s skull.” 

The other side of that awareness, of course, is the beauty of new beginnings and unknown possibilities. If we can open our hearts to these mirror-image truths — both life’s discontents and its unexpected delights — we are most likely to be happier, healthier, and more resilient. That’s an attitude of abundance we can all take to our Thanksgiving Table.

All streams flow into the sea,
Yet the sea is never full;
To the place from which they flow
The streams flow back again.

Shalom,
Rabbi Danny Moss