In honor of Israel's 70th Yom Ha-Atzma'ut this week, the organization Koolulam released this video of 12,000 Israelis singing together. In a stadium in Tel Aviv, they learned and performed the vocal parts for the classic song "Al Kol Eleh," "For all these things."
If you haven't seen the video yet, you might want to pause to do so before reading the rest of what I have written about it.
In 1980, to comfort her sister Ruth on the loss of her husband, the Israeli songwriter Naomi Shemer dedicated a song to her sister called “Al Kol Eleh” - “For all these things.” It has become one of the most popular songs of contemporary Israel.
Like many iconic songs, many regard it as hackneyed and cliched. But there’s a reason why it became such a popular song. It reflects powerfully deep wisdom.
The opening words of this song, ‘Al hadvash ve-al ha-oketz, al ha-mar ve-hamatok,’ ‘For the honey and the sting, for the bitter and the sweet,’ have their roots in a midrashic comment on the Book of Numbers (Tanhuma Balak 6).
The midrash pictures a person who sees a bee, and says, ‘Bee, get away from me! I have no use for you. Lo mi-duvshakh, ve-lo me-uktzakh. I don't want your honey, and I don't want your sting."
In its context in the midrash, this phrase cautions against things that look attractive but are actually bundled together with strong negatives, such that the bad far outweighs the good. The prudent course implied by the midrash is to avoid the bee’s honey, because it is accompanied by the bee’s sting.
But Naomi Shemer’s song turns this midrashic phrase on its head. Naomi Shemer realized that as a life strategy, “I don’t want your honey, and I don’t want your sting” is deeply flawed. Such a strategy can lead someone to avoid any endeavor that includes the possibility of pain or failure.
Which is why in her famous song, Naomi Shemer thanks God al kol eleh - ‘for all these things,’ al hadvash ve-al ha-oketz, ‘for the honey and for the sting.’ Shemer says: don’t avoid the honey because of the sting. Rather, appreciate the honey despite the sting.
Today’s 70th anniversary of Israeli independence is an opportunity to take stock of the entirety of the experience of Israel, the honey and the sting, the bitter and the sweet.
It is breathtaking to behold how much Israel has accomplished in its few short decades: reconstituting a Jewish national community; becoming a place where Israeli culture is normative, where Jews and Judaism are at home. Being a place of refuge for Jews experiencing persecution around the world, who otherwise would have nowhere to go. Building a society that is animated by Jewish values, as well as by the values of the democracies that have been the places where Jews have been most likely to to thrive in freedom. Becoming a center for the world-wide Jewish community, and the home to the largest Jewish community in the world. Reestablishing a deep Jewish connection to the land of the Bible, where so much of Jewish history took place. Becoming a leader in worldwide technology and innovation. Granting freedoms to its citizens, of all religions, that are so far beyond the freedoms that they could experience anywhere else in the entire region. Expressing deeply held humanitarian impulses as it responds to crises around the world and endeavors to play its part in making the world better. The list of everything sweet about Israel goes on and on.
But the honey is accompanied by the sting, the bitterness that is often overwhelming. The dream of return to the land of our ancestors has been realized - but the dream of being accepted in the Middle East has not been realized. Every Israeli family and community has experienced the sting of the violent deaths of loved ones, often in the prime of life, in the struggle for the legitimacy of an official Jewish presence in its historic homeland. Enough of Israel’s neighbors have not yet accepted its presence that the spectre of an attack upon Israel - even an attack with nuclear weapons - must be seriously considered and prepared for. Whereas criticism of Israel is not always the same thing as antisemitism, much of the criticism of Israel in our world is thoroughly intertwined with antisemitism.
And the thus-far intractable conflict between Israelis and Palestinians stings so deeply: terrible losses on both sides, and the corrosive effects on both sides of long-term war and the long-term subjection of a civilian population to military control. Israel is not totally responsible for this predicament, but it shares in both the responsibility and the consequences. Implications of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict also cast thorny questions on the character of Israel’s future: will it be a Jewish and democratic state as it strives to be, as per the vision of its founders? Or will it compromise its democratic character in order to remain Jewish, or compromise its Jewish character in order to remain democratic? If Israel pursues either of these paths, what will be its future and what will be its risks? As I see the children of my Israeli friends reaching military age, and as I see the Israeli friends of my children reaching military age, all these questions are not at all theoretical; they burn with an intensity that nearly matches the sweetness of all of Israel’s achievements.
Some respond: lo mi-duvshakh ve-lo me-uktzakh. Israel, I don’t want your honey, no matter how sweet, because I don’t want your sting.
But I sing along with Naomi Shemer: Al hadvash ve-al ha-oketz. I take the honey despite the sting, even as I do what I can to minimize the sting.
Israel is the most significant Jewish project of the current era. As the Israeli writer Amos Oz likes to say, Israel is a dream come true, which is why it is flawed. Dreams come true are always flawed, and the only way to keep a dream in its pristine condition is to never attempt to bring it into reality. A dream come true, like a milestone birthday, should prompt both celebration and introspection -- both prayers of gratitude and prayers for guidance to chart a wise future. On this 70th anniversary of Israel’s independence, my gratitude overflows - as do my prayers for guidance.
In the words of the Prayer for Israel in Siddur Lev Shalem:
“We pray for God’s blessing upon the State of Israel, her government, and all who dwell within her boundaries and under her authority.
Grant her leaders the fortitude to keep ever before us those ideals upon which the State of Israel was founded. Grant courage, wisdom, and strength to those entrusted with guiding Israel’s destiny to do Your will.
Be with those on whose shoulders Israel’s safety depends and defend them from all harm.
Spread over Israel and all the world Your shelter of peace, and may the vision of Your prophet soon be fulfilled: “Nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore.” (Isaiah 2:4)
Tonight begins Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day - the day when we remember the effort by the Nazis to obliterate the Jewish people -- and how they nearly succeeded in their diabolical plan, murdering ⅔ of the Jews of Europe, approximately 6 million men, women, and children. The Holocaust continues to exert an influence on the life of our community today, as so many of us have family members who are survivors and so many of us have family members who were killed during that terrible era. (Click here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4uK5uz7d-Oo to see a video of how Yom HaShoah is marked in Israel today -- with a two minute siren that brings the entire nation to mournful standstill in tribute to those who were killed.)
Tonight and tomorrow, many of us are lighting memorial candles in memory of those who have died. Additionally, many of us will gather on Sunday afternoon April 15, 4pm, at Congregation Bnai Jacob (176 West Side Avenue in Jersey City) for a moving tribute to those who died, including musical presentations by the USH Choir. Our older Learning Center students in grade 6 and above are having special programs this week focusing on remembering the Shoah.
Each year on Yom HaShoah, I reflecting on the memories of people who died since last Yom HaShoah, whose lives were touched by the Shoah. As we experience the loss of the generation of Holocaust survivors, the responsibility to tell their stories shifts to the rest of us.
Today, I think of Kurt Rosendahl, grandfather of our friend and member and trustee Adam Berkowitz, who died in February 2018. Adam wrote this in memory of his grandfather:
"Kurt Rosendahl was born in 1920 Aachen, Germany, with dreams of following his father into a very successful family pharmacy business. As the Nazis took power, my grandfather and his family left for Belgium, with my grandfather and great-grandfather fleeing to France to join the resistance. They were ultimately captured by the Nazis. My grandfather spent time in multiple camps, surviving Auschwitz, a death march through Poland, and finally Buchenwald where he was liberated by the Americans. At one point he suffered gangrene in his foot, had a non-surgical amputation of a toe, and only survived because his friends carried him back and forth to work each day. He met my grandmother in Belgium after the war (I told that story during Yom Kippur), and they eventually moved to the US, settling in Manhattan and then Long Island. They enjoyed traveling the world and meeting new people everywhere- visiting 6 of the 7 continents and numerous countries. But what they loved most was their family- Two daughters, 5 grandchildren, and 2 great-grandchildren [LC students Marissa and Tori Berkowitz] (with a third on the way) are what made them most proud. Just last weekend he was able to celebrate his 98th birthday with his family and friends.
At my mother's funeral, my grandfather spoke the following: "In sleepless and endless nights and nightmares, in the filthy barracks of Auschwitz, I had a dream. I had the impossible dream that I would survive the Shoa which we call the Henim. I dreamt that I would meet Helen and that together we would create a new family and new life. When Diane was born, it was the fulfillment of an impossible dream. She was our first born and the beginning of a new family and new life. There is a concept in Judaism that one life is the equivalent to the entire world. Diane was the beginning of a new world.""
Kurt Rosendahl spent much of his life speaking and writing about his Shoah experience; he told his story to a group of teenagers just a few weeks before he died. We pray that Kurt’s memory be a blessing always, as we extend continued wishes for comfort and peace to Adam and Lindsay and Marissa and Tori and all who mourn the loss of Kurt Rosendahl.
Also on my mind is Frieda Brown, a dear friend of our community who died in July 2017. Frieda Brown, mother of our friend and member Alicia Weinstein, was born in the notorious concentration camp of Bergen-Belsen, shortly after the war was over and it had been converted into a displaced persons camp for survivors of the Holocaust including her parents. A good portion of Frieda’s childhood was spent caring for her younger siblings, in part because her mother was in ill health with aftereffects of her Holocaust experience. We pray for continued comfort for Frieda’s daughter Alicia, son-in-law Jim, and grandchildren Mimi, Grace, and Evan.
We also join with the worldwide Jewish community in mourning the loss of Mirielle Knoll of Paris, age 85, who was brutally murdered just a few weeks ago in what authorities are calling an act of anti-Jewish violence. As a child, Mirielle narrowly escaped the roundup of Parisian Jews in July 1942. She lived a generally happy and quiet life and raised her family in France. In later years, she had Parkinsons Disease and was mostly confined to her home. Just three weeks ago she was murdered -- the key suspect is a neighbor whom she had known since his childhood, and there are indications that he and his accomplices were motivated by their anti-Jewish beliefs. How agonizing that the anti-Jewish hatred that had upended her childhood returned to cruelly and tragically end her life in violence. Mirielle’s death, along with other murders of Jews in France in recent years, are horrifying reminders that the hatreds of the past are still with us. And seeing thousands and thousands of people in Paris two weeks ago, marching against hatred in Mirielle’s memory, hopefully reminds us that not everyone embraces the hatreds of the past; we have many allies in our desire to create a world of kindness and tolerance.
In this country, this year as well, we are so alarmed by the events in Charlottesville and other indications that the spiritual heirs of the Nazis are more confident and assertive than they have been in many decades. The Anti-Defamation League’s report of extremist murders in the United States in 2017 notes that the number of murders in the United States perpetrated by white supremacists has doubled in the last year. Here, too, we can take comfort in the number of allies we have -- people who prize diversity rather than being threatened by it -- but we know that we must continue to be vigilant.
As we pause to remember those who were cruelly murdered during the Shoah, as well as those who survived, we pray that their memories will inspire greater kindness and tolerance and love in our world.
At our synagogue's congregational seders for the last few years, we have played the following game: I have collected unusual Pesach stories, and shared three such stories with the community: two true stories, and one fictional story. Participants then have to guess which two stories are true and which one is false. (If you listen to Wait, wait, don't tell me, you get the idea, except that only one story is false.)
What is everyone’s favorite Passover dessert? Like you have to ask. Your favorite Passover dessert is Matzo Toffee Crunch, otherwise known as Matzoh Caramel Buttercrunch. If you have had it before, you know that it’s your favorite. If you have never had it before, that is the only reason it is not yet your favorite.
These cookies, made from matzo coated in caramel made of butter and brown sugar, topped with melted chocolate and then refrigerated, are easy to make and also so addictive that in some circles they are known simply as ‘matzo crack.’
You may have thought that you remember this recipe from your grandparents who brought it with them to Ellis Island … but food writer and pastry chef Marcy Goldman has done some research on this Passover tradition, and her research reflects that this recipe was invented by one specific person -- food writer and pastry chef Marcy Goldman. She says she developed this recipe in 1985, she says she can prove it, and it’s time for her to start getting credit for it.
So when the Manischewitz Food Co put a recipe for Matzo Toffee Crunch on its matzo boxes, she asked that they indicate that she was the original inventor of this recipe. They declined, noting that recipes can’t be copyrighted.
But increasingly Marcy Goldman has been getting appropriate credit for the invention of this recipe, the first truly new food to truly break into the pantheon of Passover classic dishes in many decades -- even though it might be better not be known a the inventor of ‘matzo crack.’
The seder plate is getting crowded. Along with the traditional shank bone and egg and parsley, some Jews have had the tradition for the last 30 years to add an orange to the seder plate - in solidarity with Jewish women, or with the Jewish LGBT community, depending on whose version of the story you believe. More recently, advocates for farm workers have suggested putting a tomato on the seder plate. Advocates for Israeli-Palestinian coexistence have encouraged putting olives on the seder plate. And Reconstructionist Judaism has encouraged adding a pineapple to the seder plate as a symbol for refugees.
But as of last week, the newest addition to the seder plate is an unbroken apple peel - to express solidarity with the millions of people around the world, and thousands and thousands of Jews, who are left-handed. That’s according to Joel-Aaron Levine, the founder of “Left-Handers Anonymous,” as well as the moderator of its “Jewish Left-Handers” Facebook page. According to Levine, this is the way that attention can be drawn to the daily indignities suffered by people who are left-handed, who find that desks, musical instruments, the computer mouse, and especially kitchen utensils were not designed with them in mind.
And why should the apple peel be the symbol for these people? Says Levine: “If you’re a lefty, you know that it’s going to be harder for you to use a regular vegetable or fruit peeler to peel your apples to make Haroset.” But Jews have a special responsibility to reach out to the southpaw community, especially on Passover. As Levine notes, there is a robust debate in rabbinic literature about which way left-handed people should lean at the seder -- to the left, like everyone else, or to the right.
Does Levine have any hesitation about mentioning the suffering of slaves in Egypt, contemporary migrant laborers, refugees, and LGBT people in the same breath with the challenges of people who are left-handed? “We’re not implying that everyone’s difficulties are the same,” he says. “But Jews are taught not to rest until everyone has equal rights - or equal lefts, as the case may be.”
Each year at the seder, we remove ten drops of wine from our cups as we remember the ten fearsome plagues that befell Egypt -- including the plague of boils. The plague of flies. The plague of lice. The plague of darkness. The plague of crocodiles. The plague of….. What’s that you say? You have never heard of the plague of crocodiles?
The second plague described in the book of Exodus is צפרדע - Tsfardei’a - usually translated as ‘frogs.’ But some traditional commentators say that really, the Hebrew word tsfardeia refers to crocodiles. After all, frogs are unlikely to be as destructive and fearsome as the plague of tsfardeia is described as being. And crocodiles famously inhabit the Nile River, and crocodiles were even worshiped as gods in ancient Egypt. This is enough evidence for the Spanish-Jewish sage Isaac Abravanel to conclude that the plague of tsfardeia actually refers to crocodiles.
If Rabbi Isaac Abarbanel is right, we may need to stop singing one of the most beloved children’s songs for Passover, because if we change the Frogs song to ‘crocodiles on his bed and crocodiles on his head, crocodiles on his nose and crocodiles on his toes,’ it would probably earn a PG-13 rating for gory violence.
So instead we’ll have to teach our preschoolers to say:
B is false (though the references to the orange/tomato/olive/pineapple are all true, as is the fact that there is a debate in rabbinic literature about which way left-handers should lean at the seder.)
These words are adapted from my remarks at the United Synagogue of
Hoboken on January 13, 2018.
Several years ago, I noticed that whereas I don’t always devote
sermons to upcoming holidays on the American civic calendar, I have always,
without fail, made sure to speak about Martin Luther King in some way on the
shabbat before Martin Luther King Day. It occurs to me that this is
for many different reasons. First, that Martin Luther King Day is the one
and only day on the American civic calendar that is dedicated in memory of a
religious leader, so it reminds us of the potential role that religious leaders
can play in improving the character of a society (and reminds me of my
responsibilities as a religious leader). And second: unlike so many
American holidays that are simply celebratory occasions, Martin Luther King Day
is a day not only of celebration but also of contemplation. It is a day
to celebrate how far the United States has come on this journey towards
equality and freedom, and a day to contemplate how far we have yet to go.
As we know from Martin Luther King’s most famous speech in 1963: The founders of the
United States set a blueprint for a nation that would be free and equitable,
asserting that all are created equal and are endowed by their creator with
inalienable rights -- but those words of the Declaration of Independence were a
promise that had not yet been fulfilled, “a promissory note,” “a check which
has come back marked ‘insufficient funds.’ ” However, as King said, “we
refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt.” King retained a
confidence that even if justice and equity were not yet achieved in his
own day, they would eventually be achieved. Clearly we are closer to the
achievement of that dream than we were 55 years ago when King spoke those words
-- and closer to the dream than we were 50 years ago when King was
assassinated. And yet we all know that that dream is still not fully realized.
It will not be fully realized until it is really true, as King
envisioned, that people of all ethnic backgrounds and religions and national
origins and other characteristics would be fully welcomed to help to build the
This week’s torah portion is called Vaera, from the book of
Exodus, and it gives us an opportunity to look closely at a story in the Torah
that revolves around how different groups in a society relate to each other.
In last week’s Torah portion, we read about the beginning of the
experience of Egyptian slavery. We read that the Hebrews in Egypt were growing
and multiplying - and Pharaoh was getting alarmed. He said to his
advisors: “הן עם בני ישראל רב ועצום
ממנו -- the people of Israel are getting to be
too numerous for us. הבה נתחכמה לו- let us deal wisely with them.” It is clear from
Pharaoh’s language that these Israelites are living among the Egyptians, but
they he does not consider them to be Egyptians. In fact, they are considered to
be so different from the Egyptians that Pharaoh feels threatened by them and
tells his followers to prepare for a hypothetical scenario in which the
Israleites would actually sympathize with the enemies of the Egyptians.
So for the Egpytians’ own safety, they decide that they need to
weaken the Israelites - and this is why the Egyptians enslave the Israelites.
This week’s Torah portion of Vaera tells us about the first 7 of
the ten plagues -- plagues that demonstrate God’s power and God’s insistence
that everyone should be free. The plagues eventually weaken Pharaoh’s
resolve so that -- spoiler alert -- in next week’s torah reading of
Parashat Bo, he will finally let the Israelites go free.
Pharaoh’s words in this part of the Torah reflect his discomfort
with a heterogeneous Egyptian society. Someone who is different from him
is perceived as a threat. Perhaps this is one of the reasons why Pharaoh
keeps hardening his heart throughout today’s torah portion, and why the plagues
don’t seem to work: Pharaoh has been assuming that the Israelites are
threatening and dangerous to Egyptian society, so he understands the plagues as
simply confirming the assumptions about the Israelites to which he had already
Not surprisingly, I have been thinking about American diversity
this week -- and about the history of American immigration, which is the
primary means for how the United States got to be as diverse as it is.
I have been thinking about how my ancestors came to this country,
when, and from where. Like many American Jews, and large numbers of us in
this sanctuary, I am descended from Eastern European immigrants who arrived in
the New York area between 1880 and 1924.
When people describe Jewish immigration to the United States from
Eastern Europe, why is that period always described as concluding in 1924?
What happened in 1924? ….
Between the 1880s and 1920s, immigrants poured into the US --
including large numbers of Jews. But there started to be concerns among
some Americans that the United States was becoming too diverse. Too many
immigrants, from too many different places, and not all of them were people who
would ‘fit in,’ so to speak. And so a law was passed in 1924 which curtailed immigration
for everyone, but especially for Jews, for Eastern Europeans in general, and
for Italians. Additional immigration from Western Europe and Northern
Europe continued to be encouraged, however, to make sure that THESE would be
the groups that would remain the majority in the United States. According
to the US State Department historian, “the most basic purpose of the 1924 Immigration Act was to preserve the
ideal of U.S. homogeneity.’ President Calvin Coolidge stated in his 1923 State of the Union address, and
reiterated when he signed the bill into law in 1924,
he said, “America must remain American….Those'
who do not want to be partakers of the American spirit ought not to settle in
America..” There were some categories of immigrants who were believed to
be undesirable for America - because they were poor, or likely to be involved
in crime, or they just were changing the American character into something that
didn’t seem so American anymore.
I am not planning to quote the vulgar expression
used by the president to refer to poor and troubled countries this week,
countries from which he did not think we should be seeking immigration because
we want more immigration from places like Norway. When I hear him
talk like this, I remember that the advocates of the immigration act of 1924
might also have talked like this -about the places from which my grandparents
and great-grandparents came. And I am grateful that my ancestors all arrived
in the US before 1924 -- and deeply sad about the fate of my Jewish Eastern
European relatives who didn’t make it to the US by 1924. If the
president had been alive at that time, why should I think he he would have been
on the side of my ancestors and relatives?
We affirm today that it is precisely the
diversity of American life that is one of its greatest strengths, just as our
torah reading reminds us that Pharaoh did not realize that diversity could
have been one of Egypt’s strengths. The people I know who are
immigrants from Haiti, Africa, El Salvador, and many other countries labeled by
the President are EXACTLY the people who are making America strong. There are
many people in our synagogue at this moment -- congregants, guests, employees
-- who fall into the categories that the president labeled pejoratively.
I can only imagine how I would feel if the president of my country were
to have referred to MY ethnic group in such a way. I hope that if I ever
did hear that, that my friends and neighbors and co-workers would be quick to
stand in solidarity with me -- which is why I want to say: if you are from a
group that the president labeled pejoratively, I stand in solidarity with you.
No matter what the president may say, you are valued in this country.
Almost 2000 years ago, our sages taught us in the
כמה מטבעות בחותם אחד וכלן דומין זה לזה, ומלך מלכי המלכים הקדוש ברוך הוא טבע כל
אדם בחותמו של אדם הראשון ואין אחד מהן דומה לחברו.
A human being can make a bunch of coins from the
same stamp and they will all be identical, but God makes all human beings in
the image of God, and using the stamp, so to speak, of the first human being,
and yet all people are so gloriously different.
In Jewish tradition, the wide diversity of
humanity is not cause for alarm, but cause for celebration.
To the extent that many Americans agree, we have
Martin Luther King to thank - as we both pray and work for the fulfillment of his dream “that one day this nation will
rise up, live out the true meaning of its creed: We hold these truths to be
self-evident, that all … are created equal."