Sermon given August 1, 2026. Watch the sermon here.

Shema, Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Echad.

Hear, O Israel: Adonai is our God, Adonai is One.

The Shema is our central prayer, anchoring each morning service.

And then, we whisper, baruch shem k’vod malchuto l’olam va’ed.

Blessed is the Name, and its glory is forever and ever. 

And then come three paragraphs.

The first paragraph is from earlier in Deuteronomy, and it’s the one we are most familiar with: the v’ahavta, which commands us, “you shall love the lord your God with all of your heart, and all of your soul, and all of your might, and you shall teach these words to your children and say them when you rise and sleep and bind them to your arms and between your eyes and put them on your doorposts.” 

The third paragraph is from Numbers, and has to do with the tzitzit, the fringes on our prayer shawls. We sometimes say this one out loud, and we kiss our tzitzit or touch them to our heart as we recite this paragraph, to show that our bond with the mitzvot is dear to us.

That’s the first and third paragraphs. 

But it’s the second paragraph, which happens to come from this week’s Torah portion, that we are going to focus in on today. We usually stay silent for this paragraph, and some of us skim over it, so I’m going to read it aloud right now. That paragraph says:

“If you faithfully obey the commands I am giving you today—to love the Lord your God and to serve God with all your heart and with all your soul—then I will send rain on your land in its season, both autumn and spring rains, so that you may gather in your grain, new wine and olive oil. I will provide grass in the fields for your cattle, and you will eat and be satisfied. Be careful, lest you be enticed to turn away and worship other gods and bow down to them. Then the Lord’s anger will burn against you, and God will shut up the heavens so that it will not rain and the ground will yield no produce, and you will soon perish from the good land the Lord is giving you. Fix these words of mine in your hearts and minds; tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Teach them to your children, talking about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates, so that your days and the days of your children may be many in the land the Lord swore to give your ancestors, as many as the days that the heavens are above the earth “

I remember being very confused when I first picked up a siddur and read this paragraph in English as to why we had to read it in the first place, as the translation seemed to be largely reiterating what the v’ahavta already said-- to love God with all of our heart and soul, bind these words to our hands and arms and doorposts, teach them to our children, etc. 

At first glance, the only part that was new in this paragraph seemed to just be a warning: a warning that if we don’t follow the mitzvot, there will be real consequences. 

As I learned more Hebrew, though, I realized that there was actually another new detail in this second paragraph after the Shema, a new detail apparent only in the lashon kodesh, the holy language of our Torah. 

That difference is this: whereas the first paragraph, the v’ahavta, is conjugated in the singular in Hebrew, the second paragraph, the paragraph from this week’s Torah portion, is conjugated in the plural in Hebrew.

That means that the v’ahavta can be directed at each of us individually. YOU shall love. YOU shall love. It speaks to our individual responsibility to the mitzvot and to God. 

But the second paragraph is directed at us collectively, as a community. You ALL shall love. You ALL have a collective responsibility.  And then it adds: Or else. It warns us that there will be real consequences if we don’t find a way to approach our mitzvot collectively, as a community. 

This distinction matters. An individual has power, but it is limited; however, individuals working together can create something bigger, and more nuanced, and more powerful, than any individual working alone. 

The flipside, unfortunately, is also true, as the second paragraph of the Shema points out-- if we as individuals and individual communities can’t find a way to work together with each other, then catastrophes of great magnitude can occur. Schisms, war, global warming, broken families-- this is what we risk if we cannot think collectively, about how our actions impact those beyond ourselves. 

Even misunderstandings, if they are not addressed with the worth of all participants collectively in mind, run the risk of harming carefully carefully developed relationships.   

Essentially, this confirms what we already know as members of the TBE community: we know that sustained, real relationships take work, especially communal relationships, and we know the beauty that can come from that-- that’s this community! When we put in the work, good things can happen; and when we don’t, relationships can be hurt. This is the lesson of the second paragraph of the Shema.

I’d like to share a story with you all from this past week that illustrates this lesson. The second paragraph of the Shema will provide us with our backdrop as I recount my experience of what happened this week in the Maine Jewish community. 

First, here’s the background for what happened this week: Over the last few years, in the wake of the Hamas attacks on Israel and the ensuing Israel-Hamas War, the use of the word “genocide” to describe Israel’s actions in Gaza has become more and more common, becoming a buzzword in the media and a staple in speeches and chants. We all know this in the Jewish community, and we know that the use of the word “genocide” is a deeply emotional topic for Jews all over, because of our past and the fact that our people faced the horrific genocide of the Shoah. 

In the public sphere, major political candidates in particular have often not grasped the real consequences and growing threat to the safety of Jewish citizens that has accompanied the increased usage of this word. Antisemitism makes no distinction as to how individual Jews feel about Israel, the war, or Netanyahu; antisemitism threatens us all, simply because we are Jewish. And most of these candidates do not know firsthand what it is like to be targeted just for being Jewish, although I will say that is not the case for all.

The fact that public figures who behind closed doors have told the Jewish community that they will not use language of genocide when discussing the Israel-Hamas War have and then have pivoted to doing so while on the campaign trail has exacerbated already strained relationships and has left some members of the Jewish community in this state feeling betrayed, especially because these candidates rarely name the fact that Hamas, the other main actor in the conflict, is quite literally and by their own definition a genocidal organization.           

That’s the back story. In response to this ongoing situation, over the past several weeks, the JCA, the Jewish Community Alliance, in conjunction with several rabbis around Maine, wrote a statement which was released before Shabbat this week. Some of you have seen it-- it condemned the use of the word “genocide” by public figures and politicians in the Maine races and outlined reasons for this condemnation. I will note that there were many other points made in the letter, which was detailed and two full pages long, but that calling on major public figures to stop using the word “genocide” in their rhetoric was the main point of the statement. 

I first found out about the letter on Tuesday, after the JCA asked me to sign on in my individual capacity to the statement. The letter was already completed, and I was asked to sign as quickly as possible, with the goal of releasing the statement on Wednesday. 

And this meant that I, as your rabbi, found myself in a very challenging position, communally and relationally, and that is what I want to talk to you about today. 

Before I go any further, I am going to let you know, in case any of you who may not already know, that I did end up signing the letter. The purpose of this sermon is not to hold you in suspense-- it is to invite you in to the journey I as your rabbi and the lay leadership of this amazing synagogue were taken on this week, to open the next stage of the conversation, and to highlight both the power of being in Jewish communal relationship and the ways we have yet to grow.

Because I am an individual, yes, and I can and I do, occasionally, sign things in my own name; I have freedom of the pulpit. On a purely personal level, I do agree that the overuse of the word “genocide” by politicians is making Jewish lives less safe.   

But I am also the rabbi of this entire synagogue, and I know that this issue is a deeply intense and emotional one for the congregants of TBE. Furthermore, I know that part of the power of the letter was specifically to have Jewish communal leaders, congregational rabbis, sign on, Jewish leaders who represent and connect many Jews in our community. That’s all of you. 

And that meant that as I made my decision about whether or not to sign on, I needed to think about all of you before I responded, not just what I as an individual thought. I had to think about how my signing or not signing this letter would impact all of you and your well-being, because I knew that no matter what I did, I would end up hurting someone in this community. And that is not a feeling I want to have as your rabbi. But the reality is that sometimes, being in relationship puts us in those positions. 

As I sat with this choice, I mainly thought about three groups within our beautifully diverse congregation. I want to name and speak to those three groups right now-- all of whom, though they have reached different conclusions on this issue, I believe are trying to live their lives according to their Jewish values. And I support that.   

The first group are the members of this congregation who disagree with the use of the word “genocide” to describe the actions Israel has taken in Gaza. These congregants do not condemn the word because they celebrate the killing of Gazan children, no. They do not condemn the word because they believe that Netanyahu is perfect; Many of these congregants, in fact, disagree with the way this war was carried out and are outraged at Netanyahu’s actions. However, they also see how the widespread use of the word genocide, has directly aggravated and inflamed antisemitism-- sometimes intentionally-- making Jewish lives less safe in a real way. They also remember the killing squads and gas chambers of the Holocaust, designed to systematically murder as many Jews as possible in as short a time as possible, and they point out that if Israel wanted to, it has the means to kill far more Palestinians than it has. 

I am not saying any of this as conjecture: I’m saying this because I know we have congregants who feel this way, because I have sat with you, and I have heard your words and your pain. I know that you are heartbroken by what is happening. 

That is the first group.

The second group is the congregants in our community who do use the word “genocide” to describe what Israel has done in Gaza. These Jews believe that “genocide” is the accurate word not because it is a trend, not because they hate themselves, not because they want Israelis to die, but because they see horrific, systemic destruction of infrastructure and staggering numbers of deaths in Gaza, and they hear Israeli ministers and leaders who influence the actions of the IDF directly saying things on the record that are at the very least advocating for ethnic cleansing. This group of congregants is not pro-Hamas, and, like the first group, they condemn the genocidal actions of Hamas. Like the first group, they also remember our people’s suffering in the Holocaust, but that memory leads them to a different conclusion about how they must act and speak.       

And again, I am not saying this as conjecture: I know we have congregants who feel this way, because I have sat with you, I have heard your pain, and I know you are heartbroken, too.   

And then there is the third group. This is the group that tries not to weigh in on the argument about the word “genocide”, from sheer exhaustion, or a sheer feeling of powerlessness in the face of the forces at work in this world that are bigger than what any one human being could change, or from the persistent grief that has grown within our community since October 7th and in its aftermath, as we have watched debates like this one divide our people. This third group is a group that worries that if they speak up, that they will be ostracized by either or both of the first two groups, and maybe even be left without a Jewish home. 

And to all three groups I say: You have a home here at TBE. It is my honor, and my challenge, to be rabbi to all three groups.   

As indicated by my name on the JCA’s statement, I personally disagree with politicians using the word genocide in reference to Israel’s actions in Gaza. But the fact that I, as rabbi, disagree does not mean that all of my congregants must agree with me, and this is important to say publicly. I have no interest in policing the vocabulary choices of any TBE community members who, in good faith, follow the TBE norms of social kashrut, communally agreed upon by this congregation, with careful conversation, which state that there are multiple valid ways to be Jewish, and say “Our community is not whole until all those who seek a connection with Judaism know that they will be welcomed and supported by all of us.” These are your words, TBE, and a big part of why I wanted to be your rabbi is because I believe in them, too.      

We talk a lot about welcoming the stranger. Usually we’re talking about immigrants; usually we’re talking about people who are new to our country. But the fact of the matter is that welcoming the stranger sometimes is harder when it’s the person next to you in shul who you don’t recognize as being on the same team as you. Or when it’s the person sitting next to you at kiddush lunch whose perspective you struggle to understand. That is also welcoming the stranger among us.

I understand the heartbreak of the dedicated members of the TBE community who do use the word, just as I understand the heartbreak of the dedicated members of the TBE community who do not use the word. And I certainly understand the heartbreak of those who are hurting because these fights keep exacerbating deep rifts among the Jewish people. I am heartbroken, too. And I want to be your rabbi. All of you.       

I am speaking to you today about this issue, in such detail, because it is my hope that the members of this community who disagree about the word “genocide” can disagree while acknowledging the humanity in each other, and be able to support each other as fellow Jews in our shared suffering. We are in this together, whether we agree about verbiage or not, and there is more than enough heartbreak to go around already.

So, on Tuesday, I made a decision-- the only decision that seemed in line with the communal lessons of the second paragraph of the Shema: I decided I could not make the decision about whether or not to put my name on this letter alone. And the beauty of it was, I didn’t have to. 

On Tuesday, when I learned about the finished letter and was asked to sign, I immediately consulted with Sara, as TBE President, and with Duane, as Executive Director. I agreed with their advice to hold an emergency Board meeting to discuss the matter and make sure that the entirety of the TBE lay leadership understood what was happening in the larger Jewish community and could make their voices heard. On Thursday night, we held that emergency meeting, and I will share with you a little bit of what it was like now. 

At the start of each Board meeting I offer a small piece of Torah or a short text to frame the meeting. This week, which had also contained Tu B’av, the Jewish Holiday of love, I shared a line from the special miSheberach prayer for fiancees before their wedding. That line is, quote:

“May their love grow, as You, God, plant within them a listening heart and a tongue that speaks the truth quietly and kindly.” 

That was how I opened the emergency meeting-- because no matter the urgency of the issue at hand, it is my wish for us both at TBE and in the wider Jewish community that we can find a way to have listening hearts and speak our truths kindly, even when, and especially when, it is difficult to say them. 

And I was deeply moved by the truths that were shared by our Board members at that meeting. Mainly, they spoke, and I listened. Their opinions were not uniform, but each one was a gift, and each one advised me as I prepared to make that complex decision. As tends to be the case in strong community, there was division. But I did my best to have a listening heart, as the mi sheberach says, and each and every Board member spoke their truth kindly, also as the mi sheberach says.   

I want to state clearly that through everything that went into this statement, everything that happened this week, all of the decisions about whether or not to sign it, the many, many late night conversations-- that meeting with the TBE Board was a shining light in a dark week.

The readiness and willingness of the Board to be an active part of this multi-layered decision reminded me that no matter what decision I made, personally, about signing the letter, the process itself had already helped us grow, as a community. 

I am sitting, this Shabbat, with immense gratitude for the many ways that the lay leadership and professional leadership of this synagogue prioritized relationships and communal responsibility this week, listening and compromising. Even when and especially when we disagree, as long as we continue to intentionally be in sacred conversation, our community can move forward; Because ultimately, it’s the process, and not the end result, that is the whole point, the essence of all of this, the ikar. As the second paragraph of the Shema teaches us, we have to find a way through whatever is happening in our world in real relationship with one another, or else.     

Imagine if we never raised our voices about anything, and never got passionate about anything. Imagine if we never argued, instead staying silent and holding grudges. Imagine if nobody had the courage to say they disagree. Imagine if we didn’t trust each other enough to speak our truths. That is not the world, or the Jewish community in Portland or in Maine, that I am hoping for or want to help build.     

In the end, as will surprise no one, there was no consensus from the Board as to whether or not I should sign, though there was overwhelming agreement on several fronts: first, that TBE welcomes conversations such as this, and wants to be involved in these conversations on a community-wide level; second, that something needs to be done to address the dangerous rise in antisemitism we that we are facing; and third, the acknowledgement that there would be consequences for either signing or not signing a communal letter like this, and that we needed, if we were being responsible, to consider them in our decision-making process. 

TBE is one of the largest and most visible Jewish organizations in the State, and as such we all understood, as the governing body of this synagogue, that TBE would be impacted by my response to this letter, no matter whether I signed or not.   

That the safety of the members of this synagogue had to inform my decision about whether or not to sign or not to sign on to a letter like this in my personal capacity speaks to the brokenness of the public discourse around Israel. 

And so, given all of these factors, I made several decisions.

First, as you know already, I signed on to the letter. I agree that the overuse of the word genocide by prominent politicians is increasing antisemitism in Maine. I see it, here. Would I have worded the statement differently, given the opportunity? Yes— but that wasn’t an option. And so, I signed in hope. In a hope echoed by everyone present at our board meeting this Thursday, that in the future, TBE’s voice will be included in the crafting of communal statements, as their fallout will inevitably impact this institution and its members. I did not sign on to be a hero. I signed on because I wanted to make the choice that I believed let the community of TBE enter into the next chapter of Jewish life in Maine in close relationship with the other communal Jewish institutions of the state. And I signed on in the hope that if we are going to hold our major politicians to the expectation of nuanced discourse, then we ourselves, as the greater Jewish community, will also be able to extend each other the same grace and courtesy.     

That’s the first thing I decided. 

Second, I decided to give this sermon.  First and foremost, I wanted to say clearly to those who agree AND those who don’t agree with my choice, that I welcome you here at TBE. In light of this situation, I wanted us to examine our tradition’s charge to find honest ways to work together, with its warning for what happens when we do not. That the JCA wanted to release a communal statement about a communal source of pain is in line with the spirit of the second paragraph of the Shema. That the JCA was willing to postpone their release timeline so that the TBE Board could meet and advise me was also in the spirit of the second half of the Shema, and for that, I am grateful. And, the fact that I insisted on not making the decision alone, but instead consulting with synagogue leadership, was also in line with the second paragraph of the Shema. 

At the end of the day, we are all trying, and we are all growing, and it is my hope and my prayer that we will learn and grow closer together from this experience, not farther apart.

That was the second thing. 

Third and finally, I resolved to be an active part of building the next chapter of Maine Jewish community in the aftermath of this letter. My choice to sign this letter has gotten more of a response from congregants, non-congregants, community members, potential members, and others since its release yesterday morning than literally any other single thing that I have done as TBE’s Rabbi, and I do not want to shut any of those conversations down. Now is not the time to stop talking. Now is the time to lean into conversation.

Like the Board’s advice to me, this outreach from the community has not been uniform. And I believe that that diversity is a strength, not a weakness, of this community.     

I signed that statement because I believe that TBE’s relationships to our fellow Jews and our fellow Jewish organizations are more important than my ego; they are more important than any individual word or phrase; and they are more important than the political rhetoric of the hour.   

And as I hope is abundantly clear by this point, this sermon is not really about signing or not signing anything. It’s about how it is the honor of my life to be your rabbi-- ALL OF YOU, whether we agree on this or not. And it’s about how this entire process has laid bare how deeply important it is for us, as a Jewish community, to protect and nurture our sacred relationships to each other, and to take the time to work together on difficult issues, and hear each other. It’s about how, as the mi sheberach says, we must practice, again and again, speaking our truths kindly, and hearing them with loving hearts. 

Shema, as we say. Listen. Listen, and be heartbroken together, and then make your choice.   

In the end, I choose relationship. I choose discussion. Messy, sacred discussion. I choose community and collective responsibility. I choose the second paragraph of the Shema. 

And I choose all of you.

Shabbat Shalom.