Sermon given June 20, 2026. Shabbat shalom, everybody. And Happy Pride. It is so wonderful to see so many people here and to know there are more people online, celebrating with us today. We feel your presence. Last weekend, I was honored to give the sermon at a multifaith Pride gathering in Tuttle Road Park in Cumberland. It was a joyful, beautiful, windy morning with people of all ages. I got to hold up a picture book with pictures of the many names of God as my UCC colleague read it for the kids. We sang words from the Psalms-- “this is the day that the Lord has made! Let us rejoice and be glad in it.” We read Scripture from the book of Bereishit, from Genesis, examining the story of Creation, and then spoke of the beautiful rabbinic tradition of Midrash, specifically those in Bereishit Rabbah who imagine that Adam HaRishon, the first human, had to be something other than male or female, potentially some of both at once, or something altogether different, in order to have had the second human, Chava, pulled from their rib. We discussed the fact that there are sources within Judaism who for 1500 years at least have openly discussed those who live outside of gender and sexual binaries, and beyond simply naming the existence of such people, have sought to figure out how to include all individuals within the Jewish system, instead of immediately turning to exclusion. It was incredibly reassuring to experience how many positive things our different faith traditions had in common, especially the core commitment to what we in Judaism call Kavod HaBriot, the dignity inherent in all human life. Each faith leader kept coming back to the sacred refrain from Bereishit, that we are all created b’tzelem elohim, in the image of God, no matter our identities. We talked about the incredible power of that phrase-- btzelem elohim-- and how focusing in on it gives us a tool to help us celebrate the sacred variety in God’s Creation instead of giving way to homophobia, transphobia, racism, antisemitism, sexism, islamophobia, and other prejudices. That phrase reminds us that in the end, we all have so much more in common than what divides us, and that what we have in common is rooted in holiness. None of us is a mistake, and all of us are part of the sanctity of Creation, just as we are. In that sermon, I used additional quotes from the Creation story in the Torah to drive the message home. לֹא־ט֛וֹב הֱי֥וֹת הָֽאָדָ֖ם לְבַדּ֑וֹ I quoted from Genesis-- it is not good for a person to be alone. This, I said, was a reminder that we are not alone in our fight for justice. We should turn to each other for strength. And we are not alone in our commitment to building a world where nobody is bullied or abused for being who they are. We are all עצם מעצמי ובשר מבשרי I also quoted from Genesis. We are all made of the same parts, bones and flesh, the same stuff, and we are all connected in a common human experience. We all smile at the laughter of babies. None of us is lesser or worth more than others. And it felt wonderful to be able to quote our Torah and our Midrash and our commentators and to demonstrate that those holy words can be read in support of values that are so central to me personally, and to TBE as a community, and to so many Jews around the world. It felt wonderful because, at the end of the day, I believe in a God of love, and I want our texts and our tradition to support me in that belief. I believe that it is godly to put as much love as we can out into the universe and into this hurting world. I believe that by committing in an ongoing way to being open and affirming and to standing in support of the LGBTQ+ community, not just in tolerance but in celebration, we are doing God’s work in this world, and honoring the image of God in each other. However. Today of all days, as we join together to celebrate Pride, it is important that we acknowledge that being able to quote our texts in support of love and diversity isn’t enough. Because frankly, if we wanted to, we could quote our Torah, and our Midrash, and our commentators, and we could find ample words to defend the exact opposite of celebration, pride, welcome, and love. There are a lot of words, sacred words, words that have been invoked for centuries, from Judaism and from many other religions, that have been used to promote not inclusion, not love, and not the beauty of diversity, but rather division and prejudice and, in some situations, lethal action. Sometimes, these are both verses of Scripture, sometimes deeply researched and thought-out statements by knowledgeable leaders-- by rabbis, priests, pastors, teachers, leaders and more-- who have denied the dignity of queer people and other marginalized individuals throughout history, and who continue to do so today. In other words, the power of religion and religious text, which we at TBE know can be a uniting force, has also been wielded over and over to harm the LGBTQ+ community and beyond. Some of us know this truth far too personally. Some of us today carry with us the injuries of religious rejection and religious discrimination. That’s why, today, we are going to look beyond quoting Scripture and commentators. I want us, today, to look at what we believe, in our hearts, God wants of us; and we are going to recommit ourselves to action, in the name of what we believe, and because of what we believe. And this is the part of this sermon where we step into the murky waters of faith, which we don’t always talk about in Jewish spaces. What sort of a God do we believe in? What sort of a God CAN we believe in? Or, more personally: What sort of a God do YOU believe in? Do you believe in a God that makes mistakes? Do you believe in a God that will send some of us to hell for our identities and for whom we love? Do you believe in a God that cares for some humans more than others? Or do you believe in a God of open, unending, deeper-than-comprehension love? Do you believe in a God of curiosity? Or maybe something else? And moreover, how does a person reconcile it if they want to believe in a God of love but they know, at the same time, that the words attributed to that God can simultaneously be used to harm, shame, and bully others just for existing? How do we reconcile that? Well, for starters, it can help if we understand the Torah as being something more than direct quotes and the immutable words of God. Please note that I am not saying that the Torah is not sacred or holy-- far from it. I am pretty much a professional cheerleader for the Torah. I believe deeply that the Torah contains within it Divine messages, and sacred content. However, I am also saying that I agree with my teacher Rabbi Brad Artson, who was the Dean of the rabbinical school I attended. Rabbi Artson always said that the Torah, like other sacred writings from other religions, was not simply Divine but rather “Divinely inspired”-- that is to say, the stories in the Torah were passed down from generation to generation, l’dor va’dor, by humans having intense, real spiritual experiences while birthing a new nation, and an unshakeable thread of the Divine got woven into that story. As these stories were transmitted, more and more of humanity got woven into them until, centuries later, they were written down in our scrolls. It’s important to note that believing that the Torah is Divinely Inspired doesn’t mean that Scripture is a lie. It just means that both objective truths and subjective truths are woven into the words of these scrolls. On the one hand, this framework can be a challenge. It means that while there are verses in the Torah that reflect our human capacity for deep love, learning, creation, and compassion, there are also verses in the Torah that reflect our human desires to compete with others, to dominate others, and our human fear of those who are different from us. However, this can also help explain some of the really troubling content of our Torah, including the verses that have been used to hurt the LGBTQ+ community. But on the other hand, believing the Torah is a Divinely Inspired text instead of the literal word of God can be very empowering. It means that we get to ask ourselves: Which parts of the Torah reflect that which is of this world, and of our lives, and which parts reflect something beyond-- something greater than us-- something we can aim for, strive for, hope for, be inspired by, maybe even pray for? Something that isn’t just physical, or empirically measured, but something we can believe in? Where is that sacred thread of the Divine, we get to ask ourselves, woven through the religion and culture that we, as humans, have built-- and what does it tell us about what God wants from us? What do we believe God wants us to do? Like I said before, as Jews, we sometimes don’t talk too much about beliefs and faith, but rather about the wonderful power we have as individuals and communities to, with our actions and our words, help heal the world. There’s a famous Heschel quote that is both beautiful and drives me bananas-- “A Jew is not called on to take a leap of faith. A Jew is called on to take a leap of action.” The reason it drives me bananas is because I think that it creates a false dichotomy. Because what better to inspire our actions, as caring Jews and humans, than whatever we believe? Isn’t our belief system-- whether it’s belief in a better world, or in kindness, or fairness, or equality, or diversity-- isn’t our belief system the thing that shapes the way we act in the world, and how we teach our children to act in the world? So again, I ask-- what kind of a God do you believe in, in your heart? What kind of a God are you willing to pray to? For me, as a queer Jew and as a rabbi, the answer is simple. I have to believe in a God of love. I believe in a God that wants love, that roots for love, that wants us to truly and openly and deeply love each other, and that would like nothing more than for humanity and any other life in this universe to make the choice to put in the hard work to learn to place love ahead of discord once and for all. I also believe in a God that gave us free will-- and that’s where it gets complicated. More on that in a second. Frankly, I don’t know how I could be a rabbi if I didn’t believe in a God of love. Because Lord knows I have seen ample evidence in this life of the many ways that humans have hurt each other, and harmed each other, and excluded each other, and judged each other-- and I need to believe in a God that wants us to be better than what we have already demonstrated we can be. Back when I lived in DC, I had coffee with a young woman from my synagogue there. She was queer, and she was really struggling with the direction the world seemed to be headed. She had herself experienced so much homophobia, and seen so many attacks on the LGBTQ+ community, so many policies and votes and prejudices and so much fear-mongering, and she told me she wished sometimes that God hadn’t given humans free will. She said that she understood that without freedom of choice, we wouldn’t be human anymore-- we wouldn’t be btzelem elohim anymore-- but at least, then, we also couldn’t hate each other anymore, and hurt each other anymore, not maliciously. And hearing that hurt my heart. It hurt because it meant that she would rather give up who she was than undergo the torment she was facing. And I refuse to believe in a God that wants anybody to feel like that. But her words didn’t make me think less of God. They made me think less of humanity. They were a reminder that in so many ways, humanity has taken the gift of life, and the gift of this world, and the gift of free will and has used those gifts not to bring people closer together, not to put more love in the world, but rather to drive wedges between us. It is also a reminder that at the end of the day, by giving us free will, God is demonstrating God’s enormous faith in us, faith that we, too, can one day be godly with our love. It’s like we say at the end of Modeh Ani in the morning-- raba emunatecha-- how great is your faith, O God. And we are lucky, here, at TBE, that our community is committed to welcoming all. But it’s not an accident, either-- it is because of sacred action. TBE is an intentionally built community that wrestles with who we are and that has landed where we are today, as a place that prioritizes love. We are not perfect: we are still learning and we are still growing, and hopefully we always will be. But we are committed to the journey, as your rabbi, I want you to know that I am committed to making it with you. And that’s a journey that is ongoing. Because, if we believe that we are responsible for one another, then as children of God and members of an ancient religion, we are also, to an extent, responsible for harm that has been done in our religion’s name, and in God’s name. Because as much as I believe in a God of love, I also believe in a God of teshuvah and responsibility. Because as much as the quote from Heschel drives me bananas, he’s also right. He’s right that sacred action is an unavoidable requirement of the Jewish tradition. He’s right that all the belief and all the good intention and all the catchy Scripture in the world doesn’t mean a thing if we don’t go out there and try to actively bend the arc of history towards justice. The Talmud tells a story of Rabbi Tarfon and Rabbi Akiva lounging together and arguing about which was greater: Torah study, or action. Rabbi Tarfon answered and said: Action is greater. Rabbi Akiva answered and said: Study is greater. Then everyone discussed and agreed, Torah Study is only greater if it leads to action. The whole point of the mitzvot in our Torah, the whole point of justice, justice, you shall pursue, is that redemption doesn’t come from stagnancy. Redemption doesn’t come from waiting. Justice doesn’t come from avoidance. We need to act. We need faith in a God of love, and then we need to act on that faith. And the first step towards both is being in community, here, today, whether in person or online. Being here, together, and affirming that of the many spiritual paths we could be taking, and the many types of a God we could believe in, we reject division, and we choose Celebration. We choose diversity. We choose affirmation. We choose Pride. We choose each other. And, we believe in a God that wants us to love, and love out loud. And then, today, this Pride Shabbat, we are going to take it a step further. Following services today, we will have the opportunity to step out of this space, together, and going out in public, and joining with our neighbors and saying, together, that we believe in a God of love. That v’ahavta l’reicha camocha, love your neighbor as yourself, means that we will love ALL of our neighbors, just as they are. That we will not sit back quietly while others use religion as a tool to harm or to divide us. We will show, today and tomorrow and the day after that, that we have faith in love And we are resolved to act in love And that we believe in a God of love. Shabbat shalom

Sermon given June 13, 2026. There’s the classic case of four blindfolded people being led into a room, given the exact same mystery object, and told to describe it. The first one says— it’s so giant, so solid! I tried to knock it over with my whole body but could not. The second one said— it was like a rope with a broom on the end, long, thin, and swishing around. The third one says— it was large and flappy and floppy like a pancake. The final one says— it was like a tube, but the end was two big holes! Now remember, all of these people had been presented with the exact same object, and yet, their experiences were wildly different. What had they been presented with? …. an elephant. Something that is incredibly solid and strong, has a swishy tail, has floppy ears, and a trunk with two big holes on the end that sniff you all at the same time! Each person’s reaction to the elephant was 100% correct, and also 100% different— it’s just a question of what part of the elephant they were focused on. In this week’s parashah, we read about the infamous spies who were sent forth out of the desert and into the Promised Land to investigate and report back on what they found there. Now, they weren’t wearing blindfolds—at least, not as far as we know— but they were, in effect, entering into a space of mystery, a space of the unknown, just like our friends who met the elephant. They didn’t know what they were going to find. And so, they all went into the new land together, a man from each tribe. Our Torah says that כֻּלָּ֣ם אֲנָשִׁ֔ים רָאשֵׁ֥י בְנֵֽי־יִשְׂרָאֵ֖ל הֵֽמָּה They were all leaders, men of distinction within B’nai Yisrael. And as a group, these men scoped out vineyards, fields, cities, and villages. Ostensibly, they saw all of the same things, the good and the bad, and then they returned, as a unit, to report to the children of Israel on their impressions of the promised land. But what happened when they opened their mouths? Did they all report the same thing, even though, in theory, they had experienced comparable situations? No. Just like with the elephant, their testimonies didn’t sync up with one another. As the spies begin to describe the impressive Promised Land, our commentators describe how B’nai Yisrael murmur worriedly. In Numbers Chapter 13: 30 we hear from Caleb: “Caleb (one of the spies) silenced the people, and he said, "We can surely go up and take possession of it, for we can indeed overcome it." However, Caleb’s silencing of B’nai Yisrael does not calm them, especially because a few verses later, we read: “But the other men who went up with him said, "We are unable to go up against the people, for they are stronger than we.” They spread a report about the land which they had scouted, telling the children of Israel, "The land we passed through to explore is a land that consumes its inhabitants, and all the people we saw in it are men of stature. There we saw the giants, the sons of Anak, descended from the giants. In our eyes, we seemed like grasshoppers, and so we were in their eyes.” As a result of this testimony, the children of Israel panic. Which makes some sense, right? I mean, let’s put ourselves in their shoes for a second. They escape slavery to the desert, but they themselves haven’t seen the promised land. Men they know and trust leave to scout out the land and come back with differing accounts of what they saw. Some are describing a pretty scary situation, while another two are trying to reassure everyone that it’ll be OK, and telling them to silence their concerns. But we can understand being worried, especially after all that they’ve been through, and also because their leaders aren’t agreeing on what the correct path forward is. We know how this ends in our Torah-- God decrees that all of B’nai Yisrael, except for Caleb and Joshua, will not live to see the Promised Land. Now traditionally, when we tell this story, we say that Caleb and his compatriot Joshua were brave, and told the truth, while the other spies were reporting “fake news”, as it were. Often, God’s decision that the generation that left Egypt would live out the rest of their lives in the desert is seen as a pure punishment, either for lying or for lack of faith. This is underscored by God’s deadly rage at the leaders who did not agree with Caleb and Joshua. It can feel neat and tidy to just blame all those leaders as not having faith, or as being liars, or as being evil-- But that isn’t exactly how being human works. That isn’t how trauma works, and we KNOW that each and every member of B’nai Yisrael has been through deep and traumatic experiences before coming to the events of this week’s parashah. The plagues that God invokes were miraculous, yes, but they were also terrifying and deadly. Leaving the only home the Israelites knew, racing ahead of a menacing army, being attacked by the Amalekites, the list goes on any on-- and that means that all of B’nai Yisrael, including the spies who were sent to scout the Promised Land, were not operating from a place of mental and spiritual health. They were in a place of fight or flight, and the various spies fell neatly into these two camps, both of which are legitimate human responses. Trauma specialist Dr. Judith Herman writes that trauma “is, really, all about losing control. Therefore, it makes a lot of sense to prioritize reclaiming and increasing a [person]’s sense of control ” And perhaps this is exactly what is happening to the spies in this week’s parashah. Perhaps, every single one of the spies was processing their shared trauma in their own way, and choosing a different way forward to deal with that trauma and regain control. Their methods of reclaiming their control simply didn’t match because each one had their own personal experience of their trauma. Some of them chose to hold onto the relative safety of the status quo, and others wanted to move forward. Just as our four blindfolded heroes focused on different parts of the same elephant, the spies focused on different parts of the same promised land, and drew different conclusions. Some of them saw its very real beauty, and some of them saw its very real danger. This means we can try believing and valuing both Caleb and Joshua, who looked at the promised land through a more optimistic lens, and ALSO, believing and valuing the spies who reacted to a new world with skepticism, fear, caution, and the urge to protect their families and the lives they know. It also means not taking a page from Caleb’s book and silencing those who are worried, but rather, listening to those who react with more concern and restraint instead of being gung-ho. We can easily imagine Caleb thinking “whoa, the people here are so healthy looking-- the produce and game here must be wonderful!” and another spy looking at the same people and thinking “whoa, the people here are so healthy-looking, but we’ve been wandering around eating manna-- what if they fight us? How will we survive?” Neither of those sound stupid or malicious or faithless to me. Both of those reactions just sound…. human. Which brings me to our second point-- WE are all human, too. And life, at least in my experience, isn’t all lived in Egypt, or in the wilderness, or in the promised land. In the last few years, we have experienced several sweeping traumas as a society, everything from a worldwide pandemic, to October 7th and the ensuing war, to rising antisemitism, to ICE surges and threats to our democracy at home. And that’s before we even get to our personal health challenges, family challenges, and community challenges, each of which has affected us deeply. And politically, as Mainers and as Americans and as Jews, we know what it’s like to have different leaders among us have different visions of how to move forward in the face of traumatic realities-- and we know what it’s like to have each of us react in different ways because of the real traumas we have been through. We know what it’s like to have the same people, committed to public service, look at the same messy landscape and have widely different visions of how to move forward. This is precisely why we have elections-- this is why in a democracy, we hear from different leaders and then we choose for which person’s vision, and version, of events best lines up with bringing us towards a future we can embrace. To go back to our elephant metaphor, each of these leaders focuses on a different part of the elephant, but all are connected by the same animal of politics in this country. Last week, we examined what wisdom the week’s parashah could give us before the primary. And this week, we can similarly find guidance for the complex social pill we all now have to swallow. Because no matter whom we supported in the first round of elections, we now have to decide what our relationship will be to the entire proverbial elephant in the room, that is to say, towards the entire, zoomed out landscape of our state, and our nation. We have to decide how we will act towards both the people we agree with and the people we don’t agree with, towards the path we may have hoped we would have forward versus the one we have been given. Some of us may react like Caleb and Joshua-- we may say, yes, there are real issues, and there are very real challenges ahead of us, but we will move forward and we will vanquish them one way or another, and the good will outweigh the bad. And some of us will react like the other spies-- we may say, yes, there are very real challenges ahead of us, but with the cards we have been dealt, and with the leaders we currently have, we don’t think we can vanquish them, not realistically, not now. We need to regroup and plan. And I want you to know that I have heard both of these sentiments expressed strongly by members of our TBE community. Regardless of which camp resonates most with you in this moment, there is one thing we must never do to ourselves and each other. What we must not do, in this case, is reach the conclusion in our parashah-- the conclusion that those who urge caution are worthy of disregard or death, as happens to the spies who are not optimistic, or the conclusion that for the traumatized Israelites, not entering Eretz Yisrael is the worst possible outcome. Because no matter where we fall on the political spectrum, disagreeing is not a crime, and for those in this community who do not feel optimistic in this moment, and who are still searching for a leader who speaks to you, the wilderness is not a punishment. Life in the wilderness is only a punishment if we choose to see it that way. The wilderness can be a deeply spiritual place, primed for growth. Being in the wilderness does not mean taking a back seat. The wilderness is where Moses sees his burning bush, where the commandments are given, where Miriam breaks out her tambourine. The wilderness is a place of refuge and safety and unity, where the tribes had space to recover from the wounds of slavery and learn who they were on the other side of everything they had been through. Staying in the wilderness can also be a realistic and compassionate response to a traumatized people who know that they are living in a space of caution, fear, and distrust. For those Mainers who are similarly feeling caution, fear, and distrust politically, I bless you with self-compassion and patience, and the many wonderful opportunities for reflection and growth that come with being in the wilderness. At the same time, I hope you will try to understand the complex and real roots of the optimism driving others, and not give up hope. And for those Mainers who look ahead at what is coming with excitement and optimism, I bless you with the joy and camaraderie that come with successful teamwork and organizing, and with continued dreaming and visioning. At the same time, I encourage you to also honor the very legitimate concerns of those who do not share your enthusiasm, and who have very real, very grounded worries as we move forward as a state. If there is one thing I hope we can all take away from this week’s parashah, it is that there is not one right way to react when faced with an unknown future, especially after years of upheaval and challenge. We must be kind to ourselves, and kind to each other. Nobody is perfect, and healing is not linear. Our job, especially in times of political disagreement about the path forward, is to learn from the mistakes of B’nai Yisrael in this week’s parashah. Instead of condemning those we disagree with, we must make the effort to hear each other, to trust each other’s needs, and to learn from each other instead of either blindly ploughing ahead or choosing to sit out the process entirely. This Wilderness is not a punishment. Not if we are open to its blessings, and to the lessons it has to teach us. Shabbat shalom.

Sermon given June 6, 2026. Shabbat shalom, everybody. As I’m sure you’re all aware, this upcoming week is a significant one politically for our state. On Tuesday, Mainers who are eligible to vote will cast their ballots in the state’s primary elections for the Senate race, for the gubernatorial race, and others. And as I’m also certain you are aware, the process up until this primary day has been quite fraught. Across the country, across the state, and within our own TBE community, there are many committed, caring, informed individuals who hold carefully thought-out positions over who should be leading and representing our state for the next few years– and of course, these carefully thought-out positions don’t always match one another. And that’s OK. Wrestling with complicated issues is a very Jewish thing to do, and politics are complicated. And, talking about the complex issues of our time when we come together in community can remind us that no matter where we land, vote-wise, we are part of a system beyond ourselves, even when we disagree. The disagreeing, and the wrestling, and the debating that go into politics have inherent worth as long as they are deeply grounded in values we believe in, and carried out with compassion and curiosity. It may seem odd to talk about an election during a Shabbat service, but as Jews, we know that there is significant overlap between the values in our sacred texts and the issues on the ballot in most every election. Our Torah addresses everything from the importance of educating our children to feeding the hungry, from how crucial it is to support the dignity of strangers and establish fair inheritance laws to condemning murder and larceny; it speaks of war and troop movements, plagues and punishments, laws and advisors, and much, much more– all topics addressed by political candidates and pundits on the news. Ultimately, both religion and politics have to do with our deepest values. And if we frame our discussions when we are together in community through the lens of these values, we can find common ground, feel guided in our choices, and remember, crucially, that we are not the first generation to feel overwhelmed and worried about the direction our world is going. So. As we prepare for election week, I’m going to suggest that we do what we do best– dig deep into the Torah, wrestle with it, and figure out what wisdom it has for us at this particular moment. Specifically, as we Mainers prepare to cast votes for our next leaders this week, those of us here today are going to examine eight verses in this week’s Torah portion that have something to teach us about what constitutes effective leadership. We’ll start at the beginning. Our Torah portion for the week, B’haalotkha, takes its name from the second verse of the parasha, which says: דַּבֵּר֙ אֶֽל־אַהֲרֹ֔ן וְאָמַרְתָּ֖ אֵלָ֑יו בְּהַעֲלֹֽתְךָ֙ אֶת־הַנֵּרֹ֔ת אֶל־מוּל֙ פְּנֵ֣י הַמְּנוֹרָ֔ה יָאִ֖ירוּ שִׁבְעַ֥ת הַנֵּרֽוֹת׃ Speak to Aaron and say to him, “When you mount the lamps, let the seven lamps give light at the front of the lampstand.” You may hear in the word b’haalotkha the ‘alot’, similar to ‘aliyah’, meaning to go up. Rashi explains that this verb is used because, “one must kindle them until the light ascends of itself.” This is the first leadership lesson from our parasha: a good leader doesn’t just light the fire in others; a good leader teaches others to nourish their own flames, and the flames of others, so that they can shine of their own volition. In other words: An effective leader isn’t in power just for their own glory. An effective leader wants to lift others up, too. A few verses later, we find our second lesson: וְהִקְרַבְתָּ֥ אֶת־הַלְוִיִּ֖ם לִפְנֵ֣י יְהֹוָ֑ה וְסָמְכ֧וּ בְנֵי־יִשְׂרָאֵ֛ל אֶת־יְדֵיהֶ֖ם עַל־הַלְוִיִּֽם׃ and bring the Levites forward before GOD. Let the Israelites lay their hands upon the Levites. Now, the laying on of hands is a powerful ritual. The commentator Chizkuni explains, “Whenever this procedure is mentioned in the Bible it means that authority is being transferred by the person placing his hand or hands on the person to be appointed.” This is the second lesson about leadership. Authority isn’t something one person can claim alone– it is about connection and trust with others. Our parasha reminds us that an effective leader is connected to the ones they serve, and does not move away when times are difficult, or think that their success is theirs alone. In other words: our Torah teaches that an effective leader is accessible to those they serve and brings people closer instead of driving wedges between them. This reminds us to pay attention to and trust the choices and behaviors of candidates, and to look for patterns– whether those are patterns of connection and respect, or of division. Moving ahead to Chapter 8, verse 14, we read: וְהִבְדַּלְתָּ֙ אֶת־הַלְוִיִּ֔ם מִתּ֖וֹךְ בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֑ל וְהָ֥יוּ לִ֖י הַלְוִיִּֽם׃ Thus you shall set the Levites apart from the Israelites, and the Levites shall be Mine. Our Torah is clear: the Levites, as spiritual leaders of B’nai Yisrael, are indeed held to a slightly different standard than everyone else. Ibn Ezra points out that being priests was a significant honor that was given to the Levites– but in exchange, the Levites had extra rituals and prohibitions placed upon them. These different expectations aren’t a punishment, but they do go hand-in-hand with the extra respect and responsibility given to the Levites as leaders. In other words: our third lesson from this week’s parasha is that sometimes, leaders are indeed held to a different standard than those are are not in leadership positions. This doesn’t mean we should expect perfection– Moses is a great example of an imperfect leader who has made real mistakes in his life. But it does mean that an effective leader should consistently strive to live up to the high standard set for them. This reminds us that it is OK to expect more from those who will represent us on a national stage. Our fourth leadership lesson comes at the end of Chapter 8. We read: זֹ֖את אֲשֶׁ֣ר לַלְוִיִּ֑ם מִבֶּן֩ חָמֵ֨שׁ וְעֶשְׂרִ֤ים שָׁנָה֙ וָמַ֔עְלָה יָבוֹא֙ לִצְבֹ֣א צָבָ֔א בַּעֲבֹדַ֖ת אֹ֥הֶל מוֹעֵֽד׃ This is the rule for the Levites. From twenty-five years of age up they shall participate in the work force in the service of the Tent of Meeting; However, the Torah continues: וּמִבֶּן֙ חֲמִשִּׁ֣ים שָׁנָ֔ה יָשׁ֖וּב מִצְּבָ֣א הָעֲבֹדָ֑ה וְלֹ֥א יַעֲבֹ֖ד עֽוֹד׃ but at the age of fifty they shall retire from the work force and shall serve no more. Finally, our Torah concludes this command with: וְשֵׁרֵ֨ת אֶת־אֶחָ֜יו בְּאֹ֤הֶל מוֹעֵד֙ לִשְׁמֹ֣ר מִשְׁמֶ֔רֶת וַעֲבֹדָ֖ה לֹ֣א יַעֲבֹ֑ד כָּ֛כָה תַּעֲשֶׂ֥ה לַלְוִיִּ֖ם בְּמִשְׁמְרֹתָֽם׃ {פ} They may assist their brother Levites at the Tent of Meeting by standing guard, but they shall perform no labor. The Torah is demonstrating for us that there are indeed certain jobs where age limits make sense, either for being too young, or too old. We can extrapolate from this that talking about age limits for public servants should not be anathema. Having age limits for some types of service is not a new thing to consider– it’s an ancient! However, at the same times, our Torah is clear that having age limits on one type of work does not mean that a person is incapable of serving in other capacities. This reminds us that we must honor and respect leaders of all ages while being honest about the implications and consequences of the physical and mental capacities of those we are considering voting for. In Chapter 9, when some of the Israelites could not perform the Passover offering on schedule and came to Moses for advice, וַיֹּ֥אמֶר אֲלֵהֶ֖ם מֹשֶׁ֑ה עִמְד֣וּ וְאֶשְׁמְעָ֔ה מַה־יְצַוֶּ֥ה יְהֹוָ֖ה לָכֶֽם׃ {פ} Moses said to them, “Stand by, and let me hear what instructions GOD gives about you.” This fifth lesson is one of the most beautiful and important reminders about effective leadership in this week’s parashah. Part of what makes Moses such a powerful role model is that though he is a leader of the people, though he defends them and argues with them and advises them and fights on their behalf (including defending them before God later in this parasha), he never loses sight of the fact that ultimately, he isn’t in charge of the world. He knows that there is something greater than him, and greater than B’nai Yisrael, and he is committed to being in service both to his followers and to the bigger picture. And this is a tough lesson, politically. We vote for politicians in the hope that they will respond to our preferences, but history has shown again and again that democratically electing someone does not guarantee that that person will do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly (to quote even more Scripture.) It is challenging for a leader to balance their responsibilities to their constituents with their responsibilities to the country, to the world, to humanity, and to history– let alone to God, if they are religious. And yet our parasha reminds us that Moses did attempt to achieve this balance, and reminds us that we can, too. This kind of balanced leadership perspective also means that effective leaders will not prioritize kickbacks, payouts, or other sleazy personal perks in exchange for compromising their stances. This simple, powerful verse of Moses saying “stand by, and let me hear what God has to say” is a reminder that it is OK for us, as citizens, to want leaders who have something– whether they call it God, or the Universe, or justice, or fairness, or equality, or the future– something that is bigger than their own pocketbook or their own ego, to answer to. Our sixth lesson is another powerful one, in Chapter 9. We read: וּכְמִשְׁפָּט֖וֹ כֵּ֣ן יַעֲשֶׂ֑ה חֻקָּ֤ה אַחַת֙ יִהְיֶ֣ה לָכֶ֔ם וְלַגֵּ֖ר וּלְאֶזְרַ֥ח הָאָֽרֶץ There will be one law for you and for the stranger among you, The Torah reminds us. This is another challenging lesson. It’s an issue that our state and our country are wrestling with, as well as Israel and many other countries in this world. The idea that we should aim for consistently applied legal procedures regardless of immigration status, racial or religious identity, or a host of other personal identifiers shows up several times in our Torah, including in this week’s parashah– and an effective leader is one who will honor this directive by identifying marginalized populations and doing whatever is possible to support them. OK. Two more. In chapter 11, God says to Moses: וַיֹּ֨אמֶר יְהֹוָ֜ה אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֗ה אֶסְפָה־לִּ֞י שִׁבְעִ֣ים אִישׁ֮ מִזִּקְנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵל֒ אֲשֶׁ֣ר יָדַ֔עְתָּ כִּי־הֵ֛ם זִקְנֵ֥י הָעָ֖ם וְשֹׁטְרָ֑יו וְלָקַחְתָּ֤ אֹתָם֙ אֶל־אֹ֣הֶל מוֹעֵ֔ד וְהִֽתְיַצְּב֥וּ שָׁ֖ם עִמָּֽךְ׃ וְיָרַדְתִּ֗י וְדִבַּרְתִּ֣י עִמְּךָ֮ שָׁם֒ וְאָצַלְתִּ֗י מִן־הָר֛וּחַ אֲשֶׁ֥ר עָלֶ֖יךָ וְשַׂמְתִּ֣י עֲלֵיהֶ֑ם וְנָשְׂא֤וּ אִתְּךָ֙ בְּמַשָּׂ֣א הָעָ֔ם וְלֹא־תִשָּׂ֥א אַתָּ֖ה לְבַדֶּֽךָ׃ “Gather for Me seventy of Israel’s elders of whom you have experience as elders and officers of the people, and bring them to the Tent of Meeting and let them take their place there with you. I will come down and speak with you there, and I will draw upon the spirit that is on you and put it upon them; they shall share the burden of the people with you, and you shall not bear it alone.” This is reminiscent of parashat Yitro, where Moses’ father-in-law reminds him that he does not have to carry the burden of leadership by himself. There is wisdom, Yitro reminds Moses, in sharing power and responsibility. Similarly, in B’haalotkha, God reminds an overwhelmed Moses that it is in the people’s best interest and in his best interest as a leader to trust others and to share the load. Our parasha reminds us that an effective leader is one who doesn’t go it alone; who surrounds themselves with people they trust who will challenge them, support them, and work with them as a team. This reminds us that it is worth examining the teams and support structures behind the candidates we consider. Does the person inspire trust? Does the person have long-term allies? Does the person feel comfortable stepping back and letting others have their moment in the limelight? Which leads me to the final, eighth lesson I will pull from our parashah this week. Later in chapter 11, a commotion breaks out in the camp, and two men, Eldad and Medad, are touched by the spirit of God and begin to prophesy to others in the camp. When Joshua advocates for the men to be restrained, Moses says, הַֽמְקַנֵּ֥א אַתָּ֖ה לִ֑י וּמִ֨י יִתֵּ֜ן כׇּל־עַ֤ם יְהֹוָה֙ נְבִיאִ֔ים כִּי־יִתֵּ֧ן יְהֹוָ֛ה אֶת־רוּח֖וֹ עֲלֵיהֶֽם׃ “Are you upset on my account? Would that all GOD’s people were prophets, that GOD inspired them!” Similar to the very first quote we looked at from parashat B’haalotkha this week, this final quote is all about the power of lifting others up. In the first quote, at the beginning of this sermon, we were reminded that part of the power of lighting candles is that the flames can grow upwards of their own merit. And our final quote, here, is a literal demonstration of that metaphor– Moses does not try to stop the sacred connections and relationships made by others with God. In fact, he encourages them. He is not threatened in his role or in his power by the fact that God is speaking through Eldad and Medad. He understands, as any good leader would, that strong people lift each other up. This reminds us that it is OK to want leaders who do the same, and whose main focus is not on themselves, but rather on supporting those around them. And there it was–a taste of the Torah’s authority-related wisdom, 8 lessons in leadership from this week’s parasha, just in time for the primaries. My friends– I bless us all with discernment and care as we head towards the primary this week. May we welcome the overlap of our spiritual and political values both as valid parts of ourselves. May we know we are not alone in our wrestling. May we always remember that many humans throughout history did not have the right to choose their leaders, and that is not a responsibility to take lightly. And as we cast our ballots, may we remember the lessons of our ancestors and our Torah, and be honest with ourselves about which candidates speak to the deepest values of our souls. Shabbat shalom.

Sermon given May 30, 2026 Shabbat shalom, everyone. So, I’ve had a lot on my mind lately. Lots of things happening, health-wise, house-wise, relationship-wise, LIFE-wise-- so I hope you will humor me when I say that my sermon this week may sound a little less straightforward than normal. (Whatever “normal” for me is!) Essentially, I want to talk about two things that have been on my mind this past week or two, and then I want to pull them together. The first thing I want to talk about is the concept of Chosenness. The concept of Chosenness has a lot of weight for us Jews as a people-- aka “The Chosen People”. At our last Text with a Twist class before the summer, the conversation followed many wonderful tangents including, ultimately, the phrase “the Chosen People.” Several people in the class shared that they were raised to believe that being the Chosen People did, indeed, mean on some level that Jews were “better”-- even though we also acknowledged as a class that that interpretation didn’t sit well with us. We Jews know what it’s like to have others think that they are better than us, so it doesn’t seem fitting for us to believe we are better in return. However, there are indeed those who believe that being a member of “the chosen people” suggests superiority in God’s eyes. This can even be a malicious or antisemitic interpretation, intentionally aiming to paint Jews as power-hungry or exclusive. But at the same time, traditional and literal interpretations of our liturgy and Scripture could also believably be read this way. It’s not always comfortable to think about, but it’s important that we acknowledge the power of the words we say, especially in sacred spaces. For example, when we just read the Torah, the aliyah blessing says asher bachar banu mikol ha’amim -- literally, calling God “the one who chose us out of all of peoples of the world”. We say the same thing on Fridays during Kiddush. We also have Scripture that echoes a similar message, such as this verse from Exodus: וְעַתָּ֗ה אִם־שָׁמ֤וֹעַ תִּשְׁמְעוּ֙ בְּקֹלִ֔י וּשְׁמַרְתֶּ֖ם אֶת־בְּרִיתִ֑י וִהְיִ֨יתֶם לִ֤י סְגֻלָּה֙ מִכׇּל־הָ֣עַמִּ֔ים כִּי־לִ֖י כׇּל־הָאָֽרֶץ׃ “And now, if you listen to my voice and guard my covenant, you shall be treasured from out of all peoples, for the whole world is mine.” This verse doesn’t use the word “chosen”, but it still suggests that if we fulfill the commandments, we will be treasured-- segula -- by God, “out of all the other nations.” And then there are prayers, like Aleinu: “She lo asanu c’goyei ha’ratzot V’lo samanu c’mishpachot ha’adama” We praise the one who, quote, “did not make us like the other nations and did not place us like the families of the Earth.” That one makes me cringe a bit. I have a separate and longer talk we could have about Aleinu at some point, but let’s just say, this sort of interpretation of Chosenness does not sit well with me, nor does it line up with my understanding of basic human values and dignity as outlined in our Torah. The Torah teaches that we are all made btzelem elohim , in the image of God, regardless our ancestry. I don’t believe that Jews somehow get a higher percentage of the Divine in our genetic or spiritual makeup. And, the last thing I want to do is offer fuel or ammo to antisemitism, or give another reason for other groups to think Jews are bad. And thankfully, I’m not the only one to reject such a belief of ethnosuperiority. The prophet Amos, thousands of years ago, invoked God, saying: “To Me, O Israelites, you are Just like the Cushites —declares GOD. True, I brought Israel up From the land of Egypt, But I also brought up the Philistines from Caphtor And the Arameans from Kir.” In other words, God is clearly saying that God’s love and guidance dwells with all peoples of the Earth. This rejection of superior ethnocentrism is upheld by commentators like Rashi, who declared “Now do not say that you alone belong to God and that God has no other peoples together besides you.” In modern times, the Conservative Movement has also rejected interpreting Chosenness as a badge of superiority or exclusion, publicly stating in the 1980s that, quote “Few beliefs have been subject to as much misunderstanding as the 'Chosen People' doctrine. The Torah and the Prophets clearly stated that this does not imply any innate Jewish superiority.” And yet still, the phrase “the Chosen people” persists. And since that Text with a Twist class, I have been processing my own discomfort with the phrase as well as the experiences shared by TBE congregants. And this is where we get to the second topic of this sermon. Like I said, I promise you, the two topics will dovetail. The first topic was Chosenness, and the second topic the root of the word “Naso”, the title of this week’s Torah portion. The root of “Naso” is nun, sin, aleph, and it has several meanings in our Torah portion-- among them, to count. In our Torah portion today, as has happened several times already since B’nai Yisrael left Egypt, counting is happening, and it’s important. We’re having yet another census ordered by God. In this week’s census, several different Israelite tribes are first counted and then assigned special tasks, different from each other’s. We begin with the verse: נָשֹׂ֗א אֶת־רֹ֛אשׁ בְּנֵ֥י גֵרְשׁ֖וֹן גַּם־הֵ֑ם לְבֵ֥ית אֲבֹתָ֖ם לְמִשְׁפְּחֹתָֽם׃ Also, count (that take a census of) the heads of the clan of Gershon according to their heads of household and families. Ibn Ezra points out that gam, or “also”, is an important word in this verse because it underscores the repetitive nature of these clan-specific directives and the fact that we are continuing an already-underway conversation. Our parasha this week started smack-dab in the middle of handing out duties to each tribe. We had literally just several verses previously heard all about the specific requirements for the Kohathites, at the end of the previous parashah. And now, next up on the list: Gershonites! And then later in our parashah, the Merarites, etc etc. Each tribe is counted, and in that moment, each tribe has its moment of focus in our Torah. And in that moment of focus, each tribe is given different responsibilities. For the Kohathites, their responsibilities had to do with handling the most sacred objects, the kodesh kodeshim . But for the Gershonites, their assigned tasks were far simpler-- mainly just carrying poles-- the verb ‘carry’ also has the root nun, sin, aleph-- carrying skins, and the like. The same for the Merarites, who are named just a few verses later-- a lot of carrying, and a lot less contact with the holiest objects. All of these clans were subject to the direction of the Levites, who we know have been given significant responsibilities as priests. So in a sense, we are seeing a different kind of Choosing happening here, but instead of the Israelites being Chosen compared to other peoples, different tribes are being Chosen for different responsibilities and roles. And in a few weeks we will see that these countings and tribal divisions did not sit well with some of the Israelites. Soon, Korach, a favorite Torah antagonist, will state his case against Moses and attempt to change the fate of his clan. Now, as we know, he is going to be successful in changing his fate, but not at all in the way he had hoped-- instead of gaining more power, he is swallowed by the Earth. But it is clear from Korach’s claims that he does not feel as Chosen as other Israelites. He feels that the distinctions between different members of Bnai Yisrael are unfair and hierarchical. He feels lesser and excluded. Accusing Moses, Korach says, quote: וּמַדּ֥וּעַ תִּתְנַשְּׂא֖וּ עַל־קְהַ֥ל יְהֹוָֽה: “And why do you raise yourselves above the rest of God’s people?” Fascinatingly, though, the verb Korach uses in this verse, titnasu , to raise yourself up, has the same root as the word that gives this week’s Torah portion, Naso, its name. That means that the same Hebrew root, nun sin aleph, can be tied to both counting, like in this week’s parasha, and carrying, like the tent poles, AND lifting or raising someone up, like in Korach. But the real power of the word Naso, of the root nun sin aleph, is that its usage in our parasha underscores the interdependence of all of those who are being counted and lifted up. None of the counting or assigning could happen if we were only talking about one person or one group. The sacred type of counting, from the root nun sin aleph, that is so prevalent in Naso and in the entire book of Numbers (hence the name) is so much more than just saying “one, two, three”. Instead, the type of Counting that God instructs the Israelites to do means that not only do we count one, two, three, but we also make sure that each person and tribe, one, two, three, and more, are sanctified and seen and lifted up as important parts of the whole. Each tribe is Counted for something else, yes; but each type of Counting comes together to form a functioning sacred society. In effect, God is looking at each tribe and saying: “You count.” This is part of why it does not work when someone like Korach thinks he is more important than others or tries to grab power instead of lifting up his fellows. He does not believe that Moses’ role and responsibility counts. He does not see and value and lift up those around him. He does not count the value and worth of the other tribes. And this is where the dovetailing of our two themes really takes form. The root nun sin aleph, naso, with its twin meanings of counting and lifting ourselves and each other up , verbalizes beautifully the nuance that for me, the word “Chosen” lacks. Where Chosen carries at least the intimation or potential for superiority, Counted acknowledges that we matter and are seen and are values-- and that we are not alone in that state. So my chutzpadik suggestion is that maybe, instead of the Chosen People, we should be The Counted People. Or maybe-- even better-- we should be The Count ing People. Maybe, the real lesson we take from the dual meaning of the root nun, sin, aleph is that it is Godly to truly see others, and then to lift them up, and to understand that by doing so we are actually strengthening something beyond us. Perhaps in some way, we can each recommit to going about our lives, in this hurting world, in a way that makes others feel truly seen, and truly lifted up. Regardless of whether we call it choosing, or counting, or lifting up, or something else entirely-- what is clear is that God has sacred relationships in many ways with many different people. This is a fact of our world external to Judaism and internally, amongst ourselves. And it is our job, in the spirit of Naso, to see people for who they are, as they are, and then to lift them up and honor their connection to the Divine, knowing regardless of whether we are Orthodox or Conservative or Reform, whether Jewish or Christian or Muslim or Hindu-- no matter what, We all count. Shabbat shalom.

Sermon given March 28, 2026. This week is special for several reasons. Of course, it’s special because Pesach is finally here. But for me personally, this week is special every year because it marks the anniversary of my conversion to Judaism. Each year when the anniversary rolls around-- always on the 13th of Nisan, so, yes, I always “Celebrate” by kashering my kitchen-- I think back to that day when I emerged from the mikveh and took my first steps in this world as a Jew. The Jewish story became my story. And it was fitting that I completed my conversion just hours before the beginning of Pesach, which is the holiday completely centered around telling and retelling our story. Now, because I am a convert and I didn’t have a formal bat mitzvah when I was 12 or 13, my rabbis at conversion suggested that I take this week’s Torah portion, Tzav, as “my” portion. Because this is the week that I received the yoke of the mitzvot upon myself as a Jewish adult, Tzav, in a way, will always have special meaning for me. And each year, I reread Tzav, I think about Passover, and I search for the lens that I would like to use at my seder that year. I look to see what jumps out to me, what lens I can use as I tell our people’s story for myself, right now, at this moment in time. And this year, as I read Tzav in preparation for Passover, what has jumped out to me is fire. Not just the role fire plays in the Passover story-- and it does play a dramatic role. Over the course of the book of Shemot and into Vayikra, fire makes many appearances. Moses sees fire burning but not consuming the bush from which he hears the voice of God; fire rains down with hail on the Egyptians; and God appears as a pillar of fire to protect and guide the Israelites in the desert. We also use fire to burn our chametz, kasher our kitchens, and scald our hard-boiled eggs. But fire plays another role in Parashat Tzav, a core, consistent, driving, energizing role. The very first verses of Tzav, in fact, focus specifically on sacrificial fire on the altar in the Mishkan. The first verse describes the ascent offering, which must remain on the altar-fire which burns all night, וְאֵ֥שׁ הַמִּזְבֵּ֖חַ תּ֥וּקַד בּֽוֹ: and the fire on the altar, the esh, will be burning. Continuously burning, our sages clarify. The fifth verse returns to this fire and how important it is, reiterating the same phrase and adding to it וְהָאֵ֨שׁ עַל־הַמִּזְבֵּ֤חַ תּֽוּקַד־בּוֹ֙ לֹ֣א תִכְבֶּ֔ה-- this fire on the altar, the esh, will be continuously burning and shall not go out! And in case we haven’t figured it out yet, verse 6 of parashat Tzav continues, reiterates yet again, and adds yet another important word, saying: אֵ֗שׁ תָּמִ֛יד תּוּקַ֥ד עַל־הַמִּזְבֵּ֖חַ לֹ֥א תִכְבֶּֽה: The always-fire on the altar will burn continuously and shall not go out! Now, we recently read about another light that did not go out-- the Ner Tamid, like the light we have here above our ark, a special lamp checked twice a day in the Tabernacle. But in parashat Tzav, we aren’t talking about the Ner Tamid-- the always lamp, as I think of it-- we’re talking about the Esh Tamid-- the always fire. In fact, Rashi clarifies that the Esh Tamid we’re talking about this week is, in fact, the esh that was used to light the Ner Tamid, and to light all other fires for ritual use. Therefore it was incredibly important that no matter what was going on in and around the Mishkan, or in and around the camp, this fire must be kept “Esh tamid”, an always-burning source of energy, light, heat, and life. When the Israelites were pursued in the wilderness by enemies-- the fire had to stay burning. When mana rained down from heavens-- the fire had to stay burning. When plagues struck-- the fire had to stay burning. When the Israelites brought their daily offerings, their sin offerings, their ascent offerings, their guilt offerings, their offerings of well-being-- the fire had to stay burning. When the Israelites crossed into the Promised Land, even-- the fire had to stay burning. Our ancestors were going through an immense amount of change and stress. They did not know what life would look like in 5, 10, 20 years. They were scared for their children. They were scared for themselves as a nation. And through it all, they carried with them a constantly burning, constantly guarded and nurtured, source of energy and warmth: they carried with them that esh tamid, that holy fire. As we said before, not only does this week’s Torah portion repeatedly tell us that the fire was burned continuously-- in fact, within the individual verses themselves, the words are quite redundant. Consider verse six again: אֵ֗שׁ תָּמִ֛יד תּוּקַ֥ד עַל־הַמִּזְבֵּ֖חַ לֹ֥א תִכְבֶּֽה: This means, “always fire was continuously burnt on the altar and not put out” If we’ve already said that it’s an always-fire, and that it’s continuously burning, why do we need to add “it will not be put out” at the end? It turns out that our sages, over the centuries, have asked the same question. Rashi clarifies for us, explaining that הַמְכַבֶּה אֵשׁ עַל הַמִּזְבֵּחַ עוֹבֵר בִּשְׁנֵי לָאוִין: One who puts out this always-fire is actually transgressing against TWO commandments: both the commandment to have a perpetual fire, AND the commandment to use that fire to fulfill other commandments, namely goodwill offerings. So. If we put out the fire, we are not only sinning by extinguishing it, but also sinning by prohibiting ourselves from doing the mitzvot which rely on the fire. And both parts of this verse, both mitzvot, are important for us today. I want to pause here and do a small exercise with all of you. We won’t have to break into groups or anything this time, I just want you to think, and then perhaps share, your answers to a question. The question is this: “which Jewish values/lessons most guide your personal choices, outlook, and philosophy?” Or, to rephrase: which core Jewish concepts guide your life? Let’s think about it for a minute. I’m going to offer you one or two of my favorites, and then I’d like to hear from you. (Pause for discussion, sharing/reading the following list):  Welcome the stranger. If I am not for myself, who will be? If I am only for myself, what am I? If not now, when? Tikkun olam. Justice, justice you shall pursue. Don’t distance yourself from the community. Every human is made btselem elohim, in the image of God. Every human is deserving of dignity. Give tzedakah. Save one life, save a whole world. Do justice and love mercy. What is hateful to you, do not do to others. Love your neighbor as yourself. Each of us, as people and as Jews, has core values that drive us. If we are a locomotive, these values are the coal, the steam, the spark--the fire, if you will-- in our engine that lets us move forward. These values that guide our choices are, in effect, a source of energy, a source of life, a source of strength as we move about in the world. They are our own esh tamid, our own fire that burns within us and sustains us and inspires us, no matter what is happening in the world. And right now, a LOT is happening in the world. And normally, this is when my conclusion would be a reminder that we are not alone, and that so many have gone before us from whom we can draw support. Our ancestors also knew upheaval in the wilderness. We can feel solidarity with them. But the thing is, we don’t just need solidarity right now. We need more. We need both parts of the commandment we zoomed in on this week in parashat Tzav: we need a fire within us that will not go out --that’s the values we just listed together-- and we need that fire to actively light something within us, something that helps us go out and be part of bringing this world closer to what we dream it could be. That is to say, we need both the comfortable aspects of fire-- the warmth, the coziness, the energy-- and the uncomfortable parts of fire, the burning, the part that drives us to bring about necessary change, and to help make this world a reflection of the values we hold most dear. As we prepare to enter into this Pesach season, this Passover, parashat Tzav reminds us that within us each, there is an Esh Tamid, a sacred forever flame, a flame made up of our core values, driving and guiding us. As we sit with our most central story this week, as we talk about the narrow places in our world today that are in need of healing, that sacred flame will glow within us. May our seders, and out conversations, fan that flame. May our resolutions and our ideas be ignited by that flame, and fueled into action. And finally, may the glow of our flame warm and inspire those around us in this world. Shabbat shalom, and may everyone have a meaningful Pesach.