It is a mitzvah to count the days from the second night of Pesach until Shavuot. By actually counting out loud each night, we mark the days from our physical liberation from Egypt to our spiritual liberation at Mount Sinai. In some ways, it is a very short time, since it only takes forty-nine days, that is seven times seven, to get from Egypt to Sinai. Then, on the fiftieth day, we receive the words that will be the basis for generations of exploration. Farmers count the days so they can approximate the first harvest of barley which was the first grain to be harvested in ancient days. The rest of us, those who are more distant from the ancient soil, count for other reasons. Our Siddur, Lev Shalem (p. 63) describes this counting in a more mystical, spiritual way:

I don’t know if you’ve ever experienced worship in a Black church, but there is often a continuous dialogue between the preacher and the congregation. The preacher prays or preaches, and members of the congregation respond with an enthusiastic “AMEN” or “YES” or “SAY IT!” as the spirit moves them. Once they get going, there is an exciting energy that is contagious! A couple of weeks ago, Ren and Rafi were reading a prayer that I found moving, and I spontaneously interrupted them with “Yes!” and a big “Amen” at the end. I was reminded of my experience with seminary students from a Black Southern Baptist school. One of my peers asked them to respond to his D’var Torah as though they were in church. It was great. I mentioned this to the congregation, and Rabbi Sandmel said that he too once worked with some Black preachers. Hoping to get his congregation to voice a response, Rabbi Sandmel asked if there was something he could say to encourage a reaction. The preachers gave him some suggestions: “Can I get an amen?” always elicited a response. Another suggestion was to pause and say, “Am I right?” Rabbi Sandmel chuckled for a moment, shook his head and said, “If I asked that in my congregation … ” If you’re looking for agreement in a Jewish congregation, that’s probably not the question to ask! Which brings me to my topic of questions. In an article from Forbes , “Why Questioning is the Ultimate Learning Skill,” author Julia Brodsky claims that “the ability to ask questions is one of the most important lifelong learning skills a student can acquire in the course of their education.” This idea is so often antithetical to our society’s approach to education. We are told to sit quietly and listen to the experts. We are quizzed, tested, and told not to look at other’s papers. But that’s not the Jewish way. If we have contributed anything to the world (and we have contributed much), it is the concept of hevruta , of collaborative learning. We challenge assumptions; we analyze texts (including Torah and Siddur); we ask questions of others and they ask questions of us. We encourage and admire critical thinking. We make jokes about how we often disagree. The place where we all (can) experience hevruta is the Seder. It is the ultimate “Spirits and Spirits” (BTW, come tonight at 5:30!) It is the place where we are presented with a text, with themes and concepts and wordplays, and asked to talk about them. As it says in the Haggadah, “And the more one tells about the coming out of Egypt, the more admirable it is.” The Seder table becomes a multigenerational vehicle for learning, exploring our values, and talking about our identities. Why do we ask the youngest at the seder to ask the questions? Could it be that the youngest might feel too intimidated to ask a question and so we encourage them? Could it be that, as adults, we are intimidated, because we think we should know the answers, and so we let the children do it? In that same Forbes article, the author suggests, “Questioning is not easy and may require a lot of reflection and perseverance, as well as a dose of humility. In order to ask a penetrating question, we first need to acknowledge our ignorance of the answer. Questioning takes the familiar and makes it mysterious again, thus removing the comfort of ‘knowing.’” More often than not, in my experience, a dose of discomfort, a dose of being one or all of those four children in the Haggadah, is what brings us to a deeper place. We find out that the mystery and the unknowable is the most real space we inhabit. Am I right? Can I get an Amen?

Some of you may have seen an op-ed piece in the Portland Press Herald a few weeks ago where the authors charged our local Jewish institutions of being “intellectually dishonest, morally abhorrent and spiritually bankrupt” in our public messages on the war. I knew I wanted to respond, both because I disagree with their core belief that Israel is committing genocide and ethnic cleansing, but also because it’s not clear to me that they have engaged us in a conversation. Bartenura, the 15th century commentator on the Mishnah, quotes Pirkei Avot 2:4: “Do not separate yourself from the congregation” and offers the advice: “but rather share in their troubles. As anyone who separates from the congregation will not see the congregation consoled.” These are difficult times for us - on many levels. I’ve listened to some very hard stories from parents of middle and high school age students whose children have had to navigate the anger and confusion of adults caught up in the rhetoric. The volatile situations in the world are complex and not easily untangled. That is not an excuse for having a particular opinion, but until we hash out the complexities, and treat one another respectfully, we will continue to have wars. I sent this to the Portland Press Herald, but I didn’t hear back. As one of those institutional leaders referred to in the February 7 opinion piece “As we grapple with Gaza, Jewish institutions are letting us down,” I am sorry that Mss. Alfred, Rosen and Kramer feel their community hasn’t taken the stand they would like to see. I am puzzled though. If the authors had been to Temple Beth El, they could not possibly have missed the anger, the anguish, the confusion, the conflicted feelings, the vigils and the attempts to understand and to support all the victims of this war. I’m not sure where the authors heard us say that criticism of Israel’s policies - even claims of “genocide or “ethnic cleansing” (about which I, personally, dissagree) - is considered antisemetic. Are the large numbers of Israelis demonstrating against their government, both now and since the Hamas attacks on October 7, antisemitic? Perhaps the writers do not know the many effective Israeli left wing, bridge-building organizations who support Palestinian, Israeli-Arab and Beduin causes? Tragically many of the victims of the October 7th massacre were active in these very groups. My community joins others in wrestling with what it means to believe Israel should exist and to have neighbors who wish it didn’t, and who place non-combatants in the line of fire. Many of us are disgusted by the settlements and those settlers who seem to be above the law as they destroy people and land in the Palestinian territories. The challenge, and the source of our anguish, lies with the people on all sides who want to live in peace and live fulfilling lives. Perhaps contrary to what the writers have heard, this sentiment is echoed throughout our Jewish community. The writers assert, “Local synagogues and Jewish organizations echo national calls to make conditional any cease-fire on unrealistic terms that put the onus on Palestinians to end the terror being inflicted on them by the Israeli state.” First, the onus is on Hamas, not the Palestinians. Secondly, is it unrealistic to ask that the hostages be returned? The authors might not agree with this last point, but if they were willing to talk we might find that while we do not agree on all points, we have more shared opinions than not. Instead, the writers level the charge that our community is “intellectually dishonest, morally abhorrent and spiritually bankrupt.” I would encourage Mss. Alfred, Rosen and Kramer to enter into the Jewish dialogue with us rather than dismiss us. As a spiritual leader and a Jew, I keenly feel the complexity of the situation. As an institution and a spiritual home for Jews and allies,Temple Beth El is responsible for creating a safe space for all to participate, whether we personally agree or not. While I believe it is better to be one community with a multiplicity of beliefs, I hope Mss. Alfred, Rosen and Kramer find comfort and moral clarity in the community they create.

Some of you may remember our longtime members Jerry and Rochelle Slivka, of blessed memory. As survivors of the Shoah, their life stories were both tragic and blessed, painful yet life affirming. Jerry and Rochelle and their friends are and were some of the most amazing and inspiring people you could meet. The Slivka Holocaust Memorial on our property was conceived of and supported by their family and friends. The Slivkas cared deeply about the Jewish community and its continued existence. I think of Jerry and Rochelle often, but this year I’m thinking of them in relation to Tu BiShevat, the new year for trees. According to Torah, fruit-bearing trees must be four years old before their fruit can be eaten. When it was later determined that the trees’ year would begin on the 15th of the month of Shevat, it became on fourth Tu BiShvat (the 15th day of Shevat) that one could begin eating the fruit. In Israel, the trees are just beginning to bloom at this time. In particular, the almond trees are in bloom. As I look out my window here at 400 Deering, I see snow and darkness. There’s nothing blooming out there right now, and if I were a pessimistic person, I’d never believe that anything will ever bloom! Sometimes it’s hard to see a better future when you’re in the midst of darkness. For Jerry—though not necessarily for Rochelle who was a bit more skeptical than Jerry—gardening and flowers took on a special, spiritual meaning. Jerry spoke about his love of gardening at his Second Bar Mitzvah which took place to a full sanctuary on his 83rd birthday. The growing season in Maine is short, he reflected, so you want to make the most of it. There is a tradition (and Jerry was aware of so many old traditions) to celebrate a second Bar Mitzvah at 83 because according to the Psalms a full life span is 70 years, so if we live to 83, it’s a B Mitzvah year! Just as a second Bar Mitzvah was a miracle in his life, so too the appearance of flowers and the growth of trees was miraculous and life affirming to Jerry. He was both surprised and delighted by the flowers’ and trees’ appearance each year. Just as on Chanukah, when we celebrate by “publicizing” the miracle of the lights by putting the menorah in the window, he wanted to be sure that people who drove past his house had something beautiful to see from spring until winter. And, because children were so important, he made space for his children and grandchildren to play; the flowers were protected, but the kids could have their fun. I read in his oral history, kept at the US Holocaust Museum, that he brought an oak seedling from his yard in Portland and planted it in front of his ‘home’ in Poversk, Ukraine, hoping that it would survive as other Jews had. Jerry lived and gardened for 97 years, passing in 2013. Rochelle died in 2005 at the age of 82. At the time of his death, Jerry was survived by two daughters, six grandchildren, and three great grandchildren. The New Year for Trees, 15 Shevat 5784, Portland Maine. The flowers will eventually bloom, and the trees will blossom. We will survive. Thank you for the reminder, Jerry and Rochelle.

At the core of Judaism is human action. While the Divine may remind us of why we are performing the action, it is our performance that is important. Generally, we invoke God before we do something; we bless and then act. Whether it is saying the “Motzi” before eating bread, or reciting a blessing before lighting Chanukah candles or reading from Torah, first we focus on the mitzvah with a blessing, and then we do it. In this way, Jewish prayer leads to action. Sometimes though, the action may even be the prayer. A few years ago, I had the privilege of learning from Dr. Susannah Heschel, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel’s daughter. Her last talk was about the very special and sacred relationship her father had with Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King. She told us about the march in Selma; the danger, the fear, and the faith of all those who participated. She told us of the West African proverb that her father learned, “when you pray, move your feet.” We all know that he incorporated that proverb into his own life and his own experience: “When he came home from Selma in 1965, my father wrote, ‘For many of us the march from Selma to Montgomery was about protest and prayer. Legs are not lips and walking is not kneeling. And yet our legs uttered songs. Even without words, our march was worship. I felt my legs were praying.’ “I felt that my legs were praying.” Dr. Heschel told us that her father and Dr. King stayed with other activists at the house of Sullivan and Richie Jean Sharrod Jackson. She told us that on the morning of the march, Mrs. Jackson walked into the living room and saw Rev. King in one corner and Rabbi Heschel in another, and other guests throughout the room saying their “morning prayers.” I wonder what they were thinking about as they prayed. Perhaps Rabbi Heschel was pondering that moment in Torah, seconds before the Sea parted, when Moses shouted at the fearful Israelites to stand by and witness God’s power (Ex 14:13) and God said, “Why do you cry out to Me? Tell the Israelites to go forward!” (Ex. 14:15) ‘Pray with your feet,’ God says, ‘your cries have been heard, tell those who are fighting for justice to stop praying and act...go forward.’ The action was the prayer. How often do we find ourselves in a bind, with seemingly no place to go? It may be something quite personal, or it may be something that affects the country or the world. It can feel almost useless, or impossible to move. That is precisely when we need to keep walking forward. At the Reed Sea, God taught Moses that “thoughts and prayers” were not enough. God’s message was clear, “ v’yissa-u ”, ‘move forward, I will be with you!’ Today’s world can feel overwhelming.and sometimes paralyzing. Let us first pray with our hearts and then pray with our feet. Whether it is teaching the truth, writing to our leaders, becoming leaders, and standing up to injustice, we need to find ways to build bridges, and then to lock arms and walk over them. May the memory of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King be for a blessing.