Rabbi's Column - December 2024

**Warning - grisly details of the REAL Chanukah story below**

Dear Friends,

Despite what you may have heard, the Chanukah story is really not for kids.

It is tempting to force history into neat little moral packages. For Jewish immigrants to the United States, Chanukah became a tale of liberty — religious freedom hard-won by the righteous Maccabees. Don’t get me wrong, there are good reasons to identify with that aspect of the story. But that is not the whole story. The fuller version includes a mix of political intrigue, sectarian infighting, and bloody betrayals. For instance, Judah Maccabee’s successor Simon was murdered by his son-in-law in a power grab. Later, Aristobulus I, the first Hasmonean/Maccabee to declare himself king, did so by imprisoning and starving his mother. His successor, Alexander Yannai, sparked a civil war with the Jewish sect called the Pharisees. In an especially dark turn, he ordered the crucifixion of 800 of his Jewish political rivals.

As you can see, the Maccabees were not messiahs. The sectarian infighting, in particular, foreshadowed bitter Jewish divisions that would lead to the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple by the Romans 200 years or so later, leading the Talmud to attribute the dissolution of the great Jewish commonwealth to sinat chinam — reckless hatred. (Yoma 9b)

The real story of the Maccabees, then, is both a reflection on hard-fought freedom and a cautionary tale against the corrosive effects of power. The victim had prevailed over the tyrant — hooray! But now what? Unfortunately, that ‘now what’ for the powerless newly grasping power, so often leads down a dark road.

I’m pulling back this particular curtain to invite reflection on how we think of history. Instead of viewing it in black and white terms — replete with heroes and villains, victims and oppressors — what would it look like to view history as a dialectic? Our stories contain beautiful kernels of light, but also warnings of the abuses of power and the excesses of ethnic pride. There are profound lessons to learn from real history — lessons that complement and complicate the beautiful miracle of the oil that burned for eight days. When we embrace our history and ourselves with honest reflection, then, we stand to learn and grow the most.

This dilemma certainly lends perspective to the challenges of divisive times. It also makes me feel so very lucky to live in the United States, a country conceived to end tyranny and political instability forever. It is so easy to take for granted concepts like rights, representative government, and checks and balances. It is easy to forget just how unusual these ideas are — not just in the scope of human history, but in the modern world, too.

And what can we learn from the real Chanukah story, today? We all need to be a part of democracy. No matter who is in the white house we must protect it. Whereas the Maccabees were soldiers of war, we are all, to paraphrase the great Prime Minister Yitzchak Rabin, soldiers for peace. And as soldiers for peace, we cannot tolerate the winnowing of democracy any more than Judah stood by when the tolerant Syrian- Greeks began to persecute Jews.

To learn more about the real story behind the holiday, I invite you to a class I am teaching on Sunday, December 15th at 11 AM. I am calling it From Despair to Triumph: The Maccabee in Ancient History and Modern Judaism. Together we will examine how the famous story of Judah and his brothers has migrated, evolved, and informed Jewish self-understanding in present-day America and Israel. Please email Caroline (office@tbtshoreline.org) to sign up.

While we light our Chanukiot (Chanukah menorahs) this year, let us not elide the darker aspects of our history. They remind us of the dangers we may yet avoid.

May this Chanukah be built with light and vigilance. Where the Macabees fought military battles, let us continue to fight peacefully for a better America and a vibrant democracy.

Chag Urim Sameach (Happy Festival of Lights),
Rabbi Moss

President's Column - December 2024

Dear Friends,

In the second century BCE, the Holy Land was under the rule of the Seleucids (Syrian-Greeks), who sought to impose Greek culture and beliefs on the people of Israel, undermining their observance of mitzvot and devotion to G d. Against incredible odds, a small group of faithful but poorly armed Jews, led by Judah the Maccabee, defeated one of the most powerful armies of the time. They drove the Greeks out, reclaimed the Holy Temple in Jerusalem, and rededicated it to the service of G d.

When they went to light the Temple's Menorah (the seven-branched candelabrum), they found only a single cruse of pure olive oil that had not been contaminated. Miraculously, this small amount of oil burned for eight days—enough time to prepare a new supply under the proper conditions of ritual purity. Like Passover, Hanukkah is a celebration of freedom—freedom from oppression and the ability to practice religious expression. The Hebrew word Chanukah means "dedication," commemorating the rededication of the Holy Temple in Jerusalem.

The Festival of Lights, another name for Chanukah, is one of my favorite Jewish holidays. While other kids anticipated Christmas, I was eagerly preparing for Chanukah. Why? Because what’s better than freshly made latkes (with chives and scallions for extra flavor—delicious!), sufganiyot (Hebrew for doughnuts), playing dreidel with chocolate gelt as prizes, and lighting the menorah while singing traditional songs and blessings? (Ma’oz Tzur or Rock of Ages—is my personal favorite. My mom made my brother and me sing it every night of Chanukah when we were kids.) And let’s not forget the cherry on top: eight nights of presents!

Chanukah arrives each year near the winter solstice, when daylight is at its shortest. It’s a reminder that even in the darkest times, there’s always light ahead. As we enter winter and reflect on the ongoing war in Israel—now 14 months long—let us pray for light at the end of this dark tunnel. Just as the oil miraculously lasted eight nights, let us hope for a miracle: the safe release of all remaining hostages. That would truly embody the spirit of Chanukah.

I want to take this opportunity to express my gratitude to the TBT Board of Trustees, the Leadership Council, our clergy and staff, and all the amazing volunteers who dedicate themselves to our incredible community. A special thank-you goes to two remarkable lay leaders, Suzy Frisch and Andrea SanMarco. Their tireless efforts— whether supporting our staff, stepping in during crunch times, or simply always being present—are invaluable TBT wouldn’t be the same without their dedication. Thank you both!

Nes gadol haya sham —“a great miracle happened there.” These words, inscribed on the dreidel, remind us of the miracles Chanukah represents. May the light of this season inspire all of us to shine brightly, even in challenging times, and to dedicate ourselves to something greater—this extraordinary TBT community.

Happy Chanukah from my family to yours!
Josh Broder,
President, Temple Beth Tikvah

Temple Educator's Column - December 2024

The TRUE story of Chanukah

The difference between Jewish and secular calendars this year means that Religious School is not in session for Chanukah. We adapt. And that to me, is the lesson of Chanukah – and of the Jewish people for that matter. We survived nearly 2,000 years of exile and being kicked out of nearly every country and city state in Europe – not to mention the Roman empire, the Crusades, the Inquisition and the Holocaust – by adapting. We continually find ways to not simply survive, but to thrive and find new joys in living Jewishly.

I am going to share some historical accuracy with you now. Do not confuse that with Truth. Truth is what we believe in our hearts. Sometimes it is informed by historical events. Sometimes by our beliefs. If hearing something different about Chanukah will disturb you, I urge you to scroll to the next article. This is not something that you NEED to know.

Still with me? Judah and the rest of the Maccabees were real. We have lots of contemporary evidence. It is extremely unlikely, however, that any of them ever heard about a little jug of oil that burned for eight days. The first time we hear that part of the story is in the Babylonian Talmud, written 460-660 years after the actual events.

In the First Book of the Maccabees, written just four years after the war, the dedication is celebrated for eight days just as the original temple dedication under King Solomon and dedication of the tabernacle in the wilderness with Moses, Miriam and Aaron was held. And Judah declared all Jews everywhere should celebrate each year.

Forty years later, it seems that Jewish communities outside of the land of Israel were not celebrating Chanukah. So, a Second Book of Maccabees was written. “They celebrated it for eight days with rejoicing, in the manner of the Feast of Booths, remembering how not long before, during the Feast of Booths, they had been wandering in the mountains and caves like wild animals.” It seems the holiday soon gained traction in the diaspora communities after that. Still no oil though.

One hundred and ninety or so years after the original events, Flavius Josephus describes the first Chanukah. Josephus had been a Judean general in the war against Rome that resulted in the destruction of the second Temple in Jerusalem in 70 C.E. He went over to the Roman side and spent the rest of his life writing about Jewish history and customs. Historians believe that he was trying to create an image of the Jewish people in the minds of the Romans that would lead them to think we were not a threat and should leave us alone. He wrote: “Judah celebrated the festival of the restoration of the sacrifices of the temple for eight days, and omitted no form of pleasures…” A very Roman type of simcha.

Finally, Pesikta Rabbati is a collection of Midrashic tales written in the land of Israel in the 8th or 9th century CE. while the land was under Muslim rule. In it we read “When they entered the Temple, they found eight rods of iron (spears), which they hollowed out and then kindled wicks in oil which they had poured in the grooves.” This version reminds us of turning swords into plow shares – making weapons into tools of peace. A good metaphor while living under foreign rule.

So too, the Talmudic story of the oil teaches those around us that we are not looking for a fight. God made the miracle of the oil and the victory of the few over the many – not humans. We celebrate God and our faith not war.

In each case, we adapted. In each case we recast the story in a way that gives us reason to celebrate. I am not debunking the story of the oil and its miracle. I am saying we have four more facets to the jewel that is Chanukah. They are ALL our stories.

And I am sticking to them. I invite you to join me. No need to tell the young kids just yet.

L’shalom,
Ira Wise, Temple Educator

Rabbi's Column - November 2024

Dear Friends,

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

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

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

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

Let’s remember that we’re all friends.

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

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

דִּבְרֵי֙ קֹהֶ֣לֶת בֶּן־דָּוִ֔ד מֶ֖לֶךְ בִּירוּשָׁלָֽ͏ִם׃

הֲבֵ֤ל הֲבָלִים֙ אָמַ֣ר קֹהֶ֔לֶת הֲבֵ֥ל הֲבָלִ֖ים הַכֹּ֥ל הָֽבֶל׃

מַה־יִּתְר֖וֹן לָֽאָדָ֑ם בְּכׇ֨ל־עֲמָל֔וֹ שֶֽׁיַּעֲמֹ֖ל תַּ֥חַת הַשָּֽׁמֶשׁ׃

דּ֤וֹר הֹלֵךְ֙ וְד֣וֹר בָּ֔א וְהָאָ֖רֶץ לְעוֹלָ֥ם עֹמָֽדֶת׃

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shalom,
Rabbi Danny Moss

President's Column - November 2024

Dear Friends,

In Judaism, gratitude is a core principle and a way of life, expressed through words, actions, and attitudes. The Hebrew term for gratitude, hakarat ha'tov, translates to "recognizing the good." Jewish teachings emphasize that gratitude can simplify our lives, even in difficult times. Grateful individuals tend to be more optimistic and less affected by jealousy and anxiety over what they lack. As we approach Thanksgiving in a few weeks, I want to share what I am thankful for and express my gratitude.

I am grateful for my family—my loving wife, Alison, and my incredible son, Cooper. They are my pillars of strength, and without them, I would feel lost. I am thankful for my clients who trust me and my team to guide them through their financial journeys. I am also grateful for my TBT friends and family, especially the dedicated Board of Trustees and Leadership Council who support our governance efforts. Our clergy and professional staff—Rabbi Moss, Ira, Kim, Caroline, Jen, and our custodians—are the real heroes who keep TBT running smoothly. And, of course, I am thankful for all our member families; without you, TBT would not exist. Lastly, I appreciate our volunteers, like Alan Friedman and David Sack, who I mentioned during my Rosh Hashanah speech. Their commitment is vital for TBT’s survival.

On that note, I’d like to reiterate two key points from my Rosh Hashanah address. First, David Sack has generously agreed to lead the final phase of TBT’s capital campaign, helping us reach our goal. For those unfamiliar, David is the son of Ed and Gloria Sack, of blessed memory. Ed was deeply involved in our financial matters and always focused on our future. David and his team will be reaching out to you, so I encourage you to engage with them—pick up the phone, respond to emails, and have conversations about our renovations and TBT’s financial future. Your involvement is crucial for the long-term success of our congregation. We are also looking for more volunteers to assist in this effort, so if you're interested, please reach out to me for more information.

Second, I want to address the need to reimagine and modernize TBT’s financial structure, a challenge we've discussed for over a decade. What does reimagining TBT’s finances mean? It involves creating a new model for membership and engagement. This fiscal year, excluding the preschool, our budget is approximately $800,000. The cost to run TBT per paying member household is about $3,000, while the average membership dues are around $2,500, resulting in a $500 deficit per member household. This gap is why we rely on our annual fund and charge for certain events, and it’s why dues have increased in recent years due to rising costs.

Many synagogues across the country have successfully restructured their financial models, and we will explore similar options. For instance, Kol Tikvah, a Reform congregation in Parkland, Florida, has developed a model called "Judaism My Way," allowing members to engage with the synagogue according to their individual needs while upholding shared values and financial flexibility. While I’m not yet sure if this model or another will suit TBT, we will investigate these possibilities in the coming months and years.

Dr. Alan Friedman will lead a special task force to explore how we can modernize TBT’s engagement and membership. This task force will focus on welcoming members of all ages, backgrounds, and family structures, especially as many Jews along the shoreline remain unaffiliated. They will ensure that any new ideas sustain TBT for years to come. If you’re interested in shaping TBT’s future, please reach out to me to join this important initiative.

So, this is my way of recognizing the good. There is so much more I could say, but for now, this is plenty. Have a happy Thanksgiving, filled with family, friends, and football, and don’t forget to share your hakarat ha’tov; it might just brighten someone’s day.

As a fun aside, the Hebrew word for turkey is tarnegol Hodu (India chicken). It’s unclear whether this name came from turkeys reaching the Jewish community via India or from some historical confusion. Regardless, it’s often shortened to simply Hodu, which means both "India" and "thanks," as in Hodu L’Adonai ki tov. So, the bird we enjoy on Thanksgiving is literally known in Hebrew as "thanks." How fitting!

Josh Broder,
TBT President

Temple Educator's Column - November 2024

From the Education Center

TBT's Religious School curriculum is built around Jewish values, beginning with those in our temple mission statement. That value is Kehilah – community. We have a wonderful faculty; a few being members of TBT. Half of them are undergraduates who bring a youthful energy that is contagious. We are lucky to have them all. Even so, I would like us to develop a new muscle in our Kehilah Kedoshah – our sacred community. I invite every adult in our congregation to give serious thought to the idea of becoming a teacher or a substitute in our Religious School. Maybe not right away, but soon.

 Throughout my career I have preferred to hire members of the congregation whenever possible. You bring a sense of ownership, of long-term commitment to this community. And you bring something to our kids that is unique. You serve as a special kind of Dugma – a personal example. And that – Dugma – is another one of our values. Dugma sometimes results in one kid saying to another, "Wow, Cooper! It is so cool that your dad is our teacher!"

I have been so grateful and proud that so many temple members joined the faculty. When members become teachers, the village really does raise our children. And it makes us all feel even MORE engaged. I invite you to become even more hands on, my fellow villagers. This is not solely - or even primarily - a request to our members who are educational professionals. Two of the best teachers I ever worked with were not professionally trained teachers.

 Sy Bierman was my Religious School classmate. He was a treasury agent by day, pursuing counterfeiters, among other financial crimes. He was our fifth-grade teacher and he was amazing. He was so amazing that parents began demanding he teach their kids. When I graduated college and joined the faculty, another teacher and I were each assigned one-third of the year with different groups of 8th graders, just so that every 8th grader would have part of the year with Sy. I was proud to call him my teacher and my colleague.

 Mort Wolin was one of the first teachers I worked with as a temple educator. He was in sales. He was a very soft-spoken gentleman whose grandsons were in our school. He was also the sole Jewish survivor of Baronovich, Poland. The leaders of the Jewish community were able to get a single visa from the Nazis in 1940. They chose to give it to him and send him to America because he was the valedictorian – their greatest hope for the future. His experiences in Poland, being a father and grandfather and his career in sales made him a great teacher. He loved

Judaism and transmitting it to the young, and as a good salesperson, he knew to listen as much or more than he spoke, giving his students agency and encouraging their curiosity.

Many years ago, Eric Yoffee, then the President of the Reform Movement (URJ), declared that the path to synagogue leadership should pass through the classroom. Moreover, he said that we all need to take a more direct role in the education of our congregation’s children. There are some synagogues even smaller than ours that require new members to take a turn as a teacher.

Please consider taking yours. And we are still looking for classroom support right now. Call me. Email me. Let’s help our youngest villagers grow and take their places among us.

L’shalom,
Ira Wise
Temple Educator

Rabbi's Column - October 2024

Dear Friends,

This month marks one year since Hamas’ brutal attack on Israel. The hostages are still held captive. As I write these words, it looks as though a full-scale war may erupt in Lebanon. Susan’s friend in Israel’s north has been texting her from a bomb shelter. Any hope of a speedy resolution has long since evaporated. Israel’s suffering is great. The suffering of the Palestinians, too, is great. Our hearts break again and again as we confront the human toll and fading prospects for peace.

It pains us to see a country we love in such straits.
It pains us to witness the suffering of our Jewish siblings.
It pains us to know that our people remain implicated in a cycle of violence and reprisal that Israel’s existence was mean to end forever.

In the words of Rachel Goldberg-Polin, mother of hostage Hersh Goldberg-Polin z”l:

There is a lullaby that says your mother will cry a thousand tears before you grow to be a man.
I have cried a million tears in the last 67 days.
We all have.
And I know that way over there there’s another woman who looks just like me
because we are all so very similar
and she has also been crying.
All those tears, a sea of tears,
they all taste the same…

It didn’t have to be this way. Last Rosh HaShanah, I shared my concern that Israel’s extremist government threatened its Jewish and democratic character, and obstructed the road to peace. Then came October 7th. A systemic failure of Israel’s security apparatus evolved into a war in Gaza that, over time, felt motivated more by vengeance than by any coherent strategy. Prime Minister Netanyahu has clashed publicly with his own defense minister, Yoav Gallant, over that very point. The centrist MK Benny Gantz resigned from the war cabinet earlier this year in protest. He claimed that Netanyahu was more interested in retaining power than reaching a planful resolution and freeing the hostages. And it’s not just Gantz: for months, hundreds of thousands of Israelis — including the families of many hostages — have protested his intransigence. Of course, none of this comes as a surprise: for years, Netanyahu has repeatedly, publicly, opposed peace. His support of violent extremists and immoral settlement policies in the West Bank is a stain on Israel’s conscience, and I believe it makes Jews around the world less safe. Most Israelis want Netanyahu out of office, but his coalition is still hanging on — for now.

On a different front, world Jewry has confronted an explosion of antisemitism. (Let's call it what it really is: Jew-hatred.) As you know, the numbers were already trending in the wrong direction before the war, but this year things have reached a new low.

▪ When I read the text messages exchanged among Columbia University deans;

▪ When I studied the Stanford University report detailing not merely discrete incidents, but rather a pernicious culture of hate;

▪ When I have had to console TBT students who have been taunted, followed, and harassed;

▪ When I confronted all this and more, I knew that the floodgates had burst open on both sides.

The rise of antisemitism on the left mirrors its long history on the right. Surely it cannot be out of bounds to criticize a government. But to blame Jews around the world for the actions of that government is unbridled antisemitism. To exclude people from bookstores or restaurants if they support Israel, is hatred. To hurl the word “Zionist” as an epithet, is bigotry.

Many of us feel we must walk an impossible tightrope: we support Israel’s safety, while we may have real qualms about its leaders and policies. Meanwhile the world seems to hate us no matter where we stand. To be sure, this is not a comfortable place to be.

As you might imagine, the High Holy Days will feel different this year. We need to mark this time as a community in solidarity with our Jewish siblings around the world. We need a place to process our grief. We need to draw strength from one another. Throughout the Days of Awe, you will find special sermons, music, and communal rituals. Between the holidays, we will gather at TBT to mark one year since the war began on Sunday October 6th, 12 pm. The following evening, on October 7th, there will be a ceremony of remembrance and solidarity with Israel, for the broader Jewish Community. All are welcome.

Finally, I urge you to please save the date for the weekend of December 6th-8th, when TBT will be privileged to welcome Times of Israel Senior Analyst Haviv Rettig Gur. Haviv is a remarkable thought leader. His visit to our community marks a truly special opportunity to learn and reflect. It is not every day TBT can welcome a speaker of his caliber, let alone for an entire weekend.

When I am feeling distraught, I remember that the pain of the Jewish people has often presaged new growth. Perhaps that is why Rachel Goldberg Polin concludes her poem with a hope that I would like to share with you. And so, I cite her poem again, this time in full:

All those tears, a sea of tears
they all taste the same.
Can we take them/ gather them up,
remove the salt/ and pour them over our desert of despair
and plant one tiny seed.

Shalom,
Rabbi Danny Moss

President's Column - October 2024

Hello TBT Community,

In Jewish tradition, the concept of repentance is known as teshuvah, a Hebrew word meaning “return.” One of the Hebrew terms for sin is chet, which signifies “going astray.” Therefore, in Jewish thought, repentance is viewed as returning to the path of righteousness.

Although teshuvah can be performed at any time, the High Holiday season, particularly Yom Kippur, is regarded as a special period for this process. According to Maimonides, repentance involves three key steps: confession, regret, and a commitment not to repeat the misdeed. A true penitent, Maimonides teaches, is someone who, when faced with the same temptation, refrains from committing the sin again. Additionally, prayer, charity, and fasting are believed to aid in gaining forgiveness.

Jewish tradition distinguishes between two categories of sin: sins against G-d and sins against others. Only sins against G-d can be atoned for through confession, regret, and a vow of change. However, sins against other people require not only personal repentance but also making amends — for example, offering restitution for a financial wrong and seeking the victim's forgiveness. It is up to us, as individuals, to forgive one another for personal wrongs; even G-d cannot force forgiveness between people.

In the spirit of this tradition, I want to ask forgiveness from anyone I may have wronged over the past year, whether knowingly or unintentionally. I also offer forgiveness to those who may have wronged me, hoping that in this new year of 5785, we can all strive, as Maimonides suggests, to be the kind of person who chooses not to repeat past mistakes.

On a personal level, I want to focus on becoming a better person in this new year. I hope to listen more and speak less, to be more patient and less impulsive, to think more deeply and assume less. I aim to be a better son, father, husband, brother, friend, colleague, and leader (especially here at TBT). Most of all, I want to begin the journey toward being the best version of myself.

In these challenging and uncertain times, I encourage each of you to reflect on ways you can grow in the coming year. I also hope that part of this growth involves becoming more engaged with TBT and the broader Jewish community. With antisemitism on the rise and hatred surrounding us, we need each other more than ever. Our TBT community is here to share in the joys and sorrows, to support each other through it all.

As we approach the High Holidays, the holiest time of the Jewish year, I wish all of you a happy, healthy, and sweet New Year. I look forward to celebrating and praying with you, and to connecting with each of you during these Days of Awe. May you be inscribed in the Book of Life this year, 5785.

Shana Tovah,
Josh Broder
President, Temple Beth Tikvah

Temple Educator's Column - October 2024

From the Education Center

This month we will all spend a lot of time thinking about (and hopefully doing) T’shuvah - repentance. The High Holy liturgy and all of the practice surrounding the Days of Awe demands that we atone, we change our hurtful behaviors and seek to make restitution with those we have wronged. Remember this for a moment while I digress, please.

When I started working in the religious school as a ninth grader in Chicago, they called me an aide. By the time I became a teacher eight years later, we were calling teens doing this work Madrikhim. (A boy was a madrikh and a girl was a madrikhah.) It means “leader or one who shows the way.” It was a good name. And that was what we were calling them here at TBT through last May.

Hebrew, like French and Spanish, is a gendered language. It is simply how it developed from ancient times. And I am sure you are aware that the language surrounding gender in our society has become very fluid and somewhat complicated. When we get it wrong – in the eyes of the person about whom we are speaking – we may cause pain, harm, and even alienation. It does not matter that we did not intend to do so. The impact of our words matter.

This past spring the Education Committee had a discussion about this and came to the conclusion that we need to do a bit of T’shuvah. It is entirely possible that we have not had a single madrikh or madrikhah who identified as non-binary. It is also possible that we might have, but the titles we used for teens who just wanted to connect and help teach kept someone away who did not identify as male or female. We may be lucky and can fix the language before someone feels that their temple does not have a place for them in this role.

So, the committee has changed the name of the group to the Hadrakhah Team. Hadrakhah means “leadership,” so the basic intent is the same. These teens are still showing our younger learners the way to go forward. And we will call them Hadrakhahniks – a word that is a bit of mixed language salad, but a word pioneered by the Kibbutzniks! It will take time to wrap our tongues around this change, but it gives us the opportunity to be as welcoming as we have always tried to be.

L’shanah tova u’metukah and G’mar Chatimah Tovah,

Ira Wise
Temple Educator

Rabbi's Column - September 2024

Dear Friends,

In 1727, Benjamin Franklin assembled a small group of friends to form the Leather Apron Club. They would gather weekly to discuss the great quandaries of human nature with an eye toward mutual self-improvement. Franklin's vision was to pursue character refinement through 13 virtues such as temperance, justice, and humility. He believed that personal growth was a dimension of civic responsibility and that building an ethical populace was a prerequisite for a more perfect Union.

In his autobiography, Franklin later reflected that these weekly "debates" were … "to be conducted in the sincere spirit of inquiry after truth…" without any desire to win. In fact, Franklin describes how, wanting to keep things calm, the group rejected expressions of absolute certainty, which they "prohibited under small pecuniary penalties." [!!]

Franklin’s legacy of statesmanship and self-improvement are worthy of emulation. In anxious times like these, his idea may strike us as more than a little quaint; his rules of discourse, a tad naïve. But if we’re honest, the dramatic national political issues inflated with urgency and outrage by an apoplectic media culture do not always reflect our day-to-day lives. Rather, most of us stand to make the greatest impact locally: in our congregation, our community, and our homes.

Judaism believes (and I suspect Franklin would agree) that the most important level is to start with the person in the mirror. That’s why we have the Hebrew month of Elul, a penitential period of personal reflection leading up to the High Holy Days. That’s what the High Holy Days are all about.

Given that this is an election year, I thought I’d try something new.

On four Wednesdays after Labor Day, we will revive Benjamin Franklin’s Leather Apron Club. Together we will immerse ourselves in Franklin’s teachings — and here’s the twist — through a Jewish lens. As we enter the contemplative month of Elul and navigate a crucial election year, we will place Franklin’s virtues in conversation with the timeless wisdom of Pirkei Avot, an ancient collection of ethical wisdom from the Mishnah. Together we will discover how these principles can coalesce into our fully American, fully Jewish lives. I hope that our time together will give us renewed optimism and hope about what we can accomplish in the year ahead.

Simply RSVP to Caroline in the office (office@tbtshoreline.org) to sign up. You’ll find more information in the following pages.

Oh, and I promise there will be no pecuniary penalties.

Shalom,
Rabbi Danny Moss