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

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

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

Rabbi's Column - Summer 2024

Dear Friends,

In these days of division and strife, I’d like to share with you something that gives me tremendous hope: our young people.

Many of you joined us recently for a conversation with Yale Hillel’s executive director Uri Cohen. Uri is professional, insightful, and strategic. He reflected on this spring’s tumult on college campuses, explaining his journey to being a trusted partner and voice for Yale’s Jewish students in the highest levels of the university’s administration.

But most impressive of all were our college students (who attend schools around the country). They spoke with honesty and passion about experiencing a challenging year on campus. Each of these six young people eloquently conveyed their Jewish pride and their standing up to antisemitism. Like many Jews in their generational cohort, they do not believe that they have to choose between safety for Israelis and justice for Palestinians. This is all the more impressive given that campus culture so often screams the opposite message in their faces. Their ability to hold many difficult emotions and truths while still being confident in who they are is a total inspiration. Kol HaKavod — well done. Thank you to Kulanu for organizing this deeply meaningful evening.

Just a few days later came Shavuot, and we celebrated the confirmation of three special 10th-graders. They were called to the Torah to read the ten commandments, and each of them shared reflections on the year of learning. Unsurprisingly, they all spoke about the Israel-Hamas war, since Israel’s history has been the main focus of our year of study. They, too, conveyed their Jewish pride and their commitment to proceed into the next chapter of their lives with critical thought, conscience, and confidence and who they are. They spoke about BBYO, the international youth movement of which SALTY is part. They spoke about their special experience in our religious school. They are positioned to be leaders and builders of the Jewish future. As a rabbi, there’s nothing that makes me prouder.

By now it should be abundantly clear that we have some special young people here at TBT, and of course that is because we have special families. Families who choose to opt-in to Judaism in spite of the societal forces that challenge that decision. Families who choose learning and dialogue over the need to ‘be right.’ I love about our congregation that we can listen to one another and engage in difficult decisions with civility and curiosity. Throughout the last several years of my serving TBT, I have seen our teens model this time and time again.

My year serving as teacher to our teens is also a reminder that what’s going on in the news is not necessarily all that’s going on in the world. Headlines, whether about events in the middle east or on domestic college campuses, tend to be driven by all that is ugly. This is the most basic way that bias can creep into news coverage. But behind the headlines, there is a lot of unreported goodness and basic decency. There are the actions of rodfei shalom (Psalms 43.15) — pursuers of peace. Our young people are pursuers of peace. We should listen to them. They are leading us.

Shalom,
Rabbi Moss

Rabbi's Column - June 2024

Dear Friends,

I invite all my B'nai Mitzvah students to ask me a "big question" that would be hard for ChatGPT to answer. Recently, Levi A. asked, "What do you think would happen if the Jews were to lose Israel?" This is a sad, difficult, and very important question. I told Levi as much, and so I'm sharing a few reflections here, too.

Over its 76-year history, Israel has faced numerous threats. Every war triggers existential fears. Israel's existence has never been assured, which is why it has built one of the strongest armies in the world.

Israel is still a young country. If we look back 3000 years to King Solomon and the first Temple in Jerusalem, 1948 to 2024 constitutes only about 2% of Jewish history. We lost control of Israel when the Romans destroyed the Temple 2000 years ago, leading to centuries of exile.

Exile wasn't just a geographical reality; it was a profound sorrow we carried for centuries. The book of Psalms reflects this in a poem from the first exile to Babylonia: "By the Waters of Babylon/There we sat down/And we wept/As we remembered Zion….If I forget you, O Jerusalem, let my hand wither…” (Psalms 137).

Later Jewish texts also reflect this yearning. One Midrash explains that when the Temple was destroyed, God went into exile too, departing Jerusalem and the presence of our people.

For almost 2000 years, Jews dreamed of returning to our homeland. This longing was embedded in daily life: in prayers for the rebuilding of Jerusalem, in facing East during prayer, in breaking a glass at weddings to recall the Temple's destruction. The land of Israel is central to Jewish history and identity.

Can you imagine if your home, livelihood, and every routine disappeared in an instant? It's hard to relate to this feeling today, which is a good thing: it shows how comfortable we have been in the United States.

At my summer camp, we had an activity on Tisha Ba’av, the saddest Jewish holiday when we mourn the destruction of the Temples and other catastrophes. Campers spent an hour building intricate gingerbread houses, which the counselor suddenly trampled to the ground. It was an attempt to invite us to consider the feelings that accompany the loss of home, identity, and way of life. (However misguided from a 2024 perspective…)

In exile, Jews lived at the whim of mercurial leaders. The Purim story dramatizes this: an evil minister plots to destroy the Jews by manipulating the king. While likely a work of fiction, the story reflects the reality of how quickly fortunes could change for Jews.

Our  ancestors  were  exiled  from  many  lands:  Italy,  Egypt,  Spain,  Portugal,  England,  Russia, Switzerland, North Africa...the list goes on and on.  By the 1800s, Jews became citizens of modern nation-states like France and Germany, finally gaining equal rights. Many believed our tragic history was over.

Then came Hitler. Germany, the paradigm of a modern, civilized society, proved that modernity did not guarantee safety. To the contrary: it guaranteed that the dangers we faced were greater than ever before.

This context is the backdrop of Levi's question. Throughout history, Jews have faced discrimination, draconian restrictions, expulsions, forced conversions, and murder. Facing blood libels, pogroms, and unending antisemitic conspiracies, Jewish dreamers across Europe came to believe that returning to our homeland was the only solution. The State of Israel was conceived as a safe haven for Jews worldwide, a modern political solution to an ancient problem. That, simply stated, is Zionism. Israel has done remarkable things to follow through on this promise, including daring rescues in Entebbe, Uganda, and absorbing Jews from Ethiopia and the Former Soviet Union.

So, what if Israel ceased to exist? With nine million people living there, where would they go? Some propose a multinational state for Jews and Arabs, but it’s unclear how Jews would fare absent the ability to protect themselves. (On the other hand, life for Palestinian Arabs in Israel is complex, but generally safe and even prosperous). It seems naive in the extreme to imagine that such a state is a pragmatic possibility.

The other option is that seven million or so Jews would have to leave. Where would they go? Here? Canada? Argentina? Either outcome would involve terrible violence to Jewish safety and identity. The elimination of the Jewish state would be a catastrophe akin to the destruction of the ancient Temples or the Holocaust. We would eventually survive and adapt, as we always have, but our people would never be the same. Over the last 2000 years, we accepted exile temporarily, thrived and persevered, but never gave up the dream of return. So, we would go back to dreaming.

Israel's national anthem expresses the longing for our homeland with the phrase - nefesh Yehudi Homiyah - the Jewish soul murmurs a yearning… In the scenario Levi asks about, we would resume hoping and praying, as our ancestors did, to once again realize our dream of self-determination - l’hiot am chofshi b’artzeinu - to be a free people in our homeland. As students of history, we know that this is required to bring true safety to Jews everywhere. Israel has already fulfilled this dream in so many respects. The next step is to fulfill our people's mandate as makers of peace. (The recent Abraham Accords indicate that progress is always possible, distant though it may feel.)

Every conflict is only a conflict until it isn’t.

Please God, let us build a world where Israel is secure and at peace with its neighbors.

I appreciate Levi’s question, and hope ardently that one day, no student will ever feel the need to ask it again.

Rabbi Danny Moss

Rabbi's Column - May 2024

Dear Friends,

During my college days, there was a slogan all over campus: “think one person can change the world? We do.” I loved these words because they reflected my institution’s history at the forefront of social change. In fact, college students have always made headlines for protests, marches, and civil disobedience. This

is how it should be. They are exploring their sense of right and wrong. They are expressing their voices as change agents.

Undoubtedly, there are many compassionate young people protesting in the tent encampments that have sprung up at universities throughout the United States. They are demonstrating for an end to the war in Gaza and for justice for Palestinians. And what decent person doesn’t want both of those things? They have seen the terrible images and grim statistics that we have all seen. We all want an

end to the suffering.

Unfortunately, these rallies are not always benign. My colleague Rabbi Ari Hart recently took a walk through the encampment at Northwestern University. Some of the signs and chants he encountered called for peace and an end to the fighting. Others were downright chilling: “Long live the Intifada!” “Hey hey, ho ho - Zionists have got to go.” And then there’s the ubiquitous slogan heard around the world, “from the river to the sea Palestine will be free.”

I wonder how many of these students know what river and what sea they are chanting about? If they do, do they think that the seven million Jews living there will simply pack up and leave? And what about the word ‘intifada’ — which means ‘shaking off ’ or ‘uprising’ — do they know that the second intifada consisted of hundreds of suicide bombings, sowing terror throughout Israel’s civilian centers? Do they know that that uprising began after Palestinian leadership rejected a two state peace deal that Israel agreed to?

Perhaps the most disturbing recent statement came from Khymani James, the organizer of the Columbia encampment, who said that “Zionists don’t have a right to live.”

Just let that sink in.

Zionism is simply the political movement for the freedom of the Jewish people. To reject that movement is to deny the Jewish right to safety and self-determination. It is a form of hatred. I wish I could comfortably advise our young people to speak up for the safety and self-determination of both Palestinians and Israelis in these protest spaces. But I do not know of any protest where such nuance would be accepted. Tragically, the protests have been poisoned by forces that would not end the war, but rather declare it anew— on the entire Jewish people. (“Globalize the Intifada?” The nefarious intent is hiding in plain sight.)

This messy morass reveals a failure of the American left. Intersectional justice work dictates that none can be free unless all are free. In too many of these protest spaces, that applies to everyone except for Jews.

(And by the way, how many of these students showed up to protest the brutality of the Rohingya Genocide or Syrian strongman Assad’s murder of thousands of Palestinians in his civil war? We could name dozens of other geopolitical conflicts that haven’t risen to encampment-protest-worthiness. That alone is reason for deep reflection.)

Many well-meaning young people attend these events because of the images in the news or an invitation from a friend. Many have absolutely no knowledge of this conflict or its history. Most are well-meaning.

Undoubtedly, some of these protesters are Jewish. I suspect that some of our own college students from TBT may be involved. We should listen to them. Many of them are driven by conscience. We should respect their right to free expression. But mass protests devoid of critical thinking are morally bankrupt and potentially very dangerous. The movement we are seeing today is not about peace. It is tainted by a zero-sum worldview that requires Palestinian liberation at the expense of Jewish safety. That is a false choice and one that makes Jews around the world less safe.

Oseh Shalom bimromav, hu ya’eseh shalom aleinu - v’al kol yoshvei teivel.

May peace yet prevail in our world.

Shalom,

Rabbi Moss

Rabbi's Column - April 2024

Dear Friends,

Do you know where the largest Pesach seder in the world takes place? I’ll give you a minute to guess for yourself — the answer will surprise you!

Pesach (Passover) ranks as one of the most widely observed Jewish Holidays. Even those who do not attend synagogue or otherwise practice Judaism often find themselves around the seder table, asking the four questions and speaking of our ancestors’ journey to redemption.

The story of the Exodus is so compelling because it touches on universal human themes: the triumph of good over evil, and the quest for freedom. For that reason, the Jewish freedom story has inspired freedom-seekers throughout history, including the 17th-century Pilgrims and enslaved Africans. When my grandfather was alive, he would love to hear Al Jolson sing Go Down Moses — an abolitionist protest song influenced by the plight of the Biblical Israelites. This year, many Jews will place an olive on their seder plates as an aspiration for the liberation of both Israelis and Palestinians.

In short, Pesach’s universal themes bring an ancient story to contemporary relevance, every year. Perhaps that is why it is so widely celebrated. And I am so glad that this year, TBT will be holding our community Seder for the first time since 2019! Because many folks travel or spend the first two nights with family, our seder will take place on the fifth night of Pesach: Friday, April 26th. Our Seder will be joyous, uplifting and fun for TBT folks from ages 0-120. I hope to see you and your family there. Because our wonderful planning committee needs to order the right amount of food and set up our space properly, we ask for all RSVPs no later than April 11th. (RSVP here) Further information about the seder can be found later in the Shofar.

It is so important for us to be together to share these stories, especially in a year like this. If you are in town for that Friday night, please join us. You will be glad you did.

Oh, and in case you still wanted to know: the largest Passover seder in the world takes place in Kathmandu, Nepal.

I wish you and your family a Chag Kasher V’Sameach (a happy Matzah-filled holiday),
Rabbi Danny Moss

Rabbi's Column - February 2024

Dear Friends,

Last month in this column I introduced two vital Jewish values to help us as we confront this terrible war: Tzelem Elohim (human dignity) and Yetziat Mitzrayim (compassion for those under duress). This month, I’d like to tell you about Hillel and Shammai. They were ancient study partners who sparred about nearly every area of Jewish law. Even though both sides presented cogent arguments, Hillel almost always won. Why? According to the Talmud (Eruvin 13b) it was because Hillel would teach the opposing side’s argument first. He would invite the Shammai family to dine in his home even though they disagreed about kashrut. In short, he was a mensch, and that mattered most of all.

Further, the Mishnah (Avot 5.16) relates that there are two types of disagreements: those for heaven’s sake (l’shem shamayim) and those not for heaven’s sake. According to the text, Hillel and Shammai exemplify what it means to disagree for heaven’s sake.

As we all continue to pray for peace and the hostages’ safe return, I’d like to share some further learning resources with you in the spirit of Hillel and Shammai. In addition to our TBT programs, these can help us better understand the events in Israel and Gaza. If you’re a podcast listener, I recommend the Ezra Klein Show and the Hartman Institute’s “For Heaven’s Sake” Podcast. For high-level geopolitical analysis, check out the BICOM Podcast. (BICOM has also has an excellent primer on the conflict.) In particular, I recommend the following episodes from Ezra Klein’s Show:

● Rabbi Sharon Brous (Senior Rabbi of IKAR LA)

● Aaron David Miller (Veteran US Peace Negotiator who played a key role in Oslo)

● Yossi Klein HaLevi (Senior Scholar of the Hartman Institute) and Amjad Iraqi (Palestinian-Israeli Journalist) — I recommend listening to these two back-to-back.

The ability to hold cognitive dissonance is a Jewish aspiration, reflected in much of the Talmud’s discourse. (And, not to mention, Tevye). When you listen to these podcasts, you will almost certainly hear ideas that both affirm and challenge your beliefs. You may start crying or feel very angry. I did both of these things.

I believe that as Reform Jews, we are called upon to grasp the fullness of this conflict, including things that make us uncomfortable. When we pay close attention to the lived experiences of people on all sides of this conflict, can we develop our own positions, grounded in moral integrity, an honest understanding of history, and the wisdom of our tradition. We can feel more confident in our commitment to Israel, knowing that we are not afraid to confront the pain of past and present.

L’Shalom — with every fervent prayer for peace,

Rabbi Moss

Rabbi's Column - January 2024

Dear Friends,

A richly developed ethical system is one of Judaism’s gifts to the world. If you understand just two concepts, you will begin to see why.

The first concept is from the very beginning of the Torah. After creating a world full of substance and life deemed tov (deeply good, harmonious), God created human beings. But unlike every other creature, the Torah (Gen. 1.26) describes human creation with the phrase (b’tzelem Elohim) — in the image of God. This means that, among other things, all human beings are equally deserving of dignity, safety, and love. No exceptions.

The second concept comes from the Exodus story. Just a few chapters after escaping Egypt, The Israelites are already told, “You shall not wrong or oppress a stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” (Ex. 22.20). This statement and others like it appear dozens of times throughout the Torah — The Talmud counts 36 of them — more than any other ethical requirement. Therefore, we must remember the suffering of our past, Torah commands. But if our suffering is only about us, we have missed the point. Our history of homelessness implies a special responsibility toward others in their homelessness.

Tzelem Elohim — uncompromising dignity.
Yetziat Mitzraim — uncompromising empathy.

These ideas are simple enough to understand, but difficult to apply. And that is because moral decision-making seldom demands a clear choice between right and wrong. More commonly, we must choose between right and right; or wrong and wrong.

Such is the case in this terrible ongoing war between Israel and Hamas. We all want the fighting to be over, but what of the hostages? What of Hamas’ unambiguous promise to massacre Jews again and again? On the other hand, what does it mean for Hamas to be eradicated altogether? Is that even possible? And if so, what will rise in its place? Who will lead the Palestinians out of their suffering? One can kill people, after all but not ideas. And in the wake of the untold devastation, the radicalization of another generation begins and the cycle of conflict continues. This is, after all, just what Hamas hoped would come to pass.

As I said, the choices here are between right and right; between wrong and wrong.

As students of history, and as moral agents with a stake in this conflict, it is incumbent on us to consider our responsibility. The conflict between Israel and the Palestinians has everything to do with dignity and empathy — two of our most deeply held values.

I find it excruciating to hold the full moral weight of this conflict, when our people are still held as hostages, our soldiers are dying, and the hatred toward Jews around the world skyrockets. Israel has worked in good faith for peace with the Palestinians over decades, without success. (I highly, highly encourage you to listen to Ezra Klein’s excellent recent interview with veteran US Peace Negotiator Aaron David Miller to learn more about this.)

And yet…
And yet.

There are other truths that we must acknowledge:
● An extremist, nativist Israeli government has brought Israel to this moment through its expansion of settlements, dismantling of its democratic institutions, and dehumanization of its perceived adversaries;
● Gaza is little more than an open-air prison. But even before the war, life for Palestinians was often unbearable. In the West Bank, civilians are constantly subject to checkpoints, arbitrary detentions without due process of law, violence from Jewish settlers, home demolitions, and all manner of indignities that accompany military occupation. On the Israeli side, there’s the psychological toll that such occupation takes on the (mostly 18-20-year-old) soldiers who enforce it.
● Palestinian refugees, numbering now in the millions, continue to live in camps throughout the middle east, largely abandoned by their host countries. (Except for times such as this, when international media attention makes their suffering politically exigent.)

The moral responsibility for the plight of the Palestinians is blindingly complex. But we don’t have to unravel all of that to know that, as an occupying power, Israel bears a tremendous moral responsibility. This seems unfair given the asymmetry of this conflict — one tiny Jewish state in a sea of Arab hostility — and given our history of persecution. Yet, today, the onus is on Israel to be the most ethical, the most responsible; the most sensitive of the values of Tzelem Elohim and Yetziat Mitzraim.

Anyone who thinks this conflict is one-sided is living in an alternate reality. Still, even knowing that there is pain and blame to share, I will not make excuses for supporting my people. I will fight with all of my soul for my people. That is an important part of justice in this conflict.

In Letters to My Palestinian Neighbor, Yossi Klein HaLevi writes that “a terrifying conditionality haunts our return [to Israel].” I think one of the things he means by this is that Israel’s miraculous existence demands a new responsibility on the world stage to global Jewry. And we have the reciprocal obligation.

With fervent prayers for Shalom,
Rabbi Moss

Guest Column with Ira Wise - December 2023

Happy Chanukah!

The library at the Jewish Theological Seminary in New York has some amazing books and artifacts. On a visit with a group of educators many years ago, librarian David Kraemer passed around a brick of lucite. Inside was a very old document. It was one of several dozen handwritten copies of a letter from, and signed by, Rambam (also known as Maimonides), arguably the greatest authority on Jewish law in history. The letters were sent to Jewish communities throughout the 12th century Western world, asking Jews to send money which would be used to ransom the Jewish community of Jerusalem. They were being held captive by either the Crusaders or the Saracens – I cannot remember.

Pidyon Sh’vuyim – Redeeming Captives – is, according to the rabbis of the Talmud as well as Rambam, the greatest of mitzvot (commandments). It is even more important than clothing and feeding the poor. It is outrageous that in our celebrated modernity, redeeming captives is still something that is needed anywhere.

We are a week away from the beginning of Chanukah. It should be a time of celebration, lighting candles, spinning dreidels, and overeating things fried in oil like latkes and sufganiyot (jelly doughnuts).

And we will. It may feel strange to you, as it does to me, to plan a celebration while watching the news feed each day waiting for the next ten hostages to be released. I hope that by the time you read this, those releases are still happening.

The Jewish year continues to happen, no matter what else is going on in the world. Chanukah will begin on the 25th day of the month Kislev (the evening of December 7), like it does every year. Even in the darkest times of Roman persecution, the Inquisition, and even the Holocaust, our ancestors often found ways to mark the festivals and holy days. And many Israelis are making sure to celebrate important lifecycle moments, if they are able – even with the war going on.

So, I urge you to celebrate Chanukah. Keep the captives and the civilians in your hearts and minds. Even talk about them as you spin the dreidel, or after you sing Ma’oz Tzur, if that works in your home. There are resources for talking about the situation with children here. Remember that one of the things we celebrate at Chanukah is Jewish autonomy and freedom. Let’s celebrate on behalf of those who cannot. Let’s gather in prayer and a festive meal on December 8 for Shabbat Chanukah. Make donations to Magen David Adom or through the Jewish Federation.

Our joy may be diminished, but Chanukah teaches that we must bring light into times and places that are dark. I hope to see you over the holiday!

L’shalom,
Ira Wise Interim Director of Education