From the Bimah: Jewish Lessons for Life

November 8, 2025

These two things are both true.Literally from the first page of the Jewish story, Zionism is core, central, essential, at the heart of, Judaism. There is no Judaism without Zionism. There is no Judaism without the State of Israel. The Jewish story begins with these lines from our reading this week:The Lord said to Abram, "Go forth from your native land and from your father’s house to the land that I will show you." (Genesis 12:1)That land turned out to be Canaan, so named because a people named Canaanites lived there."The Canaanites were then in the land." (Genesis 12:6)Abraham is called ha’ivri, which means he crossed over to get to Canaan. He is not from Canaan. Ivrit, Hebrew, is the language of those who crossed over.Zionism is foundational to our story and our mission from our very beginning.But this also is true. For Abraham, in his time, for us in our time, for Jews in all times, trying to establish a home in the land of Israel has proven not only practically difficult—creating constant friction with those who were already living there—but also morally challenging. On October 24 Daniel Gordis interviewed Judy Lev about her new book, Bethlehem Road: Stories of Immigration and Exile, which consists of twelve fictional stories that take place in the Jerusalem neighborhood of Bakah. Please read Law of Return, which is the fascinating and troubling story that Danny highlighted in his conversation with the author.How does reading this story make you feel? What does reading this story add to your understanding of the complexity that is Israel? What do you do with the complexity that this story embodies?So that folks will have enough time to read this story, we are sending out the teaser today, rather than Friday.

Joy! How do we get back to joy?       There are plenty of times in our lives when joy is easy. We saw that this morning. When a beautiful daughter and granddaughter like Adeline Lake is born, joy is easy. When that beautiful baby grows into a radiant and wonderful teen like Robin whose Bat Mitzvah we celebrate today, joy is easy. When we dance at the wedding of a loved one who has found love, joy is easy. Joy is easy not only at these lifecycle moments. When we love to ski, and we are on the slopes on a perfect day, fresh powder, blue sky, bright sun, gorgeous conditions, joy is easy. When we love to bike, and we are on the road, and the wind is at our back, joy is easy. But what about times when joy is not easy. For the Jewish people now, joy is not easy. For the State of Israel now, joy is not easy. This Monday will mark two weeks since the hostages came home. Now that the euphoria of their return has passed, what’s next? For the last two years, we have largely lived in the land of oy. We need to pivot from oy to joy. We want to pivot from oy to joy. But how do we pivot from oy to joy when we still feel oy?

Last Shabbat Rabbi Elliot Cosgrove, of Park Avenue Synagogue in New York, a preeminent Conservative rabbi of a preeminent Conservative synagogue, gave a sermon telling his congregants not to vote for Zohran Mamdani for Mayor of New York.His opening paragraphs: “To be clear, unequivocal, and on the record, I believe Zohran Mamdani poses a danger to the security of New York Jewish community.Mamdani’s refusal to condemn inciteful slogans like “globalize the intifada,” his denial of Israel’s legitimacy as a Jewish state, his call to arrest Israel’s Prime Minister should he enter New York, and his thrice-repeated accusation of genocide in Thursday’s debate—for these and so many other statements, past present, and unrepentant—he is a danger to the Jewish body politic of New York.”I could not agree with Rabbi Cosgrove more on the merits. But his passionate sermon raises the question: Should rabbis talk about politics on the bimah? If you think Rabbi Cosgrove was right to do so, what about talking about national politics? If it is right to talk about Zohran Mamdani on the pulpit, is it also right to talk about the President and his policies on the pulpit?To date, we have studiously avoided talking about American politics in order to preserve Temple Emanuel as a place where all of us, regardless of politics, feel that 385 Ward Street is our spiritual home. We learn with, we sing with, we pray with, we have Kiddush with, people who see the world very differently than we do. That is rare. And precious. Where else do you find it? To preserve it, we avoid the divisive issues of our day. But Rabbi Cosgrove’s courageous sermon, his moral clarity, invites us to reexamine our posture.It is good to preserve peace. But does not confronting hard national issues in the name of preserving peace mean we are failing at another important value: moral clarity in the face of moral issues?   We will examine these hard questions through two lenses in our weekly Torah readings: Noah, who builds the ark to save himself and his family but does not act to save the dying world, and Abraham, whose mission God tells us is to do righteousness and justice and who acts to save Sodom and Gomorrah.Preserving peace vs. moral clarity in the face of moral dilemmas. Our synagogue as a refuge from our troubled world vs. our synagogue as giving us courage to repair our troubled world. Hard questions. No simple answers. Would love your voices.

October 18, 2025

October 14, 2025

Obviously, there is only one thing to talk about. Please God in the next few days the twenty Israeli hostages still held by Hamas in Gaza are to be released as part of phase one of the deal brokered by President Trump, his team, and a host of nations. More than two years after they were taken hostage, these twenty surviving hostages who have been in hell for an eternity will at long last be home, reunited with their families. And the question is, how do we process this monumental and joyful event?

Do you remember, with crystal clarity, a class that you attended thirty years ago? I remember one such class like it happened yesterday—both what was said in the class, and how it made me feel.It was a class attended by rabbinical and cantorial students, and Jewish educators and federation workers. The class was taught by Rabbi Elka Abrahamson, who was at the time a congregational rabbi in Minnesota. Elka has since gone on to head the Wexner Foundation. The class was August, 1995, in Cape Cod. The topic at first felt like a double disconnect. She was talking about Sukkot, two months before Sukkot. And she was talking about a word, a concept, a ritual, I had never heard of before: Ushpizin.The word Ushpizin is Aramaic for guest. It refers to a mystical Sukkot tradition that comes from the Zohar in which people invite seven biblical figures to our Sukkah. The tradition has, I would say, a little bit of a patriarchal feel. The seven invited guests traditionally are: Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, Aaron, Joseph and David. Over time a female roster of Ushpizin was also developed inviting Sarah, Rebeca, Rachel, Leah, Miriam, Deborah and Esther into our Sukkah. The classic idea would be to connect with the spiritual legacy of each of these biblical figures.Now, at Cape Cod, Rabbi Abrahamson did a modern move on this classic mystical tradition. The students were seated in a circle. She added an empty seat in the circle and invited us to welcome into our August sukkah somebody who is not here, either because they passed away, or for any other reason we fell out of touch with them. Each person would go over to the empty chair and introduce a loved one whom we no longer see. It was all very emotional. People carry stories. People carry scars. And this exercise of introducing someone who can no longer be at our Sukkah but whom we would like to invite to our Sukkah brought out a lot of vulnerability in ways that made everyone around the circle listen in rapt attention.

On October 7, 2023, the world changed both in Israel and here in the United States for us as Jews. Antisemitism has become mainstream, most visibly in academia. On the first day of Sukkot, October 7th, Dr. Mark Poznansky shares stories from the trenches of academic medicine where he and his colleagues are making a difference and charting a path for us to make a difference too.

Judaism has always, from the very beginning, been a counter point to the surrounding culture. Most of us have grown up in a Jewish community that has struggled to blend our surrounding culture with our ancient tradition. But as the culture around us becomes unbearable, maybe this is the exact time to reclaim our roots!About Rabbi Ravid TillesRabbi Ravid Tilles is the School Rabbi and Director of Jewish Life and Learning at Schechter Boston. He and his wife, Yaffa, and three sons are members of the Temple Emanuel family.

Every Sunday morning, in the daily psalm, Psalm 24, we praise consistent, steady, disciplined ethical behavior:           Who may ascend the mountain of Adonai?          Who may rise in God’s sanctuary?          One who has clean hands and a pure heart. Unlike the teaching from Berakhot, that the penitent stands in a place the Tzadik cannot stand, the Sunday psalm exalts consistency, discipline and self-restraint, not struggle and growth. Tomorrow we will examine two biblical characters who embody these models. King David, who commits adultery with Bathsheba, and has her husband Uriah killed, and is chastised by the prophet Nathan. David authors Psalm 51, the words of a penitent heart. Joseph, young and single, is propositioned by his boss Potiphar’s wife, and says no repeatedly. In today’s context Joseph would be seen as a victim of repeated sexual harassment by an employer who has power over him,  but he never succumbs. The Talmud’s only question is whether he was tempted or not. Two rabbis disagree on that. But all agree he did the right thing. As we emerge from Yom Kippur to our new year, how do we assess the models presented to us by King David and Joseph? Is it possible to say yes to both? Is it possible to hold out as an ideal both the growth and struggle that come from falling and getting up; and also self-restraint, self-discipline, and consistent moral excellence? Our sacred canon contains both models. Do we?

October 2, 2025

A priest, a minister, and a rabbi wanted to find out who was best at doing conversions. They find a bear in the woods. The priest says let me give it a try. He comes back a few minutes later smiling. I told the bear how beautiful communion is, and he is coming to our mass this Wednesday morning. The minister says I’ll go next. He comes back a few minutes later smiling. I told the bear about the glory of Bible study, and he is coming to our class this Sunday at noon. The rabbi says let me give it a try. He doesn’t come back for a good long while, and when he finally does, he is bloodied, bruised, and bandaged. “In retrospect,” the rabbi says, “maybe it was not the best idea to start with circumcision.”That joke has been around forever, but I bring it up now because the laugh line is no longer so funny. To care a lot about Israel and the Jewish people this past year has been heavy and hard. And then one day, Shira and I were listening to a podcast host named Mel Robbins, who has a lot to say about how to thrive emotionally in hard times. She observed that the world has its sorrows. And so often the sorrows of the world make us sad. We internalize that pain. She asked a simple question: what are some simple hacks that we can do at home, in our everyday life, that will change our mood; that will banish our sorrows; that will make us feel good and hopeful and optimistic.

Ofir Amir is co-founder and CFO of the Tribe of Nova Foundation, established after the October 7, 2023 Hamas attack on the Nova Music Festival. Wounded while escaping, Ofir survived and later helped transform tragedy into a movement of healing and resilience.Before the attack, he was deeply involved in building the Nova community of music, unity, and love. Today, he co-produces the Nova Music Festival Exhibition, an international initiative honoring victims, supporting survivors, and raising funds for mental health care and Beit Nova—a permanent center for remembrance and recovery in Israel.Through his leadership and testimony, Ofir amplifies the voices of survivors and ensures their stories of courage live on.

“In the place where penitents stand, even the completely righteous cannot stand.” Berakhot 34B Last week we encountered this Talmudic teaching which privileges the struggle, the growth, the journey, the learning, of the person who realized they were not living their best life, and they embarked upon teshuvah to live a better life. This week we are going to double click on this teaching that prizes struggle and growth in two ways. One, what are the ideas behind it? We will see the perspectives of an arch rationalist (Maimonides), the Hasidic master Rebbi Nachman of Bratslov, and the founder of the Chabad-Lubavitch movement, the Alter Rebbe, who authored a work called The Tanya. Each has a different interpretation as to why struggle and growth are prized. Two, what does artwork that celebrates this kind of struggle and growth look like? We will examine works of Yoko Ono, Wish Tree, Frida Kahlo, The Two Fridas, and Yayoi Kusama, Infinity Mirrors. What do each of these works of art say about the journey of the soul that is teshuvah? May Shabbat Shuvah, and the teshuvah we each do in this season, bring us ever closer to the person we hope to become.

Last month I got an email that reassured me that all will be well with the world. That joy and blessing are very much alive.The email attached a photo of two women who are long-time members of our congregation. The younger one is only 103. The older one is 104. They have been friends since they were 12. Do the math, and that is one long, rich friendship. They were having lunch with their daughters. The picture is of the four of them all smiling at their lunch. Both women read the paper every day. Both women exercise every day. Both women talk to their children, grandchildren, great grandchildren and friends every day. Both women are totally up on what is happening in the world. Their beautiful lives, 103 and 104 years old, and still living, feels biblical. And it is. Their lives evoke Moses who, at the end of his life at the age of 120, is described as loh khahatah eino v’loh nas lechoh, Moses’s vision was undimmed and his vigor unabated. He lives, richly, until his last breath.I had always thought that only Moses, and rare people like our 103- and 104-year old friends, get this treatment. Until I read Peter Attia’s book Outlive: The Science and Art of Longevity, which makes the case that all of us can be Moses in the sense that all of us have more control than we might think about living richly all the years of our lives.We all know the word lifespan. Lifespan is the number of years we get to live. But Attia taught me a new word: healthspan. Healthspan is the quality of our health—physical, cognitive, emotional, spiritual, relational—throughout the years of our life. Attia’s main point is that what we do now can impact how we live later. What we do in our earlier years can shape not just our lifespan but our healthspan, not just the quantity of our years, but the quality of our years. The habits we live by in our 20s, 30s, 40s, 50s, and 60s can dramatically affect the vitality of our 70s, 80s, 90s and beyond. Our current practices shape our future years. And this is a decidedly Jewish issue.

An older gentlemen needed surgery for a rare medical challenge. Turns out that the best surgeon in town was his own son. As the father was about to go under, he asked to speak to his son. Yes, Dad, what is it? Son, do not be nervous. Do your best. I trust you. Just remember one thing. If it does not go well, if something happens to me on the operating table, your mother will live with you and your wife for the rest of her life.How do we navigate hard times? We all know that we are living in hard times. Is there some way to turn hard times into beautiful outcomes—in fact beautiful outcomes that only happen as a result of how we navigated those hard times?

Recently, as part of a routine medical procedure, I needed to get hooked up to an IV. Unfortunately, the nurse who did it, while very nice, had a hard time. She poked a needle into my arm and said, oh, so sorry, that didn’t work. She poked a needle into my arm a second time and said, oh, so sorry, that didn’t work either. Let me ask one of the other nurses. Another nurse came and the third time was a charm. The IV took.When the procedure was over, and I got home, I was fine, but I noticed that my arm had all these cuts and bruises. I wanted sympathy. So I went to my wife in search of that sympathy. I pointed to my right arm. I pointed to the wounds, which I called, for greater effect, lacerations, contusions, and hematomas. Shira look at these lacerations from the bungled IV attempt! Look at these contusions! I think this is a hematoma!! From the bungled IV!!I’m not sure what I was expecting. But I wasn’t expecting what I got. What I got was, Shira took one look at my arm and said: Buck up buttercup. Excuse me, I said. What did you just say? She said: Buck up buttercup.In our 42 years together, Shira had never put those three words together, ever. I had never heard them before. I wasn’t exactly sure what Buck up buttercup meant, but it did not sound like the kind of sympathy I was looking for. It sounded like she was saying: toughen up. Stop complaining. The bad news was that I did not get the sympathy I was looking for. The good news is I got something even better: a sermon topic. Is it a Jewish virtue not to complain, or is it a Jewish virtue to complain? There is a lot of Torah on complaints and complaining, and it is nuanced.

The main religious value concept for our High Holiday season is teshuvah, repentance.Given the centrality of teshuvah in Judaism, and in the Jewish calendar now, the Torah’s treatment of teshuvah is curious indeed. It appears very late in the game. There is zero mention of teshuvah in Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, or Numbers. Teshuvah does not appear until Deuteronomy chapter 30. Why so late?And when teshuvah finally appears, it is only after total disaster has already struck. The Israelites will have angered God so much that God will destroy the land and exile the Israelites.            The Lord uprooted them from their soil in anger, fury, and great wrath, and cast them            into another land, as is still the case.  (Deut. 29:27)Is teshuvah meant to be our code red response to our code red disaster?Finally, the last verse right before teshuvah is mentioned is one of the classic stumpers of the Torah.            Concealed acts concern the Lord our God; but with overt acts, it is for us and            our children ever to apply all the provisions of this Teaching. (Deut. 29:28)What does this verse mean, and why is it inserted here, in between the expulsion of the Israelites caused by the wrath of God, and the gift of teshuvah which will allow the Israelites to return to God and to their land?What does the Torah’s treatment of teshuvah mean to how we practice it now?One possibility is that the Israelites failed deeply and have teshuvah to redeem them. So too, we fail deeply, and we have teshuvah to redeem us. The Talmud teaches that somebody who sins, who fails, who grapples, who goes through a transformation and comes back to God is at a higher level than somebody who never sinned.Over the next several weeks, we will double click on this teaching. Does our tradition really privilege transformation (I strayed, I sinned, I have come back) over a pure heart (I am disciplined, I am committed to being ethical, I did not stray)?Over the next several weeks we will examine the case for the primacy of transformation versus the case for the primacy of a pure heart.

The two lands we love, America and Israel, both have a problem. The problem is real, recurrent, and deadly. The problem showed up in both lands this week. The problem is violence and lack of regard for the sanctity of human life, lack of regard for the Bible’s most important teaching: that all human beings are created in God’s image and therefore deserve to live and to be treated with respect and dignity.On Monday morning, at a busy bus stop in Jerusalem, two shooters fired upon ordinary people living an ordinary day, killing six innocent people, the victims of terrorism. The shots were fired in Jerusalem. But the effects were felt in Newton. The effects were felt in our preschool, right here.One of the victims was Rabbi Mordechai Steintzag. His daughter Tanya teaches at our preschool. On Monday Tanya flew to Israel to attend her father’s funeral. Like Rabbi Steintzag, every one of the victims was innocent; was loved; did good in the world; did not deserve to be murdered; loved their life and their families; and leaves behind families and communities that will never be the same. Each life taken is an infinite tragedy.And then, on Wednesday, at Utah Valley University, political activist Charlie Kirk was assassinated. He leaves behind a wife, two young children, and family and friends who are bereft that a31-year-old is no more, the victim of political violence. Charlie Kirk’s murder is an infinite tragedy. Tonight is Selikhot, the beginning of our High Holiday season. How do we understand this violence, and what are we to do about it? Of course we decry it. We denounce it. We mourn it. We lament it. But is there anything we can do about it?