From the Bimah: Jewish Lessons for Life

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?

In last week’s class we encountered the Greek myth of Icarus who, ignoring his father’s advice, flew too high and too close to the sun so that his wings made of wax and feathers melted, he fell to the sea, and died. In class one of our learners offered a poignant coda. While the rest of the world did not see and did not care about Icarus dying, his father Daedalus cared very much. His father gathers his fallen son and buries him. Daedalus loves his son so much. Cares about him so much. And controls so little. If the son makes decisions that undermine his own life--indeed that end his own life--there is nothing that Daedalus can do but mourn. The Hebrew Bible also contains a powerful story of a father whose heart is broken by the self-destructive decisions of his son: David and Absalom. Absalom rebels and leads an army against his father, King David. When David hears that Absalom has died—his long hair caught up in the branches of a tree, which allowed his enemies to slay him—David famously laments: “My son Absalom! O my son, my son Absalom! If only I had died instead of you! O Absalom, my son, my son!” Infinite love. Infinite care. No control. Infinite pain. So many of us experience our own version of the pain of Daedalus and David. Our loved ones make decisions that we cannot control that undermine their lives and cause us pain. As we enter the High Holiday season tomorrow night with Selikhot, part of the pain we carry into the High Holidays are the times that our loved ones are their own worst enemies, which we can do absolutely nothing about. Is there a prayer that helps? Tomorrow we will look at the most responsive prayer that I know of on this question, The Serenity Prayer:  God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, Courage to change the things I can, And wisdom to know the difference. Would that prayer have helped Daedalus as he buried Icarus? Would that prayer have helped King David as he mourned his son Absalom? Does that prayer help us? When our loved ones undermine their own lives, is serenity even possible?

For many of us, this week has been the week of the big pivot. We pivoted from August to September; from summer to fall; from vacation to obligation; from light and breezy summer rhythm to an alarm clock that wakes us up to face the reality of a schedule. Back to school. Back to shul. Back to the High Holidays coming up with their invitation to take stock of our lives. All of which is very different from going to the beach or going to Tanglewood or climbing a mountain in New Hampshire or enjoying the gorgeous green of Vermont or the waters of Cape Cod, Nantucket, Nantasket, or Martha’s Vineyard.In short, how do we think about a return to the daily grind?

Icarus has so much to say to us now, a few weeks before Rosh Hashanah.According to Greek mythology, Icarus flew too close to the sun with wings made of feather and wax. The sun’s heat melted the wax, and Icarus fell into the sea and drowned.In 1560, the Netherlandish master Peter Bruegel the Elder painted a masterpiece entitled Landscape with the Fall of Icarus. This painting is now displayed in a museum in Brussels. The title is so evocative. To Icarus, no story was more important than Icarus. To Icarus, his flying so high, falling so low, and meeting an untimely end in a cold sea in a cold world was all-important. It was THE story. But there is a broader landscape where the fall of Icarus was not only not the story. It was not noticed at all. There are three peasants each doing their thing, plowing, herding and fishing. They are totally absorbed in their own world. They neither see nor care about Icarus.The pathos of the painting—the desperate pain of one, utterly unseen by others—has inspired poetry by William Carlos Williams and W.H. Auden. The last stanza of Williams’s poem expresses this dissonance so clearly:a splash quite unnoticedthis was Icarus drowningThe painting, and the poetry of Williams and Auden, convey the world as it is: a splash quite unnoticed. Judaism has a lot to say here. Hillel’s famous teaching in Pirkei Avot is a response. Hillel would not be comfortable with the three peasants not seeing and not caring. Yes, they have their own lives to attend to. That is legitimate. But Icarus drowned. How could they not notice? In attempting to move the dial on human indifference, Hillel teaches: If I am not for me, who will be?If I am for myself alone, what am I?And if not now, when?(Pirkei Avot 1:14) This dialectic of Hillel animates our High Holiday liturgy. Take a look at Bruegel’s masterpiece. Who are the three peasants today? Who is Icarus today? Where are we in the paining? Who and what are we not seeing? What are we focused on? What is our version of plowing, herding and fishing? What does Hillel say to us?

August 30, 2025