From the Bimah: Jewish Lessons for Life

Imagine you have a friend who cannot stop raving about a book. "I love this book. You have to read this book.” One day an Amazon package sits at your front door. Inside is the book, along with a note from your friend: "I hope you find this book as life-changing as I do." You cannot wait to begin. But the moment you open the book, you notice something strange.There is no beginning. No page 1. The book begins on page 2. There is only an ongoing story.That is true of Judaism's most foundational text. Open any one of the sixty-six tractates of the Talmud and you will notice that there is no page 1. The first page is always page 2. There is only an ongoing story.And it’s not just true of the 66 tractates of the Talmud. The same thing happens a 67th time in our Torah this morning. As generations of commentators have observed, when the Torah tells the creation story, it does not begin with the first letter of the Hebrew alphabet, alef. It begins with the second letter, beit. There is no page 1. There is only an ongoing story.What is true of our sacred texts is true of our lives. None of us is born on page 1. All of us are born on page 2. Each of us enters a story already in progress.

Cain.What comes up for you when you think about Cain?Most of us know the first half of the story. That Cain kills his brother Abel. That Cain is the first murderer. That Cain is the first to commit the ignominious act of fratricide—one brother killing another brother.Most of us know that God sentences Cain to wander aimlessly throughout the world as a punishment—na v’nad tiheyeh va’aretz.But there is a coda that most of us do not focus on. Namely, Cain does not wander aimlessly throughout the world. To the contrary: Cain “settled in the land of Nod.” Nod means wandering. Cain settled in the land of wandering. Not only settled: Cain is the first to build a city, he is the first city builder. Cain gets married, becomes a father, indeed becomes the patriarch of multiple generations.How do we understand this coda, that Cain defies/transcends/ignores God’s express punishment, “You shall become a ceaseless wanderer on earth”? The first murderer is also the first city builder, a husband and a patriarch.What are we to learn from the whole story, including its underappreciated and curious end?

October 3, 2026

Tomorrow is not only Shabbat, but also Shmini Atzeret, which means we recite Yizkor for our beloved departed. We are going to explore a question the Talmud raises at least three times: Do the dead know what is happening in our lives? When we are going through hard times, do they know? Are they rooting for us? Even interceding for us? When we are going through happy times, when we are celebrating a wedding of their grandchild or great grandchild, do they know? Are they celebrating in heaven? When we say that “they are shining down in heaven on us,” is that just poetry? Or is there any sense in which these gauzy words may be true? Many of us see ourselves as rational: When you are dead, you are dead, you don’t know, you don’t care, you don’t exist, so how could you know or care? Many of us may believe that what Kohelet writes is true: ve’hameitim anam yodim meumah, the dead know nothing. 9:5. And yet, I have been in the pews of funerals at a local Orthodox shul, where a local Orthodox rabbi who gives exquisite, moving, poignant eulogies, offers a trope that your beloved mother, your beloved father, your beloved grandparent, is in heaven, an advocate, a melitz yosher, arguing on your behalf before God, still knowing, still caring, still working to make possible your best life. I have been there, and heard those eulogies, and seen those tears, when dry-eyed rationalists who might believe in Kohelet weep away at the notion that their loved ones still know and care and work for our best lives. What is that? What is the question behind the question? The Talmud’s stubborn refusal to accept the inexorable logic of Kohelet is not about ghosts or spirits. It is about loss and grief. It asks the question of Yizkor: when life ends, how do our relationships live on?

Why Are We Still Here? An exploration of the second day of Yuntif’s role in keeping the Jewish people alive.We already celebrate a lot of holidays during the month of Tishrei, and on the second day of Sukkot, our tradition asks to add more limitations than was originally expected. The reason? It’s an acknowledgement of a time gone by. Join Rabbi Ravid Tilles to explore how upholding of a second day of yuntif can teach us important lessons about how our thousands year old people has sustained ourselves. If you don’t think we need to be practicing a second day of Yuntif, then you are exactly the person who should come!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.