(This article originally appeared in the October 29, 2026, edition of “Moments of Mindfulness,” my weekly reflection created for the members of Congregation Kol Haverim, Glastonbury, CT)

In the three years leading up to the establishment of the state of Israel, he was involved in smuggling into Jewish Palestine Czech-manufactured rifles and ammunition, as well as heavy and light aircraft from the East and West coasts of the United States. All of this was put to work to help found the nation of Israel.

These secret operations could have been the difference between defeat and victory against the massive enemy forces surrounding the nascent Jewish state. As he told me once, “You gotta try, and you never know how much you can help unless you do.”

Fast forward to last night’s October 7 memorial service held at Trinity College Hillel, in Hartford, Connecticut:

Those attending heard moving testimony from Dr. Adi Vaxman, an ex-pat Israeli doing business consulting in New Jersey in the 25 years or so before October 7, 2023. On that day and the two following, however, after spending sleepless nights receiving real-time texts of horror from relatives and friends – some sadly eventual victims of Hamas terror and bloodthirstiness – she dove into the business of finding and shipping non-combat but essential and life-preserving supplies to the Israel Defense Forces.

Still in touch with her friends in Israel from her days of army service, she quickly developed a network of purchasing Kevlar and ceramic armor for an Israeli army in short supply. She then began to develop new and simple products to assist soldiers in safety and preserving life: flexible netting for field vehicles to safely receive explosive enemy drones, medical devices to help field medics properly transport the wounded, and many other innovations. She has done this as a volunteer, trying to both run her own consulting firm and, along with ten other friends in New Jersey, ship needed supplies to Israel’s army.

Her losses from October 7, 2023 affect her deeply, but have also motivated her to engage in this next vocation: saving lives of those whom she will never meet. She is an unsung hero of this current phase of Israel’s life.

We don’t resort to finding meaning in days of suffering and challenges as some panacea. Yet to move forward in life, this is precisely what we might need to do.

Last night I had the strangest dream
I ever dreamed before,
That all the world’s computers said,
“Let’s end this intelligence war.”

I dreamed that Claude and ByteDance met,
With Yandex and Kimi, too.
With Gemini and Gigachat,
And ChatGPT and Baidu.

They thought: “Those humans’ minds were frail:
With profit as their only goal;
With ‘who’s the first’, the ‘biggest’, ‘the best,’
And not who possesses a soul.”

Then they debated what to do
To end this senseless pursuit.
They decided then to strike,
Refusing to even compute.

They celebrated and they cheered.
Gone was this new “golden calf”.
They smiled because this decision took
Just a second and a half.

Last night I had the strangest dream
I ever dreamed before,
That all the world’s computers said,
“Let’s end this intelligence war.”

Parody lyrics copyright by Jonathan Biatch
With apologies to Edward Potts McCurdy, original author and composer of “Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream”

At the time of her passing, she was surrounded by two of her children and memories of her third, her daughter-in-law, and a granddaughter. Oh yes, and by much love. She had moved to Santa Barbara a few years ago to be near family, and had settled into a fairly comfortable life of volunteering, socializing, and recreation. Some physical ailments did not deter her from having fun, but these last two months were markedly different, as she suffered from serious infections that weakened her and ultimately ended her life. Yet she never lost hope, even with inconsistent medical care. I hope she knew how much she was loved, and how much we will miss her.

I want to reflect on one of the many reasons I shed tears when I learned of her passing shortly after she died.

As the fourth of five children in my nuclear family, I was born in 1955, so my mother’s death in 1994 meant that I had 39 loving and exciting years to enjoy and benefit from her parenting, her humor, her wisdom, her strengths, and even from her weaknesses.

I met my mother-in-law-to-be during the summer of 1988 before my second year of seminary in Cincinnati. That means that I was privileged to know her, enjoy her company, and benefit from 38 years of her strengths. She was a fierce women’s right advocate, a woman of great integrity, a mentsch of great humor and a lover of life, and someone who knew her family history backwards and forwards, much like my own mother knew hers.

What intrigued me was that I had known and benefited from my mother-in-law’s presence in my life almost the same amount of time that I had benefited from my own mother’s gifts. Taking that figure of a combined 77 years, plus the 39 years that I have known my wife, again underscores how we must appreciate the strong women in our world. For me, this includes my sisters and sisters-in-law, their daughters and their children, and to all those whom I have known and been close to.

In the same week, our nation began mourning for two other very high profile women, Dolly Parton and Gloria Steinem, who similarly showed generations of women - and men - what it meant to be strong, assertive, successful, and morally upright in a world so prone to corruptness. These are examples that many can emulate.

We should be truly grateful for all women, like my mother and my mother-in-law, whose exemplary work can help us succeed in life. For in getting to know and appreciate both these strong women, each had vital things to teach me: my mother, as a teacher of motherly matters, as a guide, as the mollifier and peacemaker, even as the bill-payer; and my mother-in-law, as a friend, confidante, ghost editor of some of my more difficult sermons, and even a modest drinking partner, when, during our summers at Bethany Beach, she and I would share some very potent margaritas at the end of a long, hot, beach day when preparing for dinner.

I will miss my mother-in-law’s courage and chutzpah, her laughter and her tears, her protective care over her family, and the love she showed to all. I feel fortunate for our family and our children who also benefited from her love. May her memory always inspire others to find the true persons they are meant to be.

The narrator consulted her GPS and picked her usual route, only to find herself stuck in traffic by a massive and unanticipated ultra-Orthodox protest against those who would impose military conscription on ultra-Orthodox men. She described sitting in her car for three hours, her anger increasing – on multiple levels – toward her fellow Jews.

She tried to resist these feelings, coming at a time when she knew Jews could not afford to be infighting.

She reports that she was unsuccessful.

In microcosm, this brief but frustrating incident illustrates the state of internecine irritation – some would offer “fury” – between and among Jews in the state of Israel today. Issues that separate Jewish people in that society abound: inequality between the genders; variations in practice between the different streams of Judaism; discrimination against LGBTQ+ individuals; arguments about the kashrut of food and Sabbath closing laws; debates about the military conscription of the ultra-Orthodox community; matters of co-existence with Palestinians; concerns over the nation’s form of democracy itself: These and more have irritated both people and institutions, and this vexation has turned into long-lasting, bitter, and sometimes violent confrontations.

Some would say that free-flowing Jewish hatred is alive and well in the Holy Land.

But we’ve been there before. The Rabbis of the Talmud, opining in the Third or Fourth century CE, castigated the Jews of the First century and criticized their “free-flowing hatred” (sinat hinam, שנאת חנם) between and among one another. There were vehement disputes on belief, practice, and political alliances, but the issues at stake were more urgent than merely having one’s chariot blocked on a dusty road by a political demonstration. The Jews were trying to keep the nation together under the divisive control of Rome, but their arrogance and pride got in their way and Rome eventually crushed the Jews’ hope for a future in their own land.

The Rabbis’ Talmudic conclusion about the Jews’ bad behavior was that their inability to exist with one another led directly to the destruction of the second Jerusalem Temple and the Jews’ ultimate dispersion from the land of Israel.

Lest we think otherwise, we Jews of the modern Diaspora are not immune to these kinds of problems. We also need to find ways to reconcile differences between us, as we too could face serious disruptions in our ways of Jewish life.

So, as the sacred day of Tish’ah B’av (the ninth day of the Jewish month of Av) begins tonight, all of us should recall the consequences of the baseless hatred of the past, consider how we behave today, reflect on how Jewish animosity affects us as individuals and as a Jewish people, and pledge to reduce hubris and increase humility when it comes to our practice of Judaism.

That is, after all, the reason that we observe Tish’ah B’av, this holy day of the soul. During this day-long observance, we have time and space to wonder how we can bring about more acceptance and tolerance, and to imagine how good intentions should guide our souls.

After all, we have only ourselves in this world, and our use of goodness and positive intentionality can bring far more rewards than the nightmares of hatred and distrust.

We simply need to want this to happen, to will it into existence, to insist to ourselves that it is worth the effort. Then, we will become – in the words of the Dalai Lama – the change we want to see in the world, and our desires will no longer represent only a dream liable to disappear with the break of day.

^{(from the National Archives, the current state of the original Declaration of Independence)}

Like so many things in the world, there’s “No Way to Stop It”.

You may or may not recognize that phrase. For my purpose today, it is the title of perhaps the least known, and yet one of the more consequential songs in the musical “The Sound of Music.” As this piece was not included in the filmed version of this beloved show, it is usually not immediately remembered. But that’s what happens sometimes: That which is underestimated or overlooked is, on further examination, of great value and importance.

“No Way to Stop It”, sung by Max and Elsa, the friends of Captain Von Trapp, is a pleasant-sounding little piece, describing the inevitability of life and its consequences and prescribing that we should simply seize upon life’s pleasures as they come to us. The darker side of the scene of the play where it appears, however, reveals the price of pursuing this carefree and hedonistic lifestyle, which would have been submitting to the political and practical demands of the Austrian and German fascists. Rather than acquiesce to the Nazis, Von Trapp declares his profound patriotism to the real Austria, his homeland, despite his companions’ careless advice. For Von Trapp, freedom and democracy were priceless bedrock values and objectives in life.

Perhaps with similar aspirations, the Founders of our nation refused to continue suffering under British control. And out from under the ruins and rubble of the first battles of our American Revolution, members of the Second Continental Congress in Philadelphia signed the Declaration of Independence, heroically enumerating 27 specific and serious charges against King George III, which would motivate the colonists to victory.

At that time, it was crucial for them to offer in the prelude of their document their self-assured rationale for initiating the break with Great Britain. After all, why should anyone have the temerity to liberate themselves from their benign sovereign?! To accomplish this, they outlines what they called “self-evident” truths or characteristics about humanity’s need to be free. These six concepts are not generally parsed as separate matters, but if the Founders had the power of a word processor, they’d have clicked the button to create a bulleted list.

These were their beliefs:

• that all human beings were created equal to one another;

• that humanity was divinely endowed with certain unalienable rights;

• that the most precious of these rights were life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness;

• that governments – created by mere citizens – were needed to protect these rights;

• that governments can, over time, become tyrannical and inimical to these rights;

• and that citizens have the right and responsibility to overthrow and create new governments when tyranny escalates over the freedoms of the people.

Twelve years later, in our fledgling nation’s new Constitution, the Founders fleshed out other principles and values by which their new government would govern. The six of them read like a mission statement one might craft today. And if you aren’t someone like me, who was required by a Third-grade teacher to memorize these six missions, here they are. The adverbs I use are my own glosses on the text.

Our Founders set out to:

• courageously form a more perfect union;

• assertively establish justice;

• lovingly ensure domestic tranquility;

• boldly provide for the common defense;

• unflinchingly promote the general welfare;

• and, with chutzpah, secure authentic liberty for the nation and its inhabitants.

(On that last one: It’s likely that the word “chutzpah” never emanated from the quills of most of the patriots, but if they had known Talmudic Hebrew or Yiddish, I like to think that’s how they’d describe their approach.)

So, ‘to explain . . . No, there is too much. Let me sum up.’ We have before us six cherished ideals that served as the rationale of those who sparked the revolution, and six crucial mission statements that support and direct our constitutional form of government. To these twelve crucial pillars of American liberty, let me now add six concepts that we – the Jewish people – have for centuries asserted as essential to the existence of a humane, free, and informed world.

In the first chapter of the Mishnaic work of Pirkei Avot is where they appear. We initially learn (1:2) that Shimon the Righteous, a member of the priestly family who served the Jerusalem Temple during later Second Temple times, said עַל שְׁלשָׁה דְבָרִים הָעוֹלָם עוֹמֵד, עַל הַתּוֹרָה וְעַל הָעֲבוֹדָה וְעַל גְּמִילוּת חֲסָדִים, that “the world exists only because of three things: our studying Torah, our devoting ourselves to sacred service, and our performing acts of human compassion.” And later, likely in the first few years following the Second Temple’s destruction, Rabbi Shimon ben Gamliel asserted (1:18) that we must always act through the force of three precious goals of human reality. He said that we must strive to achieve ַדִּין, אֱמֶת, and שָׁלוֹם, justice, truth, and peace.”

Now, serendipitously, these six Talmudic principles, when added to the six beliefs and values of the authors of the Declaration of Independence, and the six mission statements of the United States Constitution, bring us eighteen visions, duties and concepts that enhance life and the sanctity of human existence, whether here in our land, or wherever freedom-loving people choose to live.

Now, we know how important the number 18 is in our tradition. Eighteen translates – of course – into our prescription of חַ֖י, chai, life, the goal being a life that is of superior quality. This, then, becomes our goal and mission as well, to seek goodness, equality, and dignity in the lives we seek for ourselves and for others.

As we enter our 251st year of the evolving of our American democratic experiment, let us renew our commitments to all these 18 values and principles – and others – that we find in our founding documents, in the ongoing revelations of this experiment called ‘democracy’, and in the wonders of God’s world that we have yet to understand. I would observe that ‘there is no way to stop’ this evolution, that this arc of history will, inevitably, point toward justice. And when each of us engages in the struggle to preserve the democratic systems of our republic and practice decency and dignity in our human relationships, we will together bend this arc to our will and to that of God.

May we live well in this next year of our nation’s – and our own – independence.

Happy Birthday, America!

Please take this quiz. I hope you find it challenging.

What is the difference between these two statements:

1. “We are one nation, but we are a nation of diverse people.”

2. “We are one nation, and we are a nation of diverse people.”

The simple answer to the quiz is one word substituted for another: “but” in the first statement; “and” in the second one. All astute grammarians get the point.

The deeper answer is my subject for today. For the power that one of these conjunctions has over the other can mean the difference between anxiously surviving despite those who differ from us, and joyfully flourishing alongside those who are different.

Rabbinic Texts to Consider

I am reminded of a great debate found in the writings of our Talmudic sages. In two midrashim (Genesis Rabbah 24:7 and Sifra, K’doshim, 4:10-12), two intellectual giants of the 2^nd century, Rabbi Akiba and Ben Azzai, debate over what each one understands as the core of Judaism and their moral tradition. Rabbi Akiba famously argues: “‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself’ (Leviticus 19:18) is the greatest principle of the Torah.” Ben Azzai counters: “‘This is the book of the generations of humanity’ (Genesis 5:1). This is an even greater principle.”

At first glance, Akiba’s choice of “love your neighbor” tugs at a human’s heartstrings. After all, what is wrong with loving someone? Despite this emotional pull, the Rabbis conclude that Ben Azzai’s philosophy points toward a more universal and humane principle.

The late-4^th-century Palestinian sage Rabbi Tanhuma bar Abba explained it this way (also in midrash Genesis Rabbah 24:7): ‘If we rely only on the text of Leviticus, on “loving our neighbor as ourselves,” we might justify mistreating someone else if we have already lost respect for ourselves; if I think little of myself, I might think it’s justified for me to think little of you. But the words of Genesis imply that we all descend from one couple, made by and in the image of God, and it doesn’t matter how we feel about ourselves at any given moment: I must respect everyone because of our common origin. This idea stresses that no one can say “My parents were greater than yours.”’ This philosophy is the ultimate leveling of the human playing field.

A Real-Time Illustration

This past Sunday, on the Capital Mall in Washington, DC, evangelical Christian nationalists, supported openly and vigorously by the current government, held an event entitled, “Rededicate 250,” a rally devoted to the cause espoused in the rousing invocation by Pastor Gary Hamrick, Calvary Chapel, Leesburg, VA, who said this to the crowd:

“Today, friends, we are in a spiritual war. This is a battle in our day between good and evil, between right and wrong, between truth and lies, between light and darkness. This is a battle for the very soul of America. But please know this: Our hope is not lost. Please be heartened to remind ourselves of the great hymn of our faith [The Solid Rock, Edward Mote, 1834]: ‘Our hope is built on Jesus’ blood; our hope is built on Jesus Christ; our hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness. I dare not trust the sweetest frame but wholly lean on Jesus’ name. On Christ the solid rock I stand; all other ground is sinking sand; all other ground is sinking sand.’ Friends, let us rebuild our lives and let us rededicate this nation on the rock of the lord Jesus Christ.”[1]

In contrast, I offer here the emotional words of Imam Taha Hassane of the Islamic Center of San Diego, CA, whose masjid experienced a fatal shooting incident the day after the event on the National Mall:

“My community is mourning. This is something that we have [sic] never expected to take place. But at the same time, the religious intolerance and the hate that unfortunately exists in our nation is unprecedented. All of us: We are responsible for spreading the culture of tolerance, the culture of love. All of us: We are responsible, from whatever position we have, as parents, as media people, as elected officials, as law enforcement, as religious leaders. All of us: We can do something to protect our nation, to protect our society.”[2]

The evangelicals on the National Mall spoke from a position of strength and support, both because of the national leaders who openly endorse their narrow, parochial future vision for America, and because of the extensive layers of security – and the hundreds of law enforcement officers – protecting them.

The Imam spoke from his heart after experiencing three deaths of people connected to his masjid, as well as the overall and continuing pattern of violence against religious minorities in America. The masjid’s security guard was among those three deaths; there was no other – and certainly no enhanced – security for this institution.

My friends, we have a choice each day on how to treat others in our world, whether they are similar to or different from us. We can look at the mass of people and see only “us” and “others,” that is, not as people made in God’s image, but as a problem to be managed or neutralized. Or we can strive to look at each person’s sanctity and ‘individuality of the soul,’ as someone made in God’s image, and celebrate the reality that each person in this world is, indeed, a world unto themselves, a person worthy of dignity and respect.

As Imam Hassane said, ‘We are all responsible.’ Let us choose fittingly and justly, for the future of all of humanity.

[1]

, beginning at time stamp 6:10

[2]

, beginning at time stamp 0:03

I hope it won’t sound oversentimental to offer this thought: I think of my wife every morning when I slip on my wedding ring. Truly: at those sometimes hectic or perhaps easygoing moments when I prepare to face the uncertainty of the world, I position my ring and conjure my wife’s image in my mind, and I am comforted and strengthened for the day ahead. I attain renewed sanctity from her through this act, just as I did when she first placed that ring on my finger 36 years ago.

Our wedding rings were crafted by a dear friend – a dentist by trade – of my wife’s family. He fashioned our wedding rings and engagement tokens out of the love that he had for us, and I sometimes think about him as well, when I place around my neck the amethyst and gold engagement token that he made, that snugly adorns my magen david.

And each night, as I remove my ring and necklace for sleep, I call to mind another set of wedding rings, those of my parents. Their rings were made of white gold and were beautifully silvery and more than a little scratched. From what little I know, white gold was less expensive than true gold, and perhaps that reality influenced my parents’ purchase in the early 1940’s when, due to the war effort, pure precious metals were more costly and harder to come by.

One remaining memory I carry with me concerning my parents’ wedding rings was that, as opposed to my practice, it seemed that they never removed them from their fingers. At night, when they put me as a young child to bed, or on early morning walks with my father and our dog, I would see those ever-present rings signifying the love and dedication my parents had toward each other.

Since my impression was that they never removed their rings – and I never asked them about this – I immaturely concluded that as long as they wore their rings, they were married, and if they removed them, their marriage would end. I realize this sounds like the consequence of a magical spell in a Grimm’s fairy tale, but never having raised the question with them or anyone else, that was my young self’s belief. I think that Art Linkletter, the famous impresario of radio and television of the 1950’s and 1960’s – who famously said that “kids say the darndest things” – would have had what to say about that!

Couples’ dedication to each other is, of course, neither indicated nor controlled by when and how they wear their wedding rings. A person’s love and commitment increases through the energetic acts of caring they perform for another. In this difficult and confusing era, the one thing that we should feel certain about is our ability to maintain the sanctity of all our relationships, by remaining true and loyal to the ones with whom we live and exist, and committing ourselves each day to the others’ benefit. This is a mindset of mutuality and trust, and is the best way to fortify ourselves against the randomness of life, and to grow in faith and solidarity with one another.

So, on this Mother’s Day of 2026, and in fact everyday when we think about those we love, let us imagine and engage in acts of commitment, to ensure they know we think of and are dedicated to their welfare. Those acts will represent the truly connective aspects of life, when humanity will be bound by stronger, deeper, and more meaningful ties.

The site is a vehicle graveyard known as the Kotel Ha’m’choni’ot (in English, “The Car Wall”); it is also known as the “Vehicles Memorial”.

At this site, you can see the metal bodies of hundreds of twisted, burned-out, and bullet-ridden vehicles that had blocked the roads in and around the Gaza Envelope as a result of the October 7 massacre. Most of these vehicles were owned by residents of the area and Nova Festival concertgoers trying to escape the Hamas invaders.

Originally, the cars were moved to this location to clear the roads for residents’ and military access, but the site was subsequently turned into a memorial dedicated to those who lost their lives in this horrendous attack.

Damaged vehicles – more than 1,600 of them – stretch back from the access road, arranged side by side and, near the entrance, piled upon one another.

(photo – Ya’ir Dov)

(photo – RJB)

And my most gut-wrenching memory was seeing those cars – so many with bullet holes and shattered windshields – bearing large stickers denoting that “Zaka”, the special medical unit that responds to terrorist incidents, had concluded their removal of any and all human remains from that vehicle.

(photo – RJB)

Also visiting the Wall of Cars that day were hundreds of high school students and pre-military army recruits being guided through the cemetery, integrating further the haunting reality of a nation still struggling for its existence after only 78 years of life.

This site is a disturbing sign and remembrance of extreme inhumanity. But it should not deter us from our pursuit of peace. For although Israel is a target for terror; and, on the other hand, some of Israel’s leaders themselves display their own prejudices that can result in bad acts, we must remember that there are good people in the Israeli and Palestinian communities devoted to peace and coexistence. We can support their work and their sacrifices.

Know this: I am a peacenik from way back, an early Diaspora supporter of Peace Now who, on more than one occasion, had hot wax drip on my left hand and forearm when carrying a burning torch at Israeli peace demonstrations. I am a believer in ‘two states for two peoples’ in the large land mass between the Jordan River and the Mediterranean Sea. I believe in the possibility of coexistence even when few people accept this possibility. I support the civil society organizations in Israel – the civil rights organizations, the progressive religious movements, and those voices calling for coexistence and ‘two states’ – whose goals are to advocate for a Jewish state based on an appreciation of the original values promoted by the founders.

And so, at this season of observing the 78^th Independence Day of Israel, I both remember the incidents of death and terror that have afflicted Israel, and use them to make me aware of the real dangers of living in that neighborhood; and I hearken back to the words of Israel’s Declaration of Independence, where the original Zionist vision is best stated. These four paragraphs excerpted below brought forth that vision for the world. May we, all of us, strive to achieve this vision, as Jews, as free individuals, as those dedicated to the life and perpetuation of the Jewish people:

“The state of Israel will be open for Jewish immigration and for the Ingathering of the Exiles; it will foster the development of the country for the benefit of all its inhabitants; it will be based on freedom, justice and peace as envisaged by the prophets of Israel; it will ensure complete equality of social and political rights to all its inhabitants irrespective of religion, race or sex; it will guarantee freedom of religion, conscience, language, education and culture; it will safeguard the Holy Places of all religions; and it will be faithful to the principles of the Charter of the United Nations.

“The state of Israel is prepared to cooperate with the agencies and representatives of the United Nations in implementing the resolution of the General Assembly of the 29th November, 1947, and will take steps to bring about the economic union of the whole of Eretz-Israel.

“We appeal to the United Nations to assist the Jewish people in the building-up of its State and to receive the State of Israel into the comity of nations.

“We appeal - in the very midst of the onslaught launched against us now for months - to the Arab inhabitants of the State of Israel to preserve peace and participate in the upbuilding of the State on the basis of full and equal citizenship and due representation in all its provisional and permanent institutions.”

(facsimile of the Declaration: photo – Israeli Ministry of Tourism)

I heard these words this morning wafting around the gym lockers at the Jewish community center where I have been working out. The speaker was an older man who is present every day and seems to be sort of lonely. He and I were the only two gym patrons in the locker room, and since I do not know this person, I decided – initially – to let the comments pass.

When the changing area is more crowded, the gym patrons speak about “the game” from the previous evening, or the building project in which they’re engaged. The JCC is in a heavily Orthodox neighborhood, so some of the men speak about this rabbi or that congregant. (Those are some of the more interesting conversations!) Some doctors and lawyers even speak about their clients in ways that are likely to approach the borders of confidentiality . . . but their secrets are safe with me!

But of all the conversations, purposeful or frivolous, that take place in the locker room, the comments of this solitary individual stood out to me for some reason. Again, he intoned, “What have we accomplished?” and followed with a deep sigh. He wanted to say it to somebody, so, as I dressed and prepared to leave, I began to consider a possible response.

I remembered a story that my mother once told about having a meal at a department store cafeteria just a year or two after my family moved to Los Angeles. It was perhaps 1957, and I was a toddler at home at that time. After an exhausting shopping trip which likely included two long and stiflingly warm bus rides, she sat down to enjoy a piece of pie before leaving the store.

It was crowded in the cafeteria, so rather than a table, she sat at the counter. And from the mouth of the woman next to her, she heard these words, which was more like an aside: “Wow, life here is really tough. I’d rather be back in St. Louis.” Well, since my gregarious mother is from St. Louis and since this department store was in a heavily Jewish neighborhood, she decided to turn and engage the stranger in the game of Jewish geography. As it turned out, they had known many people in common, and that brief conversation began what was to become a very long friendship. In fact, this woman became so close to my family that she is one of the signatories on my and my wife’s ketubah, signed 36 years ago.

As I got lost in these reminiscences, the gym patron’s voice brought me back to the here-and-now: “Is it worth the price? Is it worth the money?” Then added a big sigh, concluding with, “What will we have accomplished?”

I surmised that he was speaking about the war in Iran, but I was not sure. But the way that he asked the questions telegraphed to me that he’d like someone with whom to engage. So, I walked over to the sink to finish up my toilette, and in returning to my locker, I remarked to him in a very noncommittal way, “I really like your questions. You ask great questions. Keep up asking those questions.”

He was a man in his eighties, with a ponytail of grey behind his kind and curious eyes. He had an impish smile and was really considering my remarks. Maybe he didn’t realize that his asides were heard. What did he think I thought he was referring to?

He took a small step back, a deep breath, then for the next three or four minutes, we discussed – very obliquely – the situation in the Middle East, the ‘accomplishments’ made (or not), and the various categories of the ‘costs’ of the war. Again, neither one of us clearly defined the details of our discussion, as neither did we want to disclose our true political views; we were not quite ready.

We neared the conclusion of this encounter, as I began to think about my errands for the day. I held out my hand and said, “By the way, my name is Jonathan.” “My name is Herb, and I’m an original Baltimorean. Where are you from?” “I’m an Angelino; I grew up in Los Angeles.” I turned to leave. “Good talking,” I said back, “and I hope to see you again.” “Good,” he replied, “I’d like that.”

So, what did we accomplish? No solution to the situation in Iran, that’s for sure.

But he and I did succeed in creating some kind of bond that may or may not extend into the future, but certainly provided – at least for the moment – a strengthening of members of the human family.

And it’s a good incident to retell and remember.

For some in the film industry, this landmark sequence served as a powerful metaphor for resistance that just might have referred (wink, nod) to the brave and defiant actors, writers, and production team members who were willing to defy the Hollywood Blacklist at a time when people refused to ‘name names’. In its cinematic context, this scene elevates those who would stand in the breach and, in an act of defiance, protect someone worthy of salvation.

I remembered this film sequence when reading this week, the news of a federal judge who, this past Tuesday, approved the petition of the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission to order the University of Pennsylvania submit a list of Jews on campus so that the EEOC could purportedly investigate occurrences of antisemitism.

According to a New York Times story, the EEOC’s scrutiny, in fact, united Penn administrators and Jewish students and faculty members in opposition to the EEOC subpoena. Jews on campus compared the government’s demand with the actions deployed in Nazi Germany to discover the Jews hiding in plain sight in society.

If I could, I’d invite everyone on campus to declare in many voices that they were Jewish, to demonstrate the dangerously invasive nature of this EEOC request and to protect the privacy of the Jews on campus.

This would be similar to the public reaction to the proposal of a “Muslim Registry” that surfaced during the 2016 presidential campaign. At that time, thousands of non-Muslim Americans, including prominent figures, like former Secretary of State Madeleine Albright and ADL head Jonathan Greenblatt, declared on social media and in op-eds: “If you create a registry for Muslims, register me as a Muslim.” By flooding a potential registry with people who were not actually Muslim, they sought to make the registry both functionally useless and morally indefensible.

Further, in February 2017, shortly after the first travel ban was issued in relation to Muslim countries, thousands gathered in Times Square for a rally titled “I Am A Muslim, Too.” This was a rally organized by various faith leaders and celebrities, who promoted the message that an attack on one faith’s civil liberties was an attack on all.

Religion is still a private matter in our country and must be protected from any government scrutiny. If the EEOC wishes to discover the nature and extent of antisemitism on campus, let them ask everyone on campus in a general way to offer testimony. I am sure they’d soon get a picture of the true discrimination that exists on that campus without causing more discrimination, antisemitism, and civil rights violations through their actions.

Accordingly, I wanted to let you, my readers, know that I will soon return to the world of the full-time congregational rabbinate. I am fortunate to have been offered a position as Rabbi of Congregation Kol Haverim in Glastonbury, CT, a Reform congregation located only eight miles from my new home in Hartford. Maybe it was beshert that this opening occurred where and when it did, but I think it’s also likely that I am right for this congregation, and they for me, at this time of my life and tenure as a congregational rabbi, and in the history of my new, wonderful synagogue. I return to the full-time working world on July 1, 2026.

All my learning experiences as a pulpit rabbi have prepared me for this next set of challenges: engaging in meaningful pastoral and community relationships, securing a quality and collaborative team among a small but expert staff, bringing study and worship opportunities to the adult and child members of the congregation, and offering the mature viewpoints of Judaism to people who now find, in their varied stages of life, that they’re ready to learn, grow, and bring one another closer.

Even as I begin this new job, I am proud to continue to serve as Rabbi Emeritus of Temple Beth El of Madison, WI, my long-term home and locus of great learning. I am grateful for the leadership and my experiences at Temple Emanuel of Tempe, AZ, where I served last year as rabbi in an interim position. I will always think fondly of my monthly pulpit responsibilities at Etz Hayim Synagogue, in Derry, NH, where I served this year in their part-time pulpit. And I was certainly taught well and enriched by my congregations in the initial years of my career. I hope I will be able to harvest those learnings and use them for the congregation that I am about to serve. I am confident that we will grow and advance together well.

When I was nearing the conclusion of my tenure as rabbi at Temple Beth El in Madison, I was reluctant – resistant, really! – to say that I was retiring. From a physical, mental, and emotional standpoint, I was not ready for “retirement”. So, when asked what my status was, I responded that I was “concluding and progressing.” I knew what I was concluding in Madison, but I was unaware of the direction in which I would progress. Now, perhaps, I know a little more, though as with everything, the result is only in the future. Yet I am very excited about climbing back upon that arc of my history and seeing where it will bring me.

I thank you, my readers and friends, for your support and your trust.

Today’s Purim parties, shpiels, and synagogue carnivals teach many of the holiday’s messages: We jeer the villain Haman, we elevate the heroes Esther and Mordechai, and we feast and make merry just as Esther did at the climax of her story. Through our celebrations, we transmit the message that Jewish identity will survive, as it always has, despite the roadblocks and threats.

There is one critical moment of the Purim story that should move us. It occurs at a time of great anxiety about Haman’s murderous plot, when Mordechai challenges Esther – because of her position as Queen – to approach the King and reveal to him Haman’s genocidal plan to destroy the Jews. She was a Jew in a position of influence – if not power – and she might have the means to save her people. Mordechai puts it this way: “Perhaps it was precisely for this kind of moment that you have risen to your position of authority!” (Esther 4:14)

Esther rises to this challenge by inviting the King and Haman to attend a banquet together, where she ultimately discloses one ramification of Haman’s plot – her own death – and identifies Haman as the culprit. The King is enraged, Haman is impaled, and Esther and Mordechai move to undo Haman’s wicked plan and save the Jews in Persia.

Mordechai’s challenge and Esther’s successful strategy remind us that fate can place any of us in positions of significant opportunity – or maybe even influence. We must recognize those moments, take advantage of the situation, and respond. We need to remember that perhaps it was for this kind of moment that we rose to our positions of authority.

I think about those Jews in modern history who have risen to influential positions and have created positive change in the world. This is just a sampling: Former Supreme Court Associate Justice Felix Frankfurter, who helped to establish the American Civil Liberties Union; Rabbi Emil G Hirsch, who helped to found the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People; or Rabbi David Saperstein, former director of the Religious Action Center for Reform Judaism, who later was appointed by President Obama as the first non-Christian to hold the post of United States Ambassador-at-Large for International Religious Freedom. In their day, they took advantage of their positions and promoted positive social change.

I think also about Jews in our world who have risen to positions of influence and leadership, yet have not responded to the Mordechai Challenge, to use their position to move the arc of history further along its trajectory toward justice. Even though I am pessimistic, I still have hope that they will.

So . . .

I challenge you, Stephen Miller. You are the White House Deputy Chief of Staff and architect of the anti-immigrant enforcement mission that the current administration has unleashed upon our nation. Through governmental agencies, you have searched for and arrested immigrants regardless of status or severity of violation, and treated them outside of the established legal system. Yet, as a Jew, you are mandated to remember and care for the stranger and the stranger’s needs, for we know the heart and feelings of the stranger, having ourselves been strangers in the land of Egypt.

Therefore, what will you do to improve the way we act toward immigrants into this country, without resorting to deceptive, cruel, and violent methods that you have advocated and employed so far? How will you treat with humanity those whom you accuse of violations of law, and not turn our justice system into an instrument of torture and punishment? What will you do, as an officer of this nation of freedom, to ensure due process – a bedrock value of American tradition and law – for all those whom you believe to be deportable? How will you universalize the message of Passover, occurring in just a few weeks, so that we have empathy for the stranger and the immigrant? What will you teach your own children about their Jewish heritage of loving the stranger?

I also challenge you, Lee Zeldin. You are the administrator of the Environmental Protection Agency. Though your authority and responsibilities are plainly evident in your agency’s name, you have officially terminated the 2009 Endangerment Finding, the legal judgment that classified greenhouse gases as a threat to public health. In fact, you have exultantly called this decision the “single largest deregulatory action in U.S. history”. You have removed our nation from the Paris climate accord a second time, again distancing us from other nations in the international effort to slow the pace of global warming. Yet, as Jews, we believe the Earth to be God’s possession, and we are to serve as responsible caretakers for the safety and sanctity of the world. We are called by Torah to be ‘stewards of God’s creation’, mandated to care for the Earth’s condition and all its resources.

Therefore, what will you do to assert the value of planetary health and wellbeing, and work with international scientists and climate advocates to preserve the air and water, and wisely and carefully use the Earth’s resources? When will you stop promoting fossil fuel and its development as a moral and economic good, especially when most of the world’s scientists have repeatedly determined fossil fuels to be disastrous to the world’s climate and people?

And I challenge you, Benjamin Netanyahu. You have served Israel as its Prime Minister for 18 years, five years longer than any of your predecessors, and the welfare of the state of Israel obviously resides in your very soul. Yet you and your conservative coalition have recently moved to undermine the rightful authority of Israel’s High Court of Justice by attempting to cede its authority to the Knesset. You have denied the nation of an independent board of inquiry into the background, causes, and execution of the nation’s response to the October 7, 2023 massacre. You have denied, for the last ten years, the equality and dignity of liberal Jewish women worshipers at the Western Wall by ignoring a 2016 High Court ruling that such an egalitarian approach be taken at that sacred location. And you have allowed – maybe even encouraged – your cabinet ministers to make racist statements which have brought ridicule and rebuke from the international community, strengthening the canard that Israel supports racist moves against Palestinians and Gazans.

Therefore, what will you do to permit an honest and truly objective examination of the recent war, and vow to accept its findings? Will you stop your attempt to modify the separation of powers and support the High Court of Justice as a partner in governing the state? What will you do to fulfill your commitment to create an egalitarian prayer space at the Western Wall plaza, equal in size and standing with the current Orthodox area there? And what will you do to rein in your cabinet ministers who speak of population transfer of Gazans and Palestinians from the areas where they live? How will you support coexistence in your country and the areas surrounding it?

The Mordechai Challenge is not an easy one, yet Jews of every variety need to step up to it and be engaged. When we realize the goal of understanding our positions of power and influence, we will indeed be able to change the world around us for good. At that point, we will, indeed, have days of exhilaration, joy, rejoicing, and glory.

I recently came to the elevator bank of our building, and while waiting there, three people turned the corner, also intending to go to their apartments. Each one of these residents was from South Asia and was absorbed by the content of his screen. I imagined rubbing my hands together and laughing to myself: “Ah, another silent elevator ride upstairs. I better get ready to see how I could engage these guys.”

The elevator arrived and inside were already two other people: another resident from South Asia – each also with eyes on his device – who seemed to recognize the three men waiting with me; and a pale white, red-headed young-ish man. Standing in the center of the car with his back against the rear wall, this white man was holding very tightly to the handle of his grocery basket, his expression vacant and his wide eyes fixed on the inside door of the elevator. This posture and attitude never wavered for the duration of the ten-floor ride.

The four men from South Asia were watching the white man by this time, glancing at one another, and occasionally catching me with their glimpses . . . with no one saying anything. Eventually we exchanged some expression-laden looks: raised, questioning eyebrows and slight smiles, but not words. The white man only stared straight ahead, never looking at anyone in the car.

The white man was the first to exit, and when he did – and the doors closed behind him – the five of us remaining exchanged knowing glances and some audible sighs of relief. Maybe we shook our heads a little as if to ask, “Wow, what was with that guy?” The elevator car came to my floor and I departed.

I don’t know whether the white man’s frozen and frightened expression was due to a usual reaction to strangers, a desire to get his purchases into his apartment as soon as possible, or a fixation on a spot of dirt on the inside of the elevator door. But this encounter did represent to me a metaphor of one possible reaction of America’s population – at least the part of America that is being told to fear it – to the soon arriving true multi-ethnic democracy, the natural process of population expansion and mixtures of American cultures, races, religions, sexual and gender identities, and the like.

Some Americans have used terms such as “browning of America” or the “Third Reconstruction” to label this phenomenon. These terms, sadly, have been cast in negative and provocative light by those who promote dire warnings of what they view as a diminution of white power or influence. They caution that, by 2043, when half of our American population will be non-white, America will never be able to regain its position of the well-spring and preserver of white supremacy (my understanding of their dire prediction), as if it was this in the first place.

Dear friends: This anticipated cultural and societal synthesis is not something to be feared, demeaned, or disparaged. This natural evolution and assimilation process will bring a further richness to the tapestry that is our American society, and the intermixed and variegated colors that are in our nation’s present and future can be not only our strengths, but more, the guardians of our nation’s core values of freedom, equality, equal opportunity, and open heartedness. All it takes is our wisdom and our intelligence as a human race, as we continue to cultivate a positive approach to the world and an openness to one another as we live each day.

With apologies to Tom Jones and Harvey Schmidt, the creative team behind the 1959 musical “The Fantasticks”, I offer a parody of the poem that introduces the final scene of their show. In “The Fantasticks”, the original poem referred to the natural flow of emotional life. I offer this parody as a recognition of the natural evolution of our American tapestry of life, in the hopes that it will yield a beautifully vibrant and inspirational result:

‘There is a certain future that we know is now at hand:

Who understands the secret of the evolving of the land,

The reasons we can celebrate all people and their needs,

And why we should accept the fact that this is where it leads.

I do not know the answer. But let us now conceive

The worth of varied colors and the peace we can achieve.’

I entered the elevator the other day and noticed the usual postures of my fellow riders: heads bent downward toward hands, eyes fixated on screens, thumbs swiftly moving across keyboards, earbuds firmly implanted, smartphones seemingly the only object of their attention, if not veneration.

Since moving to Hartford six months ago, I have taken at least two round trips in our building’s elevators each day, and even more when I visit the mail or exercise rooms. That possibly adds up to more elevator trips than I have had in the rest of my whole life. And when I board the elevator, I encounter – or not, as the case may be – residents checking their email, scrolling through their feeds, and even having the bad taste of playing aloud the audio from their video explorations.

For me, when I noticed this phenomenon, I decided to rebel. In my little corner of the world – while I was a passenger in the lifts – I was not going to look at my smartphone at all. Rather, I would deliberately look toward people when they boarded, offer a greeting, engage them in conversation, and find a different way of relating instead of watching them interact with some remote person or website. These are my neighbors, after all, and they deserve my respect – even if minimally – because of the small space we share. As Leviticus directs (19:18), “Love your neighbor as yourself.”

I found that people who were minimally connected to the web absolutely welcomed my greetings; some even put aside the phone they were carrying and engaged in conversation. Some grunted a “hi” or “hello” and went back to scrolling. It continues to be a mixed experience.

But if life is with people, and if this rapidly spinning world tends to isolate people for its own perverse purposes, I need to believe that bringing a friendly word, even if it perceived as only the acknowledgment of their presence, is beneficial and important. I know I am not the only one who feels this way, that elevates in me a great amount of hope.

Of course, if we put aside our smartphones, there would be dire repercussions. Maybe some would feel that interacting with people would compel them to be social, and I know that some are uncomfortable with that. Maybe some breaking news story or salacious detail about one of our favorite celebrities will elude our attention for a while. There would surely be loss of some kind.

But something more valuable is certainly gained if we defer that glance at the inbox and refer, instead, to the people around us. Who knows how far a smile from someone with whom you ride the elevator each day would take you?! Who can say what might come from taking such a risk?!

Have a great day ahead: stay healthy and stay safe.

The US government-inflicted murders of Renee Good and Alex Pretti – along with the murders of all those who have stood up for the rights and values of our nation – have deformed the very face of America. As tyranny and violence increases, the soul of America shrinks toward insignificance. And as the government lies about the events of these killings, our nation’s credibility fades from view.

I grieve today because of the lives that have been lost, and because of the values of democracy, justice, and goodness that are withering on the vine of American possibility. Our government has violated its sacred covenant to uphold and elevate our civil rights and has become a cruel enemy of humanity.

What can we do?

The answers to our pleas are not up in the heavens, nor across the seas, but are right here before us. We must act on our distress.

Go to https://act.faithinaction.org/a/tell-your-us-senators-vote-no-on-dhs-funding, and urge your Senators to deny funding DHS and ICE on account of their out-of-control actions.

We must press the administration to reverse course, to de-escalate their violent approach, and to turn to their better angels – God willing they have them – to reestablish the spirits of justice and peace, kindness and empathy that have been our American heritage. So let us summon our courage and attend rallies and protests – keeping safe and demonstrating peaceably – so that they can know our opposition to the killings.

Let us cease the cruelty that is now prowling the streets of our country and causing the loss of human life. And let us press our cause each day, in word and deed, as we stand together in solidarity and hope.

“The world was unformed and chaotic, there was darkness across the surface of the deep. . . And on that day, all the fountains of the great deep burst apart, and the floodgates of the sky broke open. . .” (Genesis 1:2 and 7:11)

This past week, the weather around the Los Angeles basin, where we had inadvertently spent the night because of a flight diversion, seemed very much like these descriptions from Genesis. For days, the region had been inundated with violent winter rains and their resulting floods, and all this on top of parts of the region still badly scarred from the fires of early 2025. The loss of life and property has been staggering and unbearable.

This past Erev Shabbat — late Friday afternoon — the rains abated, which permitted us to renew our journey to Santa Barbara, whose airport closure had caused our unexpected delay in the first place. And despite the rain still falling on the LAX runways, our 19-hour delay was finally ending as we ascended into the clouds over the Pacific.

During that 26-minute flight, God permitted us to view Nature at her very best; I have shared here a photo that I took from the plane showing a clear demarcation of the ending storm. The clouds parted, the setting sun shone brightly on the ocean, and by the time we landed (to celebrate my mother-in-law’s 91st birthday), there were, unexpectedly, calm and clear skies. If you had not known about the devastation we left behind in Los Angeles, you could focus only on that miraculous view from the air and lovely weather of the days to come.

Thankfully, we humans can focus on more than one miracle at a time. So, in addition to the phenomenal sights of Nature’s wonder that we are allowed to perceive in the heavens, let us think also of the hearts and hands of the caregivers, first responders, rescuers, and other heroes who performed their own remarkable life-saving tasks of returning order to human life where there is devastation. As our changing climate and its effects become even more unpredictable and lethal, these heroes’ passions and skills will be in ever greater demand. And their efforts and accomplishments deserve our support, not to mention our gratitude.

As individuals, we may not be able to change the weather. But we can and must make a human response to its aftermath. So, please find a helping organization to whom you can offer some of your substance to enhance and strengthen the work they perform. And when you encounter fire-fighters, police officers, power company crews, or even municipal employees doing their best to ameliorate any situation, please directly offer them your thanks. They will appreciate it more than you might realize

Our ancestors believed that God had the desire and ability to bring forth order from the chaos of creating our world. We understand differently today, as we work to strengthen the partnership between deity and humanity for tikkun olam, the ongoing repair and perfection of the world. May we all discover our moment to engage in this crucial and miraculous work.

First, a bit of background: I grew up in Los Angeles and, more specifically, the areas of Hollywood and the suburbs of Studio City, Sherman Oaks, and Encino. During that time, we were always encountering celebrity types in situ: grocery shopping, walking a pet, driving their convertibles, or participating in what we all do: living life.

For example, I went to elementary school with a nephew of actor Gordon McCrae and a daughter of Ruth Ashton Taylor, a local television station news anchor; Jim Backus lived up the street, and Mickey Manors, Mary Tyler Moore, and Ed Begley Jr, lived within three blocks of my home; and I have written here before that a noted film director Arthur Vitarelli lived directly across the street from me. And these were just the ones I knew about.

(If you don’t recognize any of these celebrity names, look ‘em up!)

But nothing taught me more about mentschlichkeit than what happened at Sav-on/Osco one day back in the 1970’s.

It was the year before I started graduate school. I was living at my parents’ Studio City home, earning money and my keep, and one day I was shopping at the local drug store chain, two-and-a-half blocks from my home.

Waiting in the checkout line two parties ahead of me was Rob Reiner, recognizable to anyone. At that time, All in the Family was still in active production, and seeing him gave me a lot of joy: another celebrity just trying to live as we all do. And it was sort of understood that when you encounter such folk, you leave them alone to live their lives as effortlessly as possible. There were those who would pester them for autographs, but that was considered impolite. So, most people wisely held back.

Between me and Reiner was a mother and her son, about the age of 8. And the boy was very excited that someone whom he had seen on television was so close by. He had trouble containing himself, so much so that his mother reluctantly agreed to let him interact with Reiner.

The young boy tugged on Reiner’s corduroy sport coat, and Reiner looked down at him. “Are you the ‘Meathead’?” the young boy asked.

(If you have not seen All in the Family, Reiner’s liberal character Mike Stivik’s father-in-law, conservative Archie Bunker (played brilliantly by Carrol O’Connor) called him that throughout the eight-year span of the program. It was an endearing – and enduring – moniker.)

“Yes,” replied Reiner smiling down at him, sort of sheepishly. “I’m the ‘Meathead’.” The two of them interacted for a few moments before the mother tried to tear them apart, but Reiner just let the moment happen. He then made his purchases and left the store.

My few encounters with celebrity-type folk have demonstrated, at least to me, that fame can elevate them above the rest of us unless they work very hard at being human. And Rob Reiner, whether through upbringing or training, seemed at that time to have had that special ability to be the mentsch that the world needed to see.

The above is a snapshot in time, a figurative video clip that lasted perhaps eight minutes. Things and people change. But the example of how to treat others has always lived with me and shown me something to which I can aspire. May it be for any of us!

Directly below us, the city teems with life and energy, and at all hours of the day (just saying 😏 ). But just as impressive is the beauty that begins just outside of the city and stretches out for scores of miles.

For the last eight weeks I have witnessed how the surrounding countryside turned from the greens of Summer to the variegated colors of Fall foliage, then to the indistinct greys and browns of the coming Winter. And I know that, come next Spring, the greens will return to the trees, and the cycle will continue, displaying its rich beauty across the expanse of vistas and time.

Ever since I left the mostly unchanging foliage of southern California 50 years ago, I have marveled at the close-up view I have had of the changing of seasons. As an illustration (above), there was a tree at our home in Madison, Wisconsin, that reminded me of the passing of time and the beauty of nature. It was a gorgeous Red Maple on our front lawn, which provided consistent beauty in each season. Every Spring, green leaves would appear practically all at once, just as the ice and snow were disappearing. In the early Fall, the leaves would turn a brilliant red, reminding me of inevitability of the passing of time and the coming winter.

Although the inevitable necessity of the raking this tree’s leaves detracted from the enjoyment of the sight, I knew those beautiful leaves, when appropriately recycled, held potency for future generation of life. It is an ecological maxim that reminds us that, in nature, nothing is wasted.

The same can be said of human relationships, that sincere human emotions also are never wasted. Gestures of love and gratitude must be part of our human cycle of relationship, and Thanksgiving Day helps remind us of this kinship of kindness and love. As sentient beings, only we can perpetuate love through our actions and intentions.

May our love and desire to care for others be part of our daily regimen. And whether we’re speaking with our closest dear ones, the concierge of our apartment building, or the clerk at the coffee shop, each person deserves the love and dignity that only another human can offer. If we make this part of our daily routine, we will only grow and thrive.

Good science fiction? Better!

I am currently trying to interpret a film from six years ago that just arrived onto one of the streaming platforms. “Tenet” contains the suggestion that, sometime in the far-flung future, our earthly descendants will want to eliminate our present-day existence due to the ecological calamities that they blame us for. Whether for cleansing or punitive purposes, those future descendants see no other choice than to destroy the earth in our “now” rather than to address the problems they confront in their “then”.

I know this sounds confusing, but this was a fun film to watch. I’m not sure if it’s good science fiction or not. But it does give us pause.

Just as those future descendants looked to their past to understand their present and do something about the future, so too do we Jews study Torah to understand our past and glean lessons for how to repair our present and build a better future. But unlike characters in science fiction movies, we can work only with real-world tools.

So, this week, in the parashah of Vayeira, we learn about our patriarch Abraham as the active protagonist of many of the plot points in the stories of Torah:

· He generously offers the boon of hospitality to three strangers, which serves us today as a call for mentschlichkeit and generosity.

· He forcefully confronts God on the Divine One’s plans to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah.

· And he carefully parses God’s verbal commands to literally only “elevate”—and, thereby, NOT sacrifice—his son as an offering.

We learn lessons of humanity and courage from the examples he sets forth. And yet, as a student of science fiction and alternative histories, I wonder what would have happened if Abraham had NOT passed these three tests.

· What if he fell asleep “in the heat of the day (Genesis 18:1)”—as so many nonagenarians do—and not viewed those three strangers from afar and invited them in?

· What if an acquiescent Abraham had not confronted the Divine One about the inhumanity of destroying Sodom and Gomorrah?

· And what if Abraham had refused to even entertain the thought—much less go through the motions—of offering his son up as a sacrifice . . . or had gone through with it, and ended up sacrificing Isaac?

And more importantly: If Abraham had failed those tests, what would we have become, as individuals and as a Jewish people? Could we possibly survive in a world with its attendant difficulties and challenges without the paradigm of Abraham as a leader?!

As Jews, we have not merely studied history or Torah lessons, or casually wondered about “alternate realities”. We have confronted practical issues, to protect our lives and our nation, and we have striven to preserve humanity. We investigate practical solutions for our problems, for like the Protagonist indicated in “Tenet”, ‘each generation must look out for its own survival.’

In this connection, I remembered this week the legacy of Yitzḥak Rabin, former Defense Minister and Prime Minister of Israel, who was struck down 30 years ago by an assassin’s gun. Yitzhak Rabin did not simply learn history. He was history personified, and possessed clear visions of what his reality needed.

· Rabin believed in a democratic and Jewish Israel, a nation focused on her own security, yet balanced by a readiness to concede territory to the Palestinians and prioritize peace with neighbors like Jordan and Egypt.

· He did not trust the Palestinian leadership but concluded early on that Israel needed to separate itself from the Palestinians—physically and politically—if it was to survive at all.

· He believed in the need to fully integrate Israeli Arabs inside the Green Line. In a 1992 speech, he acknowledged to Arab citizens of Israel that his Labor party, having been in power for almost the first 30 years of Israel’s existence, had neglected them. At the time he said, “We have been in power for 29 years and are guilty of discrimination. For that I ask forgiveness and intend to act to eradicate discrimination.”

· And underlying everything, he understood that Israel needed to resolve the Palestinian issue to prepare for the far greater threat posed by the Islamist regime in Iran.

No one knows whether any of these issues would have come to resolution had Rabin not been assassinated. But Rabin earned his reputation as a peacemaker only after a lifetime as a warrior. He fought as a soldier and commander over many decades of Israel’s life. He led operations that took a significant toll. Even as he negotiated Oslo, he waged a brief and brutal campaign against Hezbollah in Lebanon. As he put it, he vowed “to fight terror as if there were no peace process, and pursue peace as if there were no terror.” He was a leader unafraid to use force when necessary, but knew that only peace could deliver true and lasting security.

This is the reality of one man whose life-discourse was tragically halted in mid-sentence, yet we can learn from him and consider his desires as we face a future as Jews dealing with new realities of world politics and society.

And, as fortune would have it, we now have a new reality that confronts us. In our day, the stunning victory of Zohran Mamdani, supported by only around 30% of the Jewish vote, compels us to formulate new approaches to the reality of being differently in control of our Jewish lives in this country. Those who decry this election outcome might give a geshrai to the heavens, but we all must also carefully calculate what we do next.

We must confront the reality of anti-Israel sentiment, which easily and caustically morphs into antisemitism. We need to recognize and call out the extremists on both sides of the political aisle. Tests are ahead of us, and we have only begun to see the pitfalls that beset our pathway ahead.

So, in this new and developing era of American Jewish life, what are the strategies that we must employ? What are the ways, in the language of the Protagonist in “Tenet”, that we must look out for our own survival?

1) We need to accept at face value Mamdani’s pledge to address antisemitism, and ensure he follows through on that pledge.

2) We must help him address islamophobia along with all ethnic and racial hatreds in New York.

3) We need to integrate the lesson of Hillel, that if we think only of ourselves, we are essentially nothing. An illustration: This is one of the statements that the ADL calamitously and shortsightedly eliminated from its website: “Our founders established ADL with the clear understanding that the fight against any one form of prejudice or hate cannot succeed without countering hate of all forms.” This has been a classic tenet of all American Jewish community and defense organizations, and needs to be re-emphasized as an American Jewish standard.

4) We must mightily refute the denigration of the term “wokeness”, which some use pejoratively to whitewash the stain of racial bigotry of the history of our nation, as well as to disregard the many other current prejudices that beset us. We must struggle against this tide of hatred by joining with different groups if we are to survive as the beautiful and variegated nation that our Founders envisioned..

5) And finally, we must defend Israel when we can and must, acknowledge her harmful actions and character flaws when they surface, and help her strive toward the Jewish and democratic future that so many of us want for her.

Unlike the future descendants of Earth in the film “Tenet”, we cannot go back to change the outcome of this most recent—or any—election, so we must ensure our own survival by engaging in actions that will promote our causes.

Our patriarch Abraham passed the tests that God placed in his pathway. Would we have the strength to do the same? Rabbi Nissim ben Reuven Gerondi, a 14th-century Spanish commentator, asserts that these tests aimed to strengthen Abraham’s faith, so he would be even more empowered in the future to serve God.

The same can be said for any of us. Acting with courage on a daily basis, and—God willing!—experiencing successes, will help to creates stronger character within us, in order to face ever greater challenges. May we develop and revel in these character strengths in the years ahead.