Author: Rabbi David Levin

What Story Do We Tell Ourselves- V’etchanan

What story do we tell ourselves? Our memory of events often differs from what actually happened. The deviation from the facts is not due to faulty memory; instead, it reveals a story that better meets deeper personal needs as we try to find meaning in the experience. This tendency to reshape narratives is a profoundly human trait, one that is powerfully explored in the Parsha V’Etchanan through Moses.

In the second Parsha of Deuteronomy, Moses recalls the Exodus and God’s giving of the Torah. The word V’Etchanan means “I pleaded.” Moses recounts his encounter with God, beseeching God to allow him to enter the Promised Land. Moses’s plea, filled with a heartbreaking sense of injustice, is denied.  He explains his fate to the people with an accusatory tone: “The Lord was angry with me on your account and would not listen to me.”

Taken at face value, Moses appears to be shifting the blame for his own mistake—striking the rock at Meribah—away from himself and onto the Children of Israel. He isn’t just holding them responsible for the act itself but also for his suffering caused by his unfair punishment for that act. After 40 years of leading often ungrateful and rebellious people, Moses was exhausted, broke down, and acted in a way that was uncharacteristic for him, but he is held fully accountable. Moses isn’t merely recounting a story but revealing a fundamental aspect of human nature: blaming others for our own actions.

We often face these situations. How do we respond when confronted with insult or injustice? Too often, we avoid taking responsibility for our actions and instead blame others. We react with harshness or indifference, rationalizing rather than owning up to the situation. The “whataboutism” mentality justifies bad behavior by claiming that if someone wrongs me, I am justified in doing something wrong too. However, our tradition teaches us that ultimate responsibility lies with the individual. The lesson is not that others’ actions can justify our own, but that we are accountable for our behavior, regardless of the circumstances. We cannot point fingers at others to absolve ourselves.

This theme of personal accountability is closely connected to Moses’s chilling prophecy. He warns the people that after they have lived in the land for some time, they will inevitably “deal corruptly” and turn away from God. This human weakness and tendency toward complacency lead to a future of exile. However, Moses offers a remedy for this bleak future: a return to the fundamental principles of their faith, sharing both the “Ten Commandments” and the Shema and V’ahavta.

Our tradition teaches that living by our values is non-negotiable. What we know as Derekh Eretz—the ethical “rules of the road”—must always be followed. We are only given dispensation when we are prevented from fulfilling our obligations. The strength and enduring nature of Judaism require that we respect others and live in a way that benefits both ourselves and our community.

We stand against all hatred—not just antisemitism.  We support the laws of the land and everyone’s rights to those protections. We believe in feeding the hungry, no matter who they are, housing the homeless, and upholding the dignity of work and the ability to support one’s family. Judaism teaches us to do these things because we understand what it means to be a stranger and to honor every person, since we are all created in God’s image.

A society is judged by how it cares for its most vulnerable. This is a core principle of Judaism. Especially during difficult times like these, we are called to reaffirm and champion our values. They are more than just guidelines; they ground us, giving us clarity, meaning, and purpose.

 

 

 

Keep your eye on the ball – Focus on the Truth

The truth is hard to find. We often argue over the “what happened” instead of searching for the real truth.

Hunger in Gaza is real. Accusations of false pictures or the number of trucks entering Gaza distract us from the fact that people there are suffering from a lack of food and water.

Yes, horrible famines are occurring in other parts of the world, such as Yemen and Sudan. That we are not assisting the hungry is shameful. However, the starvation there does not diminish the suffering in Gaza.

Who’s responsible?

There is no shortage of blame to go around. Hamas cynically uses civilians as pawns of war. Israel blocked humanitarian aid while trying to bring Gaza to capitulation, and the US has let these tactics continue. Other countries have done little to provide aid or creative solutions. The Palestinian people are also partly responsible for their situation in Gaza. We all share in the tragedy affecting the Palestinian people.

There is no shortage of blame. But we can take control now. The airdrops of food are one part of the solution. Expanding food stations in Gaza from the current four managed by the GHF is also essential. And we can give money to World Central Kitchen and other groups on the ground providing hot meals.  If we “flood the zone” with food and water, we will eliminate the ability to profiteer from food shortages.

We can do this now.  It is our responsibility and duty. We cannot stand by while our neighbor’s children wither.

#BringThemHomeNow

 

 

We are in a Moral and Ethical crisis.

The events in Gaza and the West Bank demand us to speak out for those suffering from violence and hunger.

This isn’t about assigning blame or claiming whose cause is righteous. True righteousness calls on all people of faith to speak out against the horrors inflicted on victims. The duty to feed the hungry is a core part of our tradition.

The path that brought us to this moment is long and complicated. But that’s a story for another day. We Jews around the world are deeply distressed that Israel is involved in tactics we condemn, using food as a weapon. This must stop. The current system for distributing food is inadequate. Israel cannot control Hamas; Israel can control itself. Israel needs to do better.

Perpetuating the cycle of hatred through such harsh punitive measures poses an existential threat to Israel’s safety and security. Palestinian widows and orphans will view revenge as their goal, making them vulnerable to anyone offering retribution as part of a vision for them.

Being moral and ethical in a place where those things may not exist is one of the hardest things to do, but it is in these situations that the best values of our tradition must shine through the darkness. I urge Israelis to pressure their government to change its policy. I ask Donald Trump to urge all parties to provide an overwhelming infusion of humanitarian aid.

Finally, I urge all of us to financially support food initiatives like those offered by the New Israel Fund or World Central Kitchen. I am often asked what we can do, and this is something we can do. We cannot stand idly by while our neighbors blood is shed or starved.

Pincus-From Righteousness to Self-Righteousness: The Peril of Unchecked Zeal

How do you respond to the following:  We will destroy Hamas even if we must sacrifice every remaining hostage and countless thousands of Palestinian women and children?

For some, this is a statement that requires no analysis. For some, this is a righteous stand; for others, it is self-righteousness. 

There is a moment when a subtle but important shift can happen within us, a transition from genuine righteousness to the often-destructive path of self-righteousness. It is a journey from trying to do what is right according to a higher calling to becoming convinced that we are inherently right, unwilling to consider anything else. Often, this occurs without our awareness.

Pinchas in this week’s Torah Portion offers timely insight into today’s tense social environment. Pinchas was zealous for God.  In a moment of crisis, he acted decisively with deep conviction. He kills Zimri, the blaspheming Israelite, and the Midianite princess/seductress/ and lover, catching and killing them in the act, so to speak. In response to these gruesome murders, the plague that was decimating the Israelites comes to a halt, and God recognizes Pinchas as righteous.

We have struggled with this text. Was Zimri righteous, or someone deranged or delusional? But the text is clear that he acted rightly.  This extreme example prompts us to ask ourselves a similar question: How do we know if our actions are righteous, or if they are self-serving? How can we distinguish between selflessness and self-righteousness? Does the greater good drive our response, or ego and selfishness?

To answer this, I try to step back and ask myself, How am I reacting and why? What does this moment require from me?

It’s so easy to lash out, especially when we feel threatened. That primal “fight or flight” reflex can make us feel trapped, and the only option may seem to be to attack and fight our way out. But even in those moments of intense pressure, thoughtfulness and strategy are essential. What do I want to achieve right now? Am I the conciliator, seeking understanding and resolution, or the vanquisher, determined to win at all costs? Or is the right path somewhere in between?

Understanding my motivations makes all the difference. Whether it’s a heated issue like the Israel-Palestine conflict or something more personal like a disagreement with a family member, we need our inner compass to guide our outward actions and help us make decisions about the best way to proceed.

Finding our shared values often helps us find common ground. This is a powerful tool for navigating disagreements.

For example, we all agree that hunger is bad—everyone should have enough food to eat. There is the value we share.  But we can differ on how to achieve this goal.  Some will take the “give a man a fish” approach, others will opt for the “teach a man to fish” method. This is a question of process. We are arguing about the method to achieve the goal.  We are not vilifying the person offering an opinion.  We can be respectful even when we disagree with each other’s ideas.  Otherwise we can lapse from righteousness to self-righteousness.

Zeal can be misleading and deceptive. Do zealots truly hear God’s word, or are they only hearing their own amplified voices inside their heads, mistaking them for divine commands? Pinchas is shown as hearing God’s command, but history also provides many examples of those who, in their zeal, caused great destruction—like the Sicarii, whose self-righteous fervor led to the destruction of the Second Temple, the tragedy of Masada, and the slaughter of Israelites. Their conviction was unwavering, but they profaned God’s name, and their actions resulted in ruin. Some of us might rationalize this behavior instead of taking the time to analyze the issues critically.

Patriotism and love for America can sometimes make it hard for many of us to recognize when harmful actions are justified in its name. Consider the dark chapters of our nation:

The attacks of 9/11 triggered a wave of revenge, transforming us both at home and abroad. Our history is replete with other examples, including Japanese internment camps, ethnic cleansing of Native Americans, turning away Jews fleeing the Nazis, and more.

And as Jews, we grapple with settler violence in the West Bank and the prosecution of the Gaza war. Perceived righteousness can blind us to the humanity and legitimate grievances of the other side.

Anger, fear, insult, anxiety, and even joy—our emotions are triggered in the moment. But our reactions don’t have to be reflexive. They can’t be.

This brings me back to the core question: What are my values, and how are they shaping my life right now? Reflecting on this calls for a mindful pause—a moment to breathe and assess my position before facing a challenge. It’s important even in everyday, mundane moments. That’s why I avoid writing emails directly in the app when the stakes are high. Instead, I open a word processor and draft my message. I review the draft to make sure it clearly communicates what I want to say. If it aligns with my values and is likely to produce the outcome I want, I then copy and paste.

Reflection is our safeguard. It creates space for righteousness to emerge, rather than fostering a rigid, unforgiving sense of self-righteousness. It encourages us to be passionate about what is truly good while remaining open to understanding, compassion, and the shared humanity that connects us all.

Let us all strive to stand up for what is right, to embrace the humanity of others, and to act with humility, guided by honest assessments of our hearts and motivations. Shabbat Shalom.

#BringThemHomeNow

 

The IRS ruling is clearly a bad idea and is meaningless

The IRS allowing clergy to endorse political candidates from the pulpit is one of the stupidest ideas from a place known for some really dumb stuff. But you know what? It doesn’t matter. We will do what we have always done.

I do not publicly endorse or support a political candidate. Doing so undermines my role as a faith leader. I focus on the core values of my tradition and critique policies and ideas that oppose them. The clergy I respect and admire always maintain the dignity of their pulpits and do not turn them into crude political platforms for politicians. However, many clergy have used their pulpits to promote individuals. These two practices have existed long before this absurd ruling and will continue to do so.

The threat of losing tax-exempt status has been a strong argument discouraging some from endorsing candidates. For most of us, that wasn’t a concern. We knew it was wrong and didn’t need the threat. However, we have used the threat when others push hard for a particular person. Some have and will continue to believe that endorsing a candidate is the right choice. They use subtle hints or openly ignore the rule against endorsements. They are not me, nor most of my colleagues. We are empowered to stand by our values and advocate for our community, not for individuals who might share some values but probably not all.

I strongly believe in the principles of our tradition and speak out for them whenever I can. This is about ethics and morality. This is not politics. Politics do not belong in sacred spaces; sacred values do.

So, IRS, thanks for nothing.

 

 

If you prick us, do we not bleed? What are we really trying to say?

What are we really trying to say?

Shylock is an antisemitic character, a villainous figure in William Shakespeare’s play The Merchant of Venice. He has come to represent a usurious moneylender, and for a gangster, he’s the guy who ruthlessly takes that pound of flesh through loan repayment terms. And for someone familiar with the play, it’s an intentional insult and antisemitic. But then comes Donald Trump.

Trump is not known for his soaring oratory. Arguably, this is intentional, as he presents himself as a man of the people. He uses straightforward language that everyone can understand. To his audience, Shylock means a usurious moneylender.

Does Trump understand the back story? Probably. But he rarely seeks nuance. He simplifies complex issues and makes statements in ways that his supporters can understand. He also uses the righteous anger of certain groups as a political weapon. The “hair on fire” moments he creates distract from other topics. It’s 24/7 constant outrage, nonstop. And it’s exhausting. That’s also a tool he uses.

How we handle this depends on the outcome we’re aiming for. As an exceptional teacher of mine once said, “If you are a hammer, everything looks like a nail.”

If you want to clarify the situation, you could quietly approach Donald Trump and respectfully point out the offense caused by sharing the history of the word. If your goal is to criticize his insensitivity and provoke the anger of those offended by such remarks, both Jewish and non-Jewish alike, you would create the controversy currently underway in certain circles. It all depends on what you aim to accomplish.

Likely, he knew. However, it could have been a slip of the tongue. He is known for using a stream-of-consciousness style in his remarks. He has advisors who would have counseled him afterward. But even if it was a slip, Trump does not apologize; he moves forward. To quote the play, “I am not bound to please thee with my answers.” Calling Trump out in public to disparage him accomplishes little for anyone, except Donald Trump.

Words have power. That is a core belief of my tradition. But in a world where things are happening at a fever pitch both here and abroad, focusing on this word has taken precious attention away from discussing all those critical issues.

We need to be more careful in our word choice and what we want our words to accomplish.