The Shvesters share their rendition of a poignant Yiddish song Vi Iz Dus Gesele, Where is the little street? A song of longing, nostalgia, and lost love.
It is a way to help us perhaps enter this Shabbat. Given the current turmoil, we seek a better time. May we work to see that time come soon.
Wishing you Shabbat Shalom.
One of the most theologically challenging chapters of the Exodus narrative that Pharaoh’s heart is “hardened.” Where is the moral choice or free will that characterizes Torah? If God hardens Pharaoh’s heart, how can Pharaoh be held responsible for his refusal to free the Israelites? How can punishment be just if repentance has been removed as an option?
This reading loses sight of the metaphor at work and the timeliness of the teaching. This is not merely a portrayal of an obstinate ruler; it is about how entrenched systems of power function, how the primary focus becomes remaining in power, how moral authority is lost, and how meaningful change to the system that maintains that power is resisted, ultimately doomed to collapse under the weight of its own corruption.
Pharaoh is that political system.
As the plagues begin, Pharaoh himself refuses to change. As the plague of frogs subsided, Pharaoh’s heart hardened when relief came. This was a political reflex, not Divine intervention. The system reasserted itself once the pressure on it was alleviated. The relief was the excuse to revert to the status quo, a squandered opportunity for repentance.
When the text starts using the phrase that “God hardens Pharaoh’s heart, “ the Rambam comments that persistent injustice can erode and stop the capacity for repentance itself . As choices become character, character hardens into destiny.
Ibn Ezra reinforces this structural reading. Commenting on God’s declaration that Pharaoh’s heart will be hardened, he emphasizes that Pharaoh’s political role makes concession impossible. Releasing the Israelites would dismantle the economic foundations of Egypt. Pharaoh’s refusal is therefore systemic self-preservation rather than mere personal obstinacy.
Torah reinforces this interpretation through metaphor. Pharaoh’s heart is described not only as hard but as heavy (‘kaved’). Weight creates inertia. A system burdened by injustice loses its ability to pivot, respond, or change course.
This imagery reaches its climax at the Sea of Reeds. Pharaoh’s chariots sink “like lead in the mighty waters.” Collapsing under its own weight. Egypt falls not because God waged war, but because the structures that sustained its dominance render it incapable of survival in a transformed moral landscape.
Midrash sharpens this idea through the principle of measure-for-measure. Shemot Rabbah teaches that just as Pharaoh hardened his heart, so God responded in kind. The plan to drown babies in the Nile creates the punishment of the drowning of the chariots and army in the Reed Sea. Power collapses according to its own internal logic; the methods used to preserve control become the mechanisms of downfall.
The prophets later universalized Pharaoh into an archetype of political absolutism. Ezekiel depicts Pharaoh declaring, “The Nile is mine; I made myself.” This arrogance and pride further erode any legitimacy of that power. Once power views itself as self-originating, accountability disappears, and reform becomes inconceivable. Seen in this light, the hardening of Pharaoh’s heart is not a theological puzzle but an enduring warning, repeatedly ignored yet played out throughout human history and confronting us today.
The Torah does not ask why Pharaoh did not repent; it teaches that power becomes incapable of repentance. Redemption comes not because unjust systems change, but because they cannot endure and ultimately collapse. The Reed Sea does not defeat Egypt—it simply allows Egypt to sink beneath the weight it chose to carry. These stark lessons are warnings for all of us.
We are horrified that Temple Beth Israel in Jackson, MS, was firebombed. It is a violent act of hatred targeting Jews. As antisemitism continues, we find ourselves vulnerable and seeking support.
The community of Jackson, MS, has rallied around its Jewish community in wonderful ways. Many of us, however, feel abandoned by others across the country who have not expressed support for their local Jewish communities amid escalating threats. This is counterproductive, creating divisions and exacerbating tensions where they should not be.
Sadly, there is too much violence and hatred. It is impossible to respond to every incident. The Jewish communities could not meet that standard either. We would spend substantial time issuing statements of outrage and comfort instead of devoting ourselves to the important work of uniting against these blights and working toward changes in our society to create a safer space for all.
Too many understand the pain, often through lived experience. We need solidarity and action, not just words.
Anthropologist Margaret Mead shared, “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has”.
Shifrah, Puah, Miriam, and Yocheved embody the courage to defy brutality and embrace life. It is our turn.
To those who value our democratic principles, most notably the rule of law, we applaud the courage to fight in the courts and to march in the streets. It is everyone’s responsibility to join and champion the aspirational values at the core of our country.
As we enter the last Shabbat of 2025, I share Auld Lang Syne, the famous song of this time of year, written by Scottish composer and poet Robert Burns. It asks us to remember that our humanity and our kindness are expressed in our relationships with others. As we move into the new year, resolve to love others, treat them with dignity, respect, and compassion. May we find ways to forgive others and ourselves.
Shabbat Shalom
It’s the Shabbat before Thanksgiving!!
May this Shabbat and your Thanksgiving be a celebration of blessings
!יום הודו שמח
Take a listen to Benny Friedman’s Thinkin’ about Thankin’
With the increasing violence in public spaces, maybe the answer is yes. What should I do about it? I could cower; many people have said they remove their Jewish symbols, like a Chai or Magen David, because they fear being targeted.
I have been wearing a kippah for many years, and since the war started, I wear a kippah with the Israeli flag and the words “Am Yisrael Chai” stenciled inside. I am proud to show who I am and what I stand for. But does it come with any risks?
My kippah has actually been an invitation for people from all walks of life to approach me. At a Costco, on a turnpike rest stop, or while walking on the street, people offer words of encouragement and support. Most people are decent folks. Most are not looking to harm others; they are living their lives and caring for their loved ones, just as I strive to do.
We must not allow acts of violence from uncontrolled radicals to control us. Those responsible for protecting us face a significant challenge, and a system based on freedom rather than repression often leaves them a step behind in safeguarding our rights and safety. They require additional support to perform this vital work. We can help.
We need to get out, gather, socialize, and connect with others. We don’t have to agree, but we must show we care. We need each other. The hateful rhetoric shouldn’t be fought with more hate, but by reaching out, creating, and living in the society we believe in.
My kippah is a symbol and a call to the people I meet that our humanity continues to thrive. That is the kind of target I strive to be.
What can I or any member of society reasonably expect? What is it that each of us deserves, and who provides it? This is a question to ask of our society and the communities in which we live. I think it’s fair to say that most of us want to be valued, seen, heard, and shown a modicum of respect and dignity. Our Jewish tradition offers us “rules of the road” to guide proper behavior, including how we treat others and how others treat us. Our government has also set certain expectations. According to our founding documents, we are entitled to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Of course, understanding what these mean and how to provide them to each citizen is a very complex task. Sometimes we handle it well, but often we fall short as a country. This creates the core tension and highlights the need for ongoing conversation to truly understand what these rights mean.
The lack of conversation and understanding that there are multiple ways to achieve solutions creates problems in our society. Both the left and the right become more entrenched in political arguments instead of engaging in meaningful discussions about what these issues truly mean. For example, regardless of politics, most people of goodwill would agree that allowing children to go hungry should not happen in this country. But how do we feed the hungry children?
This is a process argument, not about the underlying value, and here is where our faith tradition becomes a vital guide.
One of our core wisdom texts, known as the Talmud, provides a roadmap for understanding. A fundamental value is introduced, followed by a series of discussions, debates, and disagreements. “Makhloket L’Shem Shamayim,” an argument for the sake of heaven, seeks to understand how the underlying value manifests itself in various circumstances. The arguments, including both the majority and minority views, are presented in this book. The reason is that even the winning argument may not always be correct. In the future, the dissenting opinion that was once preserved may be proven right if cultural or societal norms change.
In the debate about feeding hungry children, parents are primarily responsible, but if they are unable to do so, the community should step in and provide food. But how does the community feed the hungry child? That raises an important question about the process. There is also legitimate disagreement about how to deliver food to hungry children. It can be through a government program. It can be achieved by providing money so that others can obtain food, or by helping parents improve their living standards, enabling them to afford to feed their children. And to make things even more complex, what does alleviating hunger actually mean?
Are we required to feed children according to a specific nutritional standard? How much influence should outside forces have over family decisions? What happens when parents are incompetent, and what occurs when nutritional standards are set or changed—something we’ve seen happen many times in the past? All of this assumes that well-meaning people are committed to preventing children from going hungry.
Some people only care about themselves, ignoring everyone else. Others realize that society should be judged on whether all who are hungry are fed. Still, others believe it is simply the morally right and ethical thing to do.
Questions like these are fundamental, which is why today’s tribal politics are counterproductive. These politics don’t help us address our societal obligations or what I am entitled to; instead, they emphasize power and control and vilify the opposing side. We must ask the right questions, engage in meaningful conversations, reach a conclusion, and then act on that decision. This presents both a significant challenge and a valuable opportunity for building a thriving, vibrant, and just society. Let’s start discussing what truly matters.
What does it say about a society that allows, even supports, the murder of its children? That society is headed to Hell, if it isn’t already there.
In biblical times, the Valley of Hinnom was a place where people practiced child sacrifice to the god Molech. The name of that place became Gehenna, which is now synonymous with Hell.
As strange as it may seem, we appear to accept child murder. The ways to prevent it are within our reach. However, we prefer to keep the right for people to wield deadly weapons unfettered rather than to protect the lives of our youth. Once again, a disturbed individual obtained guns, brought them to a church, and slaughtered children while they were praying. Two dead, 17 injured. It is almost incomprehensible, but true. It is another episode of the carnage of our kids by guns.
Furthermore, we are to blame. The blood of those innocent children is on our hands because we refuse to enforce oversight to keep guns out of the hands of people who do such heinous things—shame on us.
There is something profoundly wrong here. A society that accepts child murder as the price of freedom to bear arms has a name. Welcome to Hell.
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.
