Category: ethics

Remembering the Rev. Jesse Jackson

We mourn the death of Reverend Jesse Jackson. Jackson was a complex individual and a person of great accomplishment.

In this world of purity litmus tests, cancel culture, and identity politics, it is easy for some to write off this icon of the civil rights movement, focusing on shortcomings and missteps rather than accomplishments.

He helped move the arc of justice forward.  We can and should remember him for all the good he did, and hopefully find space in our hearts, even though he, like all of us, had flaws.  Jackson fostered a sense of pride and self-esteem in those who struggled in a society determined to deny them, as captured in his well-known saying, “I am Somebody.”  Jesse Jackson was Somebody.

This is a moment to rededicate ourselves to the vision of respect and dignity for every person that Jackson preached.  The work is far from over, and it is ours to do.

May his memory be for a blessing.

Mishpatim and the Modern State

Ra'anan
Ra’Anan

In Parashat Mishpatim, we move from the heights of Sinai and the grand laws given by God to Moses to the granular details of civil law. The shift teaches that a righteous society is built not on abstract ideals but on the daily, impartial application of the Rule of Law.

Mishpatim introduces three pillars essential to our current struggles:

  • Resistance to Tribalism: Exodus 23:2 warns, “You shall not follow the multitude (the mighty) to do evil.” In an era of “mob justice,” strongman tactics, and polarized echo chambers, this mandate requires that truth must supersede the pressures of the crowd.
  • Absolute Impartiality: The text prohibits favoring the wealthy or the poor in judgment. Legitimacy and order collapse when the law is seen as a tool for the powerful or a shield for the ideologically aligned. The blindfolded Lady Justice proclaims that all should be treated equally under the law.
  • Protection of the Vulnerable: By repeatedly centering the “stranger,” the Torah insists that legal structures are only as strong as the protections they afford the marginalized. A society’s greatness is defined by how it protects its most vulnerable.

Our institutions are threatened as society’s trust in them erodes. Mishpatim reminds us that an orderly society is a deliberate choice, one that requires our involvement and confidence. Our future as a nation and world leader depends on upholding a system in which the rule of law anchors us against the storms of political passion

Thoughts on the Tu B’Shvat

I write this, it is Groundhog Day and Tu B’Shvat!

The American Sage, Punxsutawney Phil, has predicted another 6 weeks of winter. It is incredible where we get our news!

More importantly, I would argue that this is the 15th day of the month of Shvat, Tu b’Shvat. This day marks the beginning of the new year for trees.

It is about the rebirth that will come from life that has gone dormant during the winter within the greater cycle of the year. We could not have a more apt metaphor for what is happening in our lives. The brutal and violent transgressions of the Federal Government through ICE and the Border Patrol, as well as the multiple assaults on human dignity and respect, seem to have seeded the birth of a popular uprising against these violations of our rights.

As spring approaches, the trees will blossom, and warmth will fill the air. But the rededication to our ideals requires us to act. Our tradition teaches that we are partners with God in the ongoing work of creation. Now is our time to commit to this sacred task. We must each ask ourselves what we are able or willing to do, and get to work.

In the harshest, coldest, and darkest times, hope arises that something better is coming. The Jewish tradition and the founding principles of our country require us, in the words of Abraham Lincoln, to work to ensure “a government of the people, by the people and for the people shall not perish from the face of the earth.”

Wishing you a happy Tu b’Shvat.

Rabbi David

History should be Embraced

Trying to rewrite history cannot deny its truth.

Slavery is a moral stain on the United States. No matter how much bleach we use, we cannot scrub it out, nor can we pretend the stain doesn’t exist. Removing historically accurate plaques that teach the fullness of our history at the President’s House exhibit on Constitution Mall, the paradox of Freedom and Slavery, does not make the events they depict any less true. The attempt to deny our past keeps us from learning and growing from it. Our challenge is to rise above it, not to define ourselves by it and remain mired in it.

The fear of some who see this as an attack on our country and turn a blind eye is baseless. I am ashamed of slavery and the hatred it embodies, while remaining proud of the aspirations our vision embodies. We have a long journey ahead of us to right the wrongs and heal the lingering pain and injustice. But we are better off when all are better off. When every person is treated with justice, dignity, and respect. These are the principles of this nation, principles we must remain dedicated to championing.

When we hide from things that make us uncomfortable, we miss the chance to engage with and learn from them.  We are better than slavery.  It is our history.  But it does not have to be our legacy.  We are better than that.

 

 

Pharaoh’s Hardened Heart: How Power Becomes Incapable of Change

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.

 

 

Shabbat Shalom

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

 

Share your Blessings

Giving Tuesday flooded my email inbox. However, my inbox has been filled with so many “asks” that I now delete messages without even reading beyond the subject line. It may sound like cynicism and a bah-humbug attitude that could prevent us from giving tzedakah, but that is not the case. We are required to give and support others in need—clothing the naked, feeding the hungry, sheltering the homeless, and caring for the widow and orphan—these are at the heart of Jewish responsibilities.

Our great teacher and sage, Maimonides, taught us that we must give. It is clearly an obligation. But he asks: do we give our money to one cause or distribute it among many? Maimonides favors giving to many, even though the impact is smaller; it helps us to become more charitable if we make it a regular part of our practice.

Michael and Susan Dell recently announced a $6 billion gift to aid 25 million children. Inspired by the Save America plan to give $1,000 to each child born over the next two years, the Dells also aimed to support already born children up to age 10 with a savings fund. If you do the math, this amounts to about $250 per child invested in an S&P index fund. It might not seem like much, but it’s more than these children had before. It’s about instilling hope and providing a link to a system many of these kids aren’t connected to. Hopefully, other billionaires will follow suit and use some of their vast wealth to help those who are among the have-nots.

Now, for the billionaires among us this evening, I am confident you have already put these plans into action. Thank you. But the rest of us (who aren’t billionaires) can follow suit. A small contribution may not change the world, but it could help someone when they need it most. Chanukah is a time for Jewish renewal and rededication. Our commitment to helping others is central to our tradition. Support the causes you believe in. And by giving, we not only help others but also enrich ourselves by gaining a sense of purpose.

I fondly remember the Jerry Lewis Telethon. As a kid, I couldn’t wait to call in. I saved my allowance and made a $10 donation. I eagerly watched to see my name scroll across the bottom of the TV screen as donors were announced. I felt a rush of excitement as I waited for the moment it became official. And in that moment, I knew I had done something good.

We are taught ‘Kol Arevim zeh bah zeh,’ meaning we are all responsible for each other. When Cain questions God at the very start of our story, asking, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” God responds loudly and clearly, yes.

This holiday season,  make sure you give what you can to help others and yourself as well.

Parsha Noach: Noah’s Perserverance is our Hope

The story of Noah and the Ark begins with a devastating judgment—God considers the world “irretrievably corrupt” and plans to wipe out all living creatures. But beyond that, the story is really about a single, extraordinary act of preservation. From moral despair, one family is chosen for a nearly impossible, world-saving mission, as long as they are willing to accept it.

At the heart of the story is Noah’s character. He was deliberately chosen; the Torah explicitly describes him as “a righteous man, faultless despite the influences of his generations,” adding the powerful phrase: “Noah walked with God.” This is more than just praise—it is a message of hope.

Torah further states, “Noah did everything he was commanded to do”—this is not just about mere compliance; it is a declaration of Noah’s spiritual strength and his ability to hear God’s voice despite all the surrounding noise, challenging us with an important question. Can we look past the judgment of others and the dictates of society and focus on the hope rooted in our own integrity, like Noah? Noah is aligned with the Divine. His response inspires us to act in moments of moral calling. How do we respond to our individual “Ark Moments”? This is the essence of our Judaism, a commitment to goodness and a partnership in the ongoing perfection of our world.

In a generation lost to selfish pursuits, Noah lives a life of virtue. His Neshama, or soul, was such that the Divine voice wasn’t an anomaly but a natural part of his soul’s purpose. Through this, Noah demonstrates that the potential for redemption resides within each individual heart. Our tradition assures us that we have a divine spark (Neshama) and that through our daily ethical choices, we can build the inner vessel needed to hear and act upon that truth clearly, just as Noah built the Ark.

The true test of Noah’s mission wasn’t just the instruction, but the years of solitary, sustained effort, enduring what must have been relentless public mockery. He faithfully built on a vision rooted in an unseen, promised truth, despite being surrounded by a society focused on a cynical reality.

Yet, he kept building. Noah’s perseverance is our hope, demonstrating the power of (Jewish) values to strengthen resolve. His commitment to truth serves as a model for Tzedek (righteousness) and Yosher (straightness/integrity). Building the Ark was a significant act of Tikkun Olam (repairing the world). It teaches us that our inner strength is not only personal determination but also the spiritual legacy that enables us to prioritize the obligation to repair the world over the fear of human judgment.

The universal “Ark Moment” happens when our inner voice urges us to make tough, sacrificial, or unpopular decisions. We often feel tempted to justify our actions for comfort, ease, or self-protection. But in doing so, we sacrifice our integrity and ethics.

However, the Noah story goes beyond this challenge to reveal the ultimate promise of the Rainbow Covenant. The lasting hope is that we are not destined to repeat the past. We are equipped with spiritual tools—Teshuvah (repentance and return) and the ongoing call to Hesed (loving-kindness)—to rise above our baser instincts. We have the inner strength to turn away from temptations, not because we are commanded, but because we are hopeful agents of repair.

Parshah Noah is not just about the flood that was, but about the world that can be. We have the power to make a difference in the things we believe in enough to stand for. The subsequent story of Abraham shows us that the initial strength needed to preserve humanity (Noah) directly leads to the covenantal strength required to build a people (Abraham). Our challenge is to nurture that inner space—to walk with God, as Noah did—so that when our own Ark Moment in life comes, we not only have the courage to act but also believe that through our actions, we are partners with the Divine in Tikkun Olam.

Shabbat Shalom

#BringThemHomeNow

 

The Dead Child- a prayer from the ashes of October 7

As we remember the horror of October 7 and the aftermath, the words of Menachem Rosensaft bring us a somber resonance. Let this day of remembrance stir us to mercy for the child, not because we doubt our cause, but because we cherish our conscience.

“the dead child

in gaza city

khan younis

rafah

is cried over

with the same tears

by the same God

the same Allah

the same Adonai

as the dead child

in kfar aza

nahal oz

be’eri

…

and it is

for the not yet dead child

palestinian child

israeli child

muslim child

jewish child

that the killing must end

the war must end

the terror must end

the hatred must end”

—Menachem Rosensaft, from Burning Psalms: Confronting Adonai after Auschwitz (Ben Yehuda Press, 2025)