Category: morality

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

Shabbat Shalom

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.

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.

 

 

Shemot in our Times

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.

 

 

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)

 

 

Does the kippah on my head place a target on my back?

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 am I entitled to?

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.