Jewish Relationships Initiative

Category: religion

  • 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

  • The complexities of Menorah Lighting made simple

    People have been asking me how to light the Hanukkah Menorah, or Chanukiah. Should you light from left to right or right to left? And is that perspective from the person lighting the candles or from the window where others see it? Who knew it could be so complicated! Of course, this assumes we’ve already answered other questions: do we light all the candles every night or just one additional candle each night? Do we all light the same Menorah, or does each person get to light their own? Oy!

    But the answer is that we have our opinion on the proper way for it to be done, which is as follows:

    Facing the Menorah, we light the candle for the newest night, then light the rest of the lights. Our tradition says we should say the blessing and then do the thing for which we said the blessing immediately afterward. But because there are at least two blessings (three on the first night), many of us light while the blessings are in process.

    But the most important rule of all is that we participate in the Hanukkah celebration by lighting the candles.

    So, how do you light the Menorah?

    With intention!

    Chag Urim Sameach- Happy Festival of Lights

    Chag Chanukah Sameach, Happy Hanukkah

  • Chanukah

    We prepare for the first night of Hanukkah, deeply shaken by the murderous assault on Bondi Beach and at Brown University.

    The wanton hatred and violence are almost overwhelming. But we must find a way to gather this evening around our chanukiot, light our candles, place them in the window, and be with each other, letting the miracle of rededication take hold with an additional layer of meaning, overcoming the darkness of the moment and shining a light of love and hope.

    Chag Urim Sameach,

    Rabbi David Levin

    President

    The Board of Rabbis of Greater Philadelphia

     

  • Shabbat Shalom

     

    Lecha Dodi likens Shabbat to the bride and is shared here by Muzika to the melody All of Me.

    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)

     

     

  • Psalm 27 is added to our prayers during Elul and through the chagim.

    We prepare ourselves for this special time with the prayer that we might dwell in the house of the Divine.  May your experience this season be meaningful, filled with reflection, repentance, and renewal.

    Thanks to Chava Mirel for this beautiful rendition of Psalm 27:4.

    Shabbat Shalom

    #BringThemHomeNow

     

  • Shabbat Shalom

    This Hungarian orchestra shares Tumbalalaika.

    It is a love song in which a young man seeks a bride who can answer three riddles as the balalaika plays.  As we greet the Shabbat bride during Elul, the question perhaps is flipped: Will we be worthy of the bride?

    Shabbat Shalom

    #BringThemHomeNow

  • MAN DOES NOT LIVE BY BREAD ALONE- THE MESSAGE OF EIKEV

    MAN DOES NOT LIVE BY BREAD ALONE- THE MESSAGE OF EIKEV

    When life becomes easier and we start to relax, hard-won battles fade into distant memories. We then drift into a new reality, and instead of staying alert and valuing our principles, we relax, enjoying a good life and the rewards of our hard work, daring to believe we’ve earned it and that it will always be ours. The hunger that once motivated us diminishes and we face the consequences. It is human nature to become complacent, but we must not.

    This is Moses’s cautionary message to the people in his final speech. He warns them that change is coming. The generation that met God in the wilderness is passing away, and a new generation will take their place and settle in the promised land. Without that personal experience, these new generations risk losing their close relationship with God.

    Turning away from God is dangerous. Forgetting how you arrived here and showing gratitude through consistent reverence and practice will lead people to ruin. Just as the current inhabitants who are about to be displaced from the land, you, too, will eventually lose the blessings of this place and be forced to leave as well.

    The wilderness has taught you to be strong.

    There’s an old story that teaches us tough times build strong people, and strong people then create easy times. Those easy times lead to soft people, who in turn produce tough times again. It’s a cycle that can only be broken by staying committed to God, because God’s gift of the promised land won’t lead us to complacency. It remains a constant challenge.

    We see this in our community today. The previous generations worked hard and built a better life for their children and our children. They will inherit wealth that makes life easier. However, they may not fully remember the sacrifices others made for them. We are currently experiencing one of the biggest transfers of wealth in history. Money and property are passed to this new generation to simplify life. But this is only material wealth. The true challenge is how to pass down the lasting core values that emphasize hard work, sharing our abundance, and working to improve the world by carrying forward the values of our tradition for everyone. We face this challenge today just as Moses did then.

    I recently spoke with a woman who was worried that her death might come too soon. Although her body was ready, she felt her children were not; they were unprepared to manage without her. The question was more complicated than the answer. Moses, too, is struggling to give final words of advice, admonitions to remember God and follow His word. At the end, it is too late to change the course. We hope that the lives we live and the values we model become lessons learned and embraced.

    A midrash about the patriarch Jacob depicts him surrounded by his sons as he nears death, reflecting on whether his children have learned the lessons and will uphold the values or if those values will die with him. The adult children respond, “Listen, Father, we hear you and it shall be,” saying, “Shema Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Echad.” With his final breath, Jacob says, “Praised be Adonai forever.” Baruch Shem kavod malchuto l’olam va’ed.” (Gen Rab 95)

    We would all sleep better knowing everything will work out. We do our best. For Moses, it was to be a prophet, a liberator, a teacher, a priest, a judge, and a man. For forty years in the desert and many years before the Exodus, he showed how to serve his people through his devotion to God. In our own ways, as parents, we also have those same responsibilities. As loving parents, we do our best to nurture and provide our children with what they need to find their way in the world. Then, it’s time for them to stand on their own. We work toward this moment diligently and can only hope it will be enough.

     

     

     

  • What’s in a name?

    What’s in a name?

    Genocide is a highly charged word.

    In Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, Juliet asks, ‘What’s in a name?’ Names are simply labels we use to identify things, but the true nature of those things exists regardless of what we call them. Genocide is a highly charged word. We get so caught up in the word and all of the intense emotional baggage it carries that we forget the underlying tragedy: it is an attempt to understand what is happening in Gaza.

    One side calls it a genocide; the other disputes that term, accusing the accusers of deliberately misusing the word, targeting the victims of such an experience as if they were the perpetrators of that very same horror. We get caught up in definitions, a kind of territorialism, claiming ownership of that word, and in doing so, we completely miss the point.

    The people suffering in the war in Gaza are truly experiencing pain. It’s not just about numbers—whether it’s one person or many—innocent victims of the Hamas-Israel conflict have died. They go hungry. They are homeless. They are victims. Although I do not trust the statistics from the Gaza Health Ministry, there’s no way to measure the full extent of the carnage accurately, and Hamas’s role in this is dehumanizing Palestinians, echoing what the Nazis did to Jews.

    We must navigate this challenging space and find ways to offer humanity and hope that we were denied, and, sadly, to the Palestinians as well. From the ashes of Auschwitz, we proclaimed Never Again. Was this declaration meant only for us? Our Jewish duty to be a light to the nations requires that it not be. We must uphold our tradition’s promise by maintaining our humanity and embracing the virtues of Pirkei Avot (2:5); in a world that has no worthy men, strive to be a man.

    Whatever you call it, the war and anguish must end.

     

     

  • 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.