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I’m honored to be writing to you as the new Executive Director of Congregation Or VeShalom. My hope is to serve this holy community with warmth, clarity, and care, and to help strengthen the beauty that already lives here. As we move toward Purim, I wanted to share a short reflection that has been on my heart.

  

Not the Title, Not the Costume: Remembering the Real Self

We are surrounded by the world of externals, the physical, the noise. The world constantly tells us: be the brand, wear the right thing, curate the image, earn the title, hold the position. But we are not what we wear. We are not our clothes, our labels, our “brand positioning”, or even our titles.

Yes, I hold the title of Executive Director. But I don’t see it as mine. I see it as coming from Hashem, as a responsibility, a placement, a piece of holy work. God gives each of us a purpose, and places us exactly where we are meant to be, where He knows we can use what He gave us to light up a corner of the world that only we can light, in the specific way God wants to work through us.

Purpose isn’t one big moment. It’s a way of moving through the world so that whatever you touch leaves a little more light than it found. It isn’t only what you do – It’s who you choose to become, again and again, with God at the center.

We often believe we are in control of our lives, our spouses, our careers, even who we “choose” to marry. But what God has shown me over the past 30 years is that He is in control. And honestly… I love that. Because then our job becomes simpler: get a little quiet, soften the grip, and listen for His voice leading us where we need to go.

And here is what I learned: I’ve tried searching “out there”, but the real work is always inward, removing what covers our light, our true essence and returning to God. Not becoming someone else but remembering who we already are. And this is exactly why Purim preparation begins before Purim.

As Jews, we don’t wait for the moment to arrive. The fast of Esther is the spiritual doorway into Purim. Before the costumes, we remove a layer. Esther asked the Jews to fast and pray before she entered the palace because the salvation wasn’t going to come from human effort alone. It would come when we turned back to Hashem. For a few hours we step back from the external world and let our heart speak, so Purim can meet us more deeply.

On Purim, we dress up to reveal who we really are.  When a child wakes up on Purim morning, the excitement is contagious. A crown is placed just right. A cape is tied. A wand is proudly held in one hand and a bag of treats in the other. But of course, it’s still the same child. Same eyes. Same soul. Same essence, just covered in costume.

That’s the secret Purim comes to teach us. The costume is a gentle, playful way to teach a very serious truth: you are not what you wear, what you do, or what people expect of you. You are your Neshama/Soul, the Divine spark within. Purim makes external vs. internal impossible to ignore. When you see someone dressed as a king, you instantly know that crown isn’t the person. Purim uses that same clarity to remind us that our roles and titles are also outer garments. Beneath them is the real you.

And this mirrors the Megillah itself. God’s Name isn’t openly written, yet His Presence is everywhere, hidden and still guiding. In the same way, our true self can be covered by personality and habit, but it remains there beneath it all, quietly yearning to return.

So as we move toward Purim, let’s prepare in a meaningful way. Choose one small practice that helps the soul lead: one bracha/blessing with intention, one act of quiet tzedakah/charity, one extra moment of tefillah/prayer, and even one honest conversation with Hashem in your own words, exactly as you are. Tell Him what you’re carrying. Ask for help. Say Thank You. These are the steps that help the mask fall away.

May we merit to enter Purim with open hearts, clear eyes, and the joy that comes from closeness to God.

Mia Rose Goldglanz
Executive Director

We’re officially a month past the secular New Year—January 1^st – a time when so many people feel the urge to start over.

New year, new me. New goals. New habits. A fresh page.

And yet… by early February, the energy fades. Life returns. The momentum slips.

Judaism, in its wisdom, seems to say:

One new year isn’t enough.

In fact, the Mishnah teaches something surprising:

“There are four new years’…” (Mishnah Rosh Hashanah 1:1)

Not one. Not even two. FOUR.

Why?

Because Judaism understands something deeply human: We don’t only need one moment a year to reset. We need multiple chances to begin again.

1. Rosh Hashanah – The New Year of the Soul:

Reflection, accountability, and renewal. It’s the moment we ask: Who am I becoming? What kind of person do I want to be?

2. Nisan – The New Year of Freedom:

The month of Passover, the Torah calls Nisan the first month, not Tishrei (the month of Rosh Hashana). Because Jewish time does NOT begin with creation. But with liberation. Passover reminds us: We can break out of what confines us, more than once.

3. Tu B’Shvat – The Birthday of Trees, the New Year of Growth:

Mid-winter, the peak time of dormancy, Judaism celebrates growth happening underground. Tu B’Shvat teaches, just because we cannot see the change yet, doesn’t mean it is not happening.

4. Elul – The New Year of Small Steps

Finally, the New Year for animals, a reminder of daily counting and gradual progress. Not every new year comes with fireworks. Some beginnings are quiet. Some renewals happen through small, consistent steps. It’s the new year of the ordinary.

 

The message; WE ARE NEVER TOO LATE! Judaism provides us with four new beginnings set in the calendar, but even then, every Shabbat, every new month, every morning is our chance to begin again. We are not defined by the version of ourselves from last year, last month, last week, or yesterday. We are not stuck in the story we’ve been living in.

In Hebrew, the word for repentance is teshuvah – which doesn’t mean guilt. It means return.

Return to ourselves.

Return to our purpose.

Return to God.

So, if the secular New Year has already passed. If your resolutions have already slipped. Judaism smiles and speaks

“The calendar will hand you another beginning soon.”

And again. And again. And again.

Because in Jewish time, fresh starts are not once a year. They are built into the rhythm of life.

That being said;

Shabbat Shalom, and Shana Tova.

The Jewish world has been frozen in time since October 7, 2023. We’ve been reliving the trauma and pain inflicted on our people and our homeland that day ever since. This constant sense of being stuck has been amplified by the rapid growth of antisemitism, by the deafening silence of those we thought were our friends, and by the blaming of the victims for all that happened. We’ve been stuck on October 7, 2023 because we couldn’t move forward without ending what happened on that disastrous day. When the war began, there were two goals: ending the reign of terror by Hamas, and bringing home all the hostages, both alive and dead. To leave even a single person in Gaza would be to fail as a nation, a people, and a family.

Over the time that’s elapsed since October 7, 2023, we’ve cried tears of joy when we witnessed hostages being reunited with their loved ones and cried tears of grief when we watched as loved ones received the remains of their loved ones who had been murdered by Hamas. We, in the Diaspora, cannot begin to imagine the pain and hurt that was forced on our brothers and sisters in Israel. Likewise, we cannot fully appreciate the joy they felt every time a hostage came home alive. Finally, we cannot fully understand the feeling of closure felt by families and by the State of Israel each time a casket was brought back from Gaza. Those caskets ended hopes for a miracle and ended the unbearable pain of not fully knowing what happened to their loved ones.

To bring back our loved ones is a sacred Jewish task and value. When we talk about hostages, we talk about the concept of פדיון שבויים/Pidiyon Shevu’im/Returning of Hostages. This value and sacred trust is a core Jewish way of seeing the world. We will not allow our loved ones to be left in dungeons and be deprived of their freedom. We fight for all Jews to live freely and to be surrounded by those they love. This is a sacred bond that ties all Jewish people of the world together. It is also our sacred obligation that no loved ones be left in limbo. We must do all we can to bring all our loved ones home to be buried with honor. This burial allows the living to gain some sense of closure, and to begin the process of grieving.

We’ve now arrived at our symbolic October 8, 2023 and we’re able to move forward in our collective trauma and grief. This week, the IDF found the remains of the final hostage, Ran Gvilli, in Gaza and brought him home to Israel and to his family to allow them to bury and mourn him. Ran was a hero, a member of the police force that ran into the danger zone. After saving the lives of partygoers fleeing the Nova music festival in Re’im, and defending Kibbutz Alumim from Hamas terrorists, he was killed saving countless other lives. May his memory be for a blessing.

This week, we read פרשת בשלח/Parshat Beshalach and learn of the final moments in Egypt and our departure. There is one sentence that jumps out at me every time I read it:

וַיִּקַּ֥ח מֹשֶׁ֛ה אֶת־עַצְמ֥וֹת יוֹסֵ֖ף עִמּ֑וֹ כִּי֩ הַשְׁבֵּ֨עַ הִשְׁבִּ֜יעַ אֶת־בְּנֵ֤י יִשְׂרָאֵל֙ לֵאמֹ֔ר פָּקֹ֨ד יִפְקֹ֤ד אֱלֹהִים֙ אֶתְכֶ֔ם וְהַעֲלִיתֶ֧ם אֶת־עַצְמֹתַ֛י מִזֶּ֖ה אִתְּכֶֽם׃

And Moses took with him the bones of Joseph, who had exacted an oath from the children of Israel, saying, “God will be sure to take notice of you: then you shall carry up my bones from here with you.” (שמות יג:יט)

There are many מדרשים/Midrashim told about this in both the collections of מדרש and the תלמוד/Talmud. The essence of all these explanations is that on the chaotic night we were leaving, משה/Moshe/Moses set out to find the bones/remains of יוסף/Yosef/Joseph. He struggled and finally declared we could not leave before we fulfilled our sacred obligation to יוסף to bring him with us to the promised land. It was at that moment יוסף’s casket exposed itself to משה and he was able to bring him out. The fact that our leader, משה, spent this last night occupied with this sacred work is no accident. We cannot move forward when the past is left unresolved. We cannot leave our people in chains and expect to be fully free. We cannot have our martyrs left in unmarked graves and properly honor our dead. We must make things right. We must bring them home. In fact, it’s safe to say we couldn’t have left Egypt without the bones of יוסף… it was only after we brought him out with us that we were truly able to move forward into the process of becoming a free people and working our way to the Promised Land.

This week, we finally reached October 8. This week we’re started the process of moving forward and beginning to grieve and thus beginning to heal.

Sometimes we have a moment of clarity. It’s a time when there’s a lot weighing on you and you feel nothing is as it should be. That moment when you can finally take a deep breath and “let it go”. That moment is something to be embraced and seen as transformative. We often miss the opportunity. We’re often too dug in and unable to see we can let go of all that’s holding us back. Many of us have had moments where the pain is too intense. The hurt is too real. Many of us have built a narrative where we’ve been wronged and nothing can be done to make it right. These painful moments bury us and make us unable to embrace the reality all around us. It’s hard to accept the world as it is, and not as it should be. It’s hard to move on. It’s hard not to find a sense of closure.

The moment you have clarity, and the ability to choose to keep going in one direction or to reverse course, is a moment we’ve all had many times in our lives. It reminds me of the traveler in the poem by Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken, who stands at a crossroads and must choose which path to walk down. Will it be a path of continued hurt and resentment, or a path of courage and change? “Pharaoh’s courtiers said to him, ‘How long shall this one be a snare to us? Let those involved go to worship the ETERNAL their God! Are you not yet aware that Egypt is lost?’” (שמות י:ז) When Pharaoh’s servants say these words to him, they’re from a point of clarity and exasperation. They’re saying to him “give up… it’s over”.  They’re pointing out what everyone aside from Pharaoh knows. It was time for him to let go and yet he couldn’t. We know why he couldn’t. God had hardened his heart and made it impossible for him to move on and let us go. God had done so because Pharaoh was irredeemable and because he was a foil to teach the world about the evil of slavery and abuse and degradation of other people.

Each of us would do well to recognize the advantage we have over Pharaoh because our hearts are not hardened. We have the ability to look with clarity and see that we can change and do things differently. We can look and see that we don’t need to be the way we are or to be stuck in our situations. We can move forward and we can move on. The recipe is to never allow ourselves to harden our own hearts and to see there’s a way past the way we feel.

This is all against the backdrop of a bigger situation than the psyche of each of our daily lives. We’re living in a time when another pharaoh is being asked to let people go. The Iranian people are demanding a better tomorrow. A tomorrow where they’re not a pariah nation. A tomorrow where their kids can be raised in a society that’s the proud descendants of people who gave the world incredible gifts in science, mathematics and philosophy. A tomorrow where girls can be seen and heard and not ignored. A tomorrow where there is hope. A tomorrow where the riches of their nation are spent on building rather than destroying. That’s what they are protesting and asking to be released from.

Over the last number of years there have been too many protest movements in Iran to count. They continue to chip away, but unfortunately not to break the resolve and inability of the Ayatollahs to let go and give up. Their hardened hearts are filled with a hunger for power and a thirst for destruction. They’re nurtured by their false sense of having been wronged and their need to do undo these perceived wrongs. They refuse to hear the words of Pharaoh’s servants that all is lost and that it’s time to give up. We, as a world, must not let this happen. We, as a world of builders, must prop up those who stand up to them and work to defeat them. Thus, they will be freed from their tyranny.

We’ve seen what it’s like to stare down the choice of keeping up a fight or letting go. To let go is liberating, not only for us, but those around us as well. The same is true in the realm of the world stage. It’s time to see that all is lost and to let them go so we all can be free.

Happy 2026. I hope you had a great winter break and that any trips you may have taken were good and meaningful. In 2020, when we were preparing to read פרשת שמות/Parshat Shemot, our family had a life-changing moment we weren’t expecting. We received a call from our social worker that a baby girl had been born in Orlando, and she was to be our daughter. We found it profound that the weekly פרשה/parsha/portion was שמות, which is when we learn of the first ever adoption, the adoption by Pharaoh’s daughter of משה/Moshe/Moses. When we named Galit, we named her after relatives (please forgive our Ashkenazic naming tradition) and after her story. Galit means wave, and the waves משה’s basket floated over safely delivered him to a loving home. Batya (בתיה) means daughter of God and is the name of Pharaoh’s daughter. Thus, we have our daughter Galit Batya.

Later in this week’s פרשה, we witness the miracle of the burning bush. משה remarks to himself that he needs to turn to look at this incredible thing, a bush that was enflamed but would not burn up. The wow moment משה encountered at this sight is something we all hunger to achieve. We all want to be amazed. We all want to be struck by awe. Sometimes we are aiming too high and need to recognize that the amazement was there all along. In the case of the burning bush, it was an ordinary bush on fire. In the desert it wouldn’t have been uncommon for bushes to catch fire. It took an astute משה to stop what he was doing and take notice of the bush that was engulfed in flames.

The miracle of the phone call. The miracle of Galit coming into our lives. The miracle of people caring for children they will not parent. The miracle of the people who work to place the babies and make families. These miracles happen all the time and we don’t always recognize them. Each of us needs to stop on a regular basis and see the miracles in the world around us. We need to see that our lives are miracles. We need to see that when we stop and appreciate the beauty and majesty of creation, we’ll be better able to recognize miracles in our midst.

Happy Birthday Galit, our second miracle.

I was quite young when I discovered that I was not gifted with a singing voice. I was in youth choir at my synagogue, and I auditioned for a solo. The leader, my cantor’s wife, informed me I should find a new hobby… I couldn’t sing. The song I was auditioning for was “Light One Candle.”

Light one candle for the Maccabee children
Give thanks that their light didn’t die
Light one candle for the pain they endured
When their right to exist was denied

Light one candle for the terrible sacrifice
Justice and freedom demand
And light one candle for the wisdom to know
When the peacemaker’s time is at hand

Don’t let the light go out!
It’s lasted for so many years
Don’t let the light go out!
Let it shine through our love and our tears

Light one candle for the strength that we need
To never become our own foe
And light one candle for those who are suff’ring
Pain we learned so long ago

Light one candle for all we believe in
Let anger not tear us apart!
Light one candle to bind us together
With peace as the song in our heart

Don’t let the light go out!
It’s lasted for so many years! (lasted for so many years!)
Don’t let the light go out!
Let it shine through our love and our tears

Don’t let the light go out!
It’s lasted for so many years
Don’t let the light go out!
Let it shine through our love and our tears

What is the memory that’s valued so highly
That we keep it alive in that flame?
What’s the commitment to those who have died
When we cry out they’ve not died in vain

We have come this far, always believing
That justice will somehow prevail
This is the burning, this is the promise
And this is why we will not fail

Don’t let the light go out! (don’t let the light go out!)
It’s lasted for so many years
Don’t let the light go out!
Let it shine through our love and our tears

Don’t let the light go out!
It’s lasted for so many years
Don’t let the light go out!
Let it shine through our love and our tears

Years after this revelation, I was sitting in a pew at a synagogue in Krakow, Poland, and right in front of me on the stand was a small yellow card with these words written on them. I was as amazed then by the lyrics as I remain today. This has been a hard time for our people. We keep going to bed each night hoping that when we wake up in the morning, we’ll realize this was all a bad nightmare. The sad thing is that it’s not, and we’re enduring such increased antisemitism that none of us imagined would be possible in 2025. None of us thought we would need to question attending a Hanukkah celebration. None of us would have thought twice of putting our Hanukkiahs in our windows. None of us would have thought we would be living dangerously by walking with kippot on our heads or Jewish stars around our necks.

Here is a summary of the past week. On Sunday, we witnessed the tragic murder of 15 Jewish people celebrating Hanukkah on a beach in Australia with scores of others wounded. We mourn the dark beginning of our Festival of Light(s). On Monday night in Amsterdam protesters violently clashed with police when they protested an IDF Cantor performing and celebrating Hanukkah there. On Tuesday night a Jewish man was stabbed in Crown Heights, NY and an attack on a subway against Jewish passengers. In California last Friday night a Jewish home came under attack as a passerby yelled antisemitic slurs and shot at the home decorated for Hanukkah. That followed a December 5^th arson attack on the Hillel House at UCSF. It’s 2025 and here we are living as if our legacy of victimization hasn’t happened, but it’s never ended. The world joined with us in claiming “Never Again”, and yet it still continues.

What is it about us that the world finds so hard to accept? Why is our simple request to be left alone, and to be who we are, still too hard for the world to accept? There are, in fact, answers to these questions. Author and scholar Dara Horn asserts that the world cannot accept Jewish power. That this small minority that punches above its weight is something the non-Jewish world (over 99% of the world population) cannot accept. She is right. Our success, and our unwillingness to yield to others’ hatred, drives their hatred. But there is a way forward that’s very similar to the cause. Dr. Deborah Lipstadt explains that deeply committed Jews are respected by the non-Jewish world. The more we get into our Jewishness, the less they will affect us, and the less they will hate us. The antidote to their hatred is lighting our candles.

This week we’ve been lighting five Hanukkiot in our home: one for each of us and one for the victims at Bondi Beach. We add to that Hanukkiah all victims of antisemitism. We add all Jews who are scared to wear their identifying jewelry, afraid to have a mezuzah on their door, afraid to wear a kippah and are afraid to light their Hanukkiah. We, as a Jewish people, have a light to light for ourselves, for other Jews and for the world. That light has been burning for thousands of years and we cannot allow it to go out at any moment. Don’t let the light go out, it has lasted for so many years. We must continue to feed our flame and thus our flame will be able to outshine the fires of their hatred.

Chag Orim Sameach and Shabbat Shalom,

 

 

Dreams figure very prominently in the book of בראשית/Bereshit/Genesis. While many dreams are recounted, there are six dreams that specifically anchor the life and journey of יוסף/Yosef/Joseph. At the beginning of this week’s פרשה/parsha/portion: וישב/VaYeshev, we have his two dreams of superiority over his brothers, and perhaps his entire family including his father and mother. When looking closely at this text, we must recognize that יוסף offered a retelling of his dreams, but he did not apply any sort of meaning to them. He didn’t interpret them, but others did. When he told his brothers of his dream of the harvest, he said his sheaves were mightier and the brothers’ sheaves all bowed down to his. He doesn’t assert meaning to it, but the brothers very angrily recognize a meaning that can be pulled out of this nighttime vision. Right after this dream, he reports another dream, this time astronomical in nature, to his brothers and father. On this occasion, his father derives the meaning of the dream and reprimands his son for his negative view of the rest of his family.

Years later when in jail, יוסף was on the other side of the dream experience when two fellow inmates, the butler and baker, report dreams to him and he interprets the meaning of the visions for them. Both interpretations come true, and as a result, at the beginning of next weeks פרשה: מקץ/Miketz, he is brought out of jail to help פרעה/Paro/Pharaoh who is struggling with his dreams as well. Again, his interpretation will prove to be accurate and will prove to be necessary for the well-being of the world. In each of these six dreams and their interpretations, the תורה/Torah is telling us something quite important. This demonstrates that we’re actors in our lives and not merely puppets. The dreams were indeed prophetic in nature, but without the interpretations, they were useless.

Dreams have great value to the Jewish people. In the תלמוד/Talmud we learn: God “will communicate with man through dreams” (Bavli Chagigah 5b) and that “Dreams are one sixtieth part of prophecy” (Bavli Berachot 57b). That’s the extent to which we appreciate the powers of dreams, but there’s something greater and more important in the dreams from the פרשה that were discussed above: “A dream uninterpreted is like a letter left unopened” (Bavli Berachot 57b). This statement has always taken hold of me and filled me with awe and amazement. Our ancestors appreciated the importance of our role and our ability to understand. Dreams should never be seen as self-evident, but needing humans to ascribe meaning to them. We saw that with יוסף’s brothers, with יעקב/Yakkov and with יוסף when he interpreted for the butler and the baker and for פרעה as well. The power of interpretation is a human strength, and it engages us and empowers us to have a role in our lives and in the lives of others. God may communicate with us through the dream, but we still need to do our part to better understand what the message is trying to convey and what we can do with it.

As חנכה/Chanukah begins this Sunday night, let’s recognize that the נס/Nes/Miracle of the חנכה was not just about oil lasting longer than it could or should have. The נס was and is about the Jewish people remaining vibrant and strong. The נס is about our commitment to our past, our present and our future. The נס is about an age of freedom of movement and choice regarding our religious identity. All of these miracles demonstrate that we, as Jews, take ownership of our Jewish world and Jewish lives. We recognize each of us has a role to play and that we need to be active. That’s what we will celebrate for the eight beautiful days of חנכה.

This Sunday morning is Bazaar. Not many synagogues have articles that start with those words. Here at OVS, Bazaar is almost like an additional holiday we have each year. Members and volunteers put it on their calendars far in advance and as soon as this year’s is concluded, we begin to work on the next one. It’s just like a holiday. Since I began working here in 2020, I’ve been amazed every year by what we’ve accomplished as a community.

Our Sisterhood must be commended for having established and maintained this incredible celebration for us and the greater community. I love the excitement leading up to Bazaar that includes baking sweets and treats, putting together gift baskets, collecting liquor for the raffle, creating signs, and the setup that completely transforms our building (I know I must have left numerous things off this list). The “erev” Bazaar is something to be marveled at too. Each year so many precious OVS members and volunteers come after Shabbat and spend the night getting our building ready. This too is something to be commended and honored. Then the actual big day arrives, and it’s festive and filled with traditions and rituals. Our community shines and we have the blessing of sharing our heritage and culture with the masses and showing them what they’re missing from their own experiences.

I’d like to shed some light on this from two parts of the פרשה/Parsha/Portion: וישלח/VaYishlach. The first deals with the embrace that is described when יעקב/YaAkov/Jacob and עשו/Esav/Esau finally meet again. The תורה/Torah described it as a hug and tears.

וַיָּ֨רׇץ עֵשָׂ֤ו לִקְרָאתוֹ֙ וַֽיְחַבְּקֵ֔הוּ וַיִּפֹּ֥ל עַל־צַוָּארָ֖ו וַׄיִּׄשָּׁׄקֵ֑ׄהׄוּׄ וַיִּבְכּֽוּ׃

Esau ran to greet him. He embraced him and, falling on his neck, he kissed him; and they wept. (בראשית לג:ד)

After these brothers had been estranged for so long, they came back together and embraced; they came back together and let go of the pain of the past and embraced a loving future. After all this time they were able to hug, kiss and weep because they were tied to each other. Each year at Bazaar, we see people who travel to come home to OVS to be a part of our legacy. There are so many embraces and so many joyous reunions. But there’s something greater than that; each year at Bazaar we’re reminded that we’re a family. I love seeing the brothers and sisters rolling up their sleeves and working side by side. I love the cousins who spend this time together and volunteer for so many different aspects of the day. The people who grew up around holiday tables together as if they were siblings still make their parents and their grandparents so proud to see their legacy living on. Look around this year and try to count the number of embraces you see on Saturday night and Sunday and I guarantee you’ll lose track quicker than me.

The second part of the פרשה I want to look at in relation to this weekend is the word ישראל/Yisrael/Israel as it’s the first time it’s ever said. The origin of the word is that יעקב had his name changed to ישראל after his nighttime battle with some being, Divine or human or both, and having walked away alive. The name actually is a combination of words that means to struggle with God.

וַיֹּ֗אמֶר לֹ֤א יַעֲקֹב֙ יֵאָמֵ֥ר עוֹד֙ שִׁמְךָ֔ כִּ֖י אִם־יִשְׂרָאֵ֑ל כִּֽי־שָׂרִ֧יתָ עִם־אֱלֹהִ֛ים וְעִם־אֲנָשִׁ֖ים וַתּוּכָֽל׃

Said he, “Your name shall no longer be Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with beings divine and human, and have prevailed (בראשית לב:כט).”

I have bolded the letters that are combined to make this name. Struggling with God and with humankind is a uniquely Jewish outlook and responsibility. We each must do this, and we each must do it in our own way. Being Jewish has never been easy. We often think about the adversity and suffering and wonder if it can be better or if it could be worse. The answer is yes; it could be better and/or worse. The only solution to this struggle will always be to lean in and be more. The only solution will always be that we each need to be more committed and more connected. We need to be unwilling to forsake our people, our identity and our values. We all must be uncompromising when it comes to the well being and future of the Jewish people and our community. The recipe is to remember we have a beautiful gift and it’s one that needs to be nourished and cared for while being enjoyed. It’s with this in mind I say that every year at Bazaar we’re reminded of just this, as we display many of our gifts for the world to see. There will always be struggles as Jews in general, and here at OVS in specific, but at Bazaar we’re reminded that we have ways around those and we have a path by which to move forward.

These past months have been very difficult for our OVS community. All too often, we opened our email and saw the devastating news that a member of our community had died. When God said in בראשית/Bereshit/Genesis “לא טוב היות אדם לבדו/It is not good for people to be alone” (2:18) it was a clue to humanity that we’re intended to live lives of relationships. We spend our lives building relationships, and with each relationship, we take a risk and leave ourselves vulnerable. Each relationship can be the source of the greatest of all joys and the source of the greatest of pain. The pain is brought about by our knowledge and fear that one day the relationship will end and the other person will no longer be with us. If we choose to focus on the other side of the risk, we leave ourselves open to experience great joy and incredible lives. The truth is that we all live somewhere in the middle. We all have highs and lows and that’s what it means to live in community, and in relationship.

Next Tuesday, the 18^th, will mark the conclusion of the שלושים/Sheloshim period of mourning for one of our members, Wendell Lynn. Many of us are still in shock that Wendell is no longer sitting in the back row of our services or at the first table in the Social Hall to roll out panettis for burekas. It’s hard to believe Wendell only came to our community in March of 2023. It’s hard to believe he made such an impact and so many relationships in such a short time. We have taken on the responsibility of saying קדיש/Kaddish for Wendell as we were his family. If you are interested in helping and taking a day or more, please let us know and we will help you get on the schedule. We will be saying Kaddish daily for the 11 months of mourning.

וַתָּ֣מׇת שָׂרָ֗ה בְּקִרְיַ֥ת אַרְבַּ֛ע הִ֥וא חֶבְר֖וֹן בְּאֶ֣רֶץ כְּנָ֑עַן וַיָּבֹא֙ אַבְרָהָ֔ם לִסְפֹּ֥ד לְשָׂרָ֖ה וְלִבְכֹּתָֽהּ׃/And Sarah died in Keriat Arbah, which is Hebron in the land of Canaan, and Avraham came to eulogize and cry for her (Genesis 23:2). Up until this point, death existed in the תורה/Torah but we didn’t know about the grief that accompanied the death. We didn’t learn about anyone’s response to experiencing the immense pain of losing someone close to them. This one verse describes two very distinct parts of grief: sadness and reflection. When someone dies, we’re left to mourn what’s gone and to recall what we can. We are left to mourn and to reflect in the same way אברהם taught us all those years ago. This week’s פרשה/Portion: חיי שרה/Chaye Sarah marks the first eulogy and it was delivered by אברהם for his wife, שרה.

I recently began to work on a writing project. Over the years, I’ve amassed a large collection of eulogies from funerals I officiated at. Each time I meet with a family, I sit down and learn from them about their loved one. I learn about their journey and who they were. We talk about the person’s biography, about their essence, and their soul. I then begin the process of putting together the story of the person. Eulogies are sacred to me. The family needs something to hold on. The person needs something to begin to live eternal life through. The community needs a way to voice their grief. Every one of these eulogies has been unique. I’ve never merely cut and pasted something from one to another. I might have reused an idea, but every eulogy is personal and about the person we’re there to remember. I’m now going through my library of eulogies and selecting some to share with the world. We’ll see if the project goes anywhere, but it’s sacred work to look back through years of my writings about those I helped care for after they died and to give them greater immortality. In that spirit, I want to offer you the opportunity to read one of these eulogies this week. Click here and you’ll find the words I delivered at Wendell’s funeral. I pray they bring comfort to those of us in search of solace and comfort. May Wendell’s memory forever be a blessing.

I remember walking into my childhood house on a Saturday afternoon. I’d been playing hockey with some friends and I was looking forward to some rest. Instead, when I walked in, my dad was watching breaking news so I sat down next to him. The Prime Minister of Israel, Yitzhak Rabin, had been shot after leaving a peace rally. We were numb and we were hurt. Within minutes, it was announced that he had succumbed to his injuries. The Prime Minister of Israel was dead. In the minutes and hours that followed, we all assumed he’d been killed by an external enemy. We all assumed this would trigger a giant war. Then we learned the even worse and more devastating news. It wasn’t an external foe but a terrorist from within. Rabin had been murdered in cold blood by a Jew. He had been murdered by a person who professed to be a religious and observant Jew. He had been murdered because of the difficult and necessary decisions he and his government had been making.

Those days are etched into my memory. President Clinton’s famous words: שלום חבר/Shalom Chaver/Goodbye my friend. The hastily convened funeral at Mt Herzl featuring leaders from around the world. The immensely tearful eulogy Rabin’s granddaughter delivered, discussing not his leadership or military accomplishments, but his core and soul and who he was as a person and her grandfather. Watching people hold up his widow, Leah. Seeing Shimon Peres suddenly assume the role of leader.

Zionism already was a core part of my identity. I was already deeply committed to, and involved with, our people and our religion. The tragedy could not be lost on us that this was not some foreign action or the act of an enemy we were battling. This was Jew vs. Jew, and one of the greatest leaders of the young state paid with his life. It just so happened I made my first trip to Israel less than a year later. I was on the 1996 March of the Living. On that trip, we would go to Mt Herzl and see the new grave of Prime Minister Rabin and we were taken to Rabin Square in Tel-Aviv. There was no way to look past the enormous mark his life and his murder left on Israel and the Jewish People.

This week, we read the powerful and troubling words of the עקידת יצחק/Akeidat Yitzhak/The Binding of Isaac. There’s a midrash I believe could be instructive to us about this: “ ’As אברהם/Avraham raised his arm’, and the knife, how was this? It teaches that three tears fell from the ministering angels (Heaven) and broke the knife.” This midrash evokes the tears of heaven over this action, and it evokes the breaking of the instrument that had been intended to kill. There can be no comparison made between the act of a terrorist and the act of our righteous ancestor, אברהם, but there can be some connection in the way we understand the world.

Rabin’s murderer saw himself as fighting to defend the Jews and the Land of Israel. He was wrong and anyone who sees him as an inspiration is wrong. אברהם was seeking to fulfill a command from God and thankfully that was negated by God telling him to stop. In the case of Rabin’s murderer, he was unable to hear the Divine voice stopping him because of his hatred and his inability to recognize he was wrong. If Heaven was brought to tears by the potential death at the command of God, how much more must Heaven cry when the deaths are not commanded by God but by the command of misguided hatred? The tears shed by Heaven must break these weapons and these inclinations. The tears of Heaven must break the divisions we Jews are experiencing. The tears of Heaven must remind us that we’re never alone and that God is with us in all of our struggles.

Today we continue to be a people divided. We must look back at our history and recognize our divisions will not strengthen us but weaken us. We need to see that to live together, we need to put our weapons away and open ourselves to being unified, even with people we sometimes disagree with. Our tears can unite us, and in that unity, we can build a better Jewish world.