Tuesday, November 6, 2018

TBE Bar/Bat Mitzvah Commentary: Kyle Nadel on Vayera


Shabbat Shalom,

An important theme of today’s Torah portion, Vayera, is about being tested in life. In this portion, most of these tests center on Abraham to see how loyal he was to God and Judaism.  According to the ancient rabbis, Abraham had to pass ten tests during his lifetime.

Perhaps his greatest test was the last one, where God tested Abraham by instructing him to sacrifice his own young son, Isaac. In the story, Abraham took his son to Mt Moriah to sacrifice him. Just as Abraham was about to kill Isaac, an angel told him, “‘Now I know that you fear God, because you have not withheld from me your son, your only son.” And so, Isaac was spared.  Abraham was being tested by God to see if he would obey him.

I’ve had to deal with several tests too in my life, some more difficult than others.

When I was about five or six, my mother got sick.  Eventually she had to be hospitalized for long periods of time.  My siblings and I visited her at least twice a week while she was hospitalized. To keep her spirit up, we brought my mother “Get well soon” balloons, flowers, and cake. Our visits probably helped her live longer.

It’s interesting to note that the mitzvah of visiting the sick comes from this portion. On the third day after Abraham’s circumcision he was still suffering and in a lot of pain. God offers kindness by visiting Abraham, and sets an example for the rest of us.

While we did everything we could to keep our mother alive, and although it was not ultimately enough, she is here today in spirit. So we were successful in completing the mitzvah which, according to the Torah portion, was satisfied when we at least assisted in aiding her throughout her illness, and we know that we often put a smile on her face.

When my mother passed away, I was tested again by having to continue life when things were so difficult.

Of course, I was helped by my father, assisted by other adults, such as babysitters and my grandparents, but it was a very difficult time to go through, especially as the oldest child, and I had to stay strong. This sad, challenging experience taught me not to take my life for granted, and so I try to make every day count.

There have been other tests in my life experience as well.  Moving to the US was a big test.  When my mom became ill, we needed to be pulled out of school in Japan, and we moved to this area to get her the best medical care.

When we moved back to the New York area, my parents didn’t want me to forget my Japanese, so they sent me to a Japanese school in Greenwich, Ct.  There, I was the only completely American student, excluding my siblings. I looked and felt very different from my peers. I was challenged when I had trouble making many friends because I was the “new kid”.  

Also, being the only American student, I spoke and understood less of the Japanese language than the other children, and, at the very beginning, I did not do too well in Kanji tests, which are the Japanese characters.  Eventually though, I passed more of these “tests,” as I started to study more.  Slowly, I overcame the test of socialization by becoming friendly with a few peers in the classes.

I have been physically tested as well. Some of you may already know that I have broken, at separate times, my arm and my leg from one sport: skiing.  My parents decided I was just “unlucky” both times, so I was forced, against my will, to keep trying. Again, here, I was tested to persevere at something at which I had already failed twice in my mind.  Although I am physically healed by now, I am still a bit scared to go on trails with many trees.   Sometimes, I am forced to face this challenge, and my fears are subsiding.   Just for the record – I still enjoy skiing a lot. 

A separate test for me family-wise was getting to know my new mother, Jill, who has adopted all of us.  I became used to not having more than one parent for period of time, and so when my father said that he was getting remarried, I had to, yet again, get used to a new, significant change in my life with someone I didn’t know as well.  With any relationship, it takes some time to get to know the other person. Jill’s love, warmth, kindness, and support, not to mention her efforts in helping me in school and for this bar-mitzvah, make me feel that I truly have a mother again.   I am very blessed.

For the past year, my patience has also been tested in preparation for this very day. I have probably spent more than 150 hours to arrive here– so that’s 30 minutes a day for about nine months, times four weeks per month, which equals 126 hours, but there are more than 28 days per month, except for February, plus extra time over the past month, and then there’s the 7 extra minutes to do these calculations.

I have thought many times, “Ugh, this is too much work.” Or, “I want to give up,” but I knew those were not practical answers, so I kept on going, despite how demanding it was and how much effort it took.  By the time I hit October, I felt well-prepared.

As challenging as my tests have been, other kids face far greater challenges.  For my Mitzvah project, I want to help less fortunate kids have access to technology.  You can read about my project, “One Laptop per Child,” in my Bar Mitzvah booklet.

The Present-Day Tragedy


Here, in its entirety, is an essay was written by Claire Greenwald, mother of TBE's Art Greenwald and mother in law of Sue Greenwald, shortly after arriving in the US after fleeing Nazi Germany. Claire was one of the fortunate ones who escaped just before Kristallnacht and was granted asylum here, despite America's strict refugee quotas (the '30s were the most anti-Semitic decade in American history). She was a teenager at the time she wrote this. Her detailed description is both brilliantly written (in English, a language she had just learned) and chilling, in light of current events. See, for example, the parts about press freedom, humiliation of those who are different and the cult of the leader and you might as well be reading today's paper. The essay is somewhat lengthy, but I implore you to take a few moments to read it all. I am honored to be able to share it with you and thank Art and Sue - and Claire - for allowing me to do that.  JH
"The Present-Day Tragedy"
By
Klara Salpeter
Shakespeare wrote tragedies many years ago. There were none to compete with him on this particular subject. Today there are multitudes of people who, like me, could write a true saga of the present era.

To be a Jew is very difficult when one is born in the wrong country. More to the point, it proved my tragedy. The tragedy written by many with their own blood.

My birthplace was "Am Schonen Rheine" in Germany. Much has already been said about this most beautiful land. The endless parks, museums, trees and water all combined to make a thing of beauty.

My three sisters and I were raised within all this; plus, the gaiety and geniality of the people. My people owned a prosperous business. We were comfortable and enjoyed the best of everything. We were all ever so happy.

I had many friends both Jewish and Gentile and we got along very well. I went to a public school with them. After school I would go to their homes and I was welcomed there, by them and their parents. My teachers were very nice to me, they would often help me with my studies.

Oh, what a pleasant life I was leading. Every beat of my heart told me this. It seemed the world was in and not a thought of the future worried me. Then one day, in the not so distant future, we all were to receive a rude awakening.

To me, it seemed as though a youthful tree, in full bloom, had been cut in its infancy. The year was 1933 and I shall never forget it. Beauty no more faced my eyes. In its place I could see nothing but hatred and discipline everywhere. My heart ached fort the past. My body trembled and shook with fright. I was young (10 years old) and could not imaging that life so sweet; life that was so full of joy, happiness, love and laughter would change. This life that bore nothing but security and safety came to an end.

The "Shone Rhine" was no more a place of beauty to me. The beautiful water flowed no more, the parks were ugly, the museums cold- oh, I wanted so much to get away from it. The questions were how and when.

Streets called after Jewish men were changed. Others were put in their places. Directions, if I had to give to anyone, were difficult. Every city in Germany had at least one street called "Adolf Hitler Strasse." Statues of Jewish men were broken up. Homes of Jewish writers and other statesmen were ruined. All writings of the Jews, paintings ad fine arts were burned. No Jewish songs were allowed to be sung anymore. Thus, no new ones were ever written. Mendelsohn's beautiful wedding march was no more. Other national Nazi songs were born. Entirely new ideas of art were developed.
Jewish lawyers lost their licenses to practice. Jewish doctors were not allowed to have any patients.
In the parks Jews had to sit in restricted places. Benches had written on them "Jews do not sit down." Theaters and swimming places did not welcome Jews. Certain restaurants and barber shops were also closed to Jews.

Stores which were owned by Jewish people were marked as- "Do not buy from Jewish merchants. Naturally, some people would stop going to these stores. Others, who did not stop, had pictures taken of them as they came out. The pictures of these people were inserted in the papers, above their pictures it was stated that "These are the Jewish friends."

Some Jewish owners would leave their stores. They would take their family and go to other countries, where they were not known. It was the only thing they could do. Conditions for them became so unbearable, their business was worth nothing to them.

One Gentile storekeeper came up to our house and begged us not to trade with him anymore. He said the Nazis were watching and did not like the idea of our trading with him. For fear of harm to him and his family he hoped we would do as he asked. He was very sorry he had to tell us this because he had been an old friend of ours. This was one case, God knows how many went through the same experience.

My father also had to give us his place of business. The pressure of propaganda and business conditions in general forced this about. To make a living, my parents had to peddle from door to door. My father would travel by bicycle and my mother would walk. Some people would buy, others would keep my parents until policemen came. When a policeman arrived, he would fine my parents for peddling. Sometimes their stock would be taken from them. Older customers wished that my parents would to come to their houses. They said they would come, instead, to our home. This they wanted to do to protect us and them. My parents had many unpleasant experiences. It was very hard for them to make a living for us.

My poor, poor parents. They were always so kind. Why must they have to go through so many hardships? I could not understand why. They harmed no one. They did not steal, they were not murderers, they were not criminals of any sort. The reasons, it seems, was simply because they (and others like them) were Jews in the wrong country. Tragedy- every word of it. Hard to believe, but it was all true.

I was afraid to walk in the streets. Everything was so unreal. Nazi flags flying in the breeze. Little boys were so unkind. They would call after us "Dirty Jew" and other insulting names. We could do nothing but walk on. Gentile friends, whom I knew very well, were forced to pass me by. They were not allowed to speak to me. We Jews were put on a very low level.

Once, while I was walking, a group of older boys tied me and a few other Jewish girls up.
We told them we were not Jews and they let us go. They would have beaten us if we told them the truth. No one dared to give us protection. Everyone was forced to be against us.

Now, many young men wore brown shirts. An organization was formed for them. It was called "Hitlerjugend." Their ages were from eighteen to twenty. The young girls belonged to a group called "Bund Deutscher Madels." Their ages were the same as the young men. Theyu would wear black skirts, white shirts and brown jackets with brown shoes. The older people belonged to the S.A. and the S.S. The S.A. group wore brown suits and the S.S. group wore black suits. Only Ayrans were permitted membership into these organizations.

Their duties were to spread propaganda. The would mark up Jewish homes and temples. On the bells they would put signs saying, "Do not ring the Jewish bell." They would all have separate meetings. I did not know what took place at these meetings. They would go on trips, but naturally always with their Nazi flag. How proud they were when they first started to march with their new flag and sing their new songs! People had to stop and bow when they and their flags were marching by. Everyone had to wait until they passed.

Newspapers were censored. There was no place for free writing. All thoughts and ideas were formed for the people by the Nazi regime. The papers would write of the good the Nazi party was going to bring. It stated no one was going to starve. All were going to have jobs. Germany, in spite of the obstacles, was going to be great and supreme above all. Herr Hitler, the Fuehrer, was the "God" and he would do all this within four years. The papers wrote how the "Jew was the enemy." He must be driven out and until then, no one must rest. Every day, it was the same thing- all propaganda. Very little news from the outside world was permitted. The "Austrian Anshluss" was not known by the people of Germany until it was all over.

The radio was also censored. Party leaders would broadcast every few minutes about Hitler and the good he was doing. Hitler was always glorified. It was useless listening to the radio. The programs were so dull. Always- Hitler, Hitler and more Hitler. I thought it would drive us all mad.

The people in Germany, besides all this, had other problems. The food problem was one. Every family was allowed a certain amount of butter each week. No one was able to receive more than his set amount. There were no lemons and onions. Grafefruits, oranges, pineapples were very seldom seen. Bread was not very tasty. The flour that was put into the bread was not of the best quality. The bread had a darker color than it had before. The Nazi people said it was alright to eat, for no one was getting sick from it.

The clothing situation was another problem. Clothes were not as lasting. The real quality was not there.

All this time I was going to a private school. I had no other school to go to, otherwise I would not have gone there. To explain: The joy, happiness and friendship that I received from my fellow students and teachers were missing. I could no longer associate with them. I and other Jewish friends of mine were separated from the Gentiles. We had to study harder than ever to pass our subjects. Jewish children had to eat by themselves. Other children in the school often made fun of us. We could do nothing but accept their jokes and shouts at us. School life was becoming more and more unbearable. My school friends could no longer come to my house. Sometimes they would come when they knew no one saw them. Their parents would throw stones at our windows if they found out. Many times, our windows were broken because of this.

I was happy when my class day was over. I felt safe only in the presence of my parents in our home but even here we talked in a low voice. We feared some spy might be watching us. Peace was only gotten at sleep, that is, if I fell asleep. Often, I did not sleep. When morning came, school also came again. I faced the torments of my classmates. It was as though I were going to some jail. I was so frightened I did not know what each new day or night would bring. The anxiety was making me a shy and lonesome person out of me.

This went on until the Jewish people made a school only for Jewish children. Here we had Jewish teachers. It was a good school and I was taught by kind teachers once again. My friends and I ate together. We talked with one another and we all felt safe. We were safe till we went outside of school. Then we were afraid once more. Every day brought the same reaction.

A few years passed, I graduated from school and thought I might be able to get a job, perhaps in some store or office. I was wrong, no one was employing Jewish help. Oh, I looked everywhere. I had to have a job. My sisters and parents needed money to carry on. But I could not get it. What was I to do?

My inability to get work made me realize that I had no future in Germany- the country where I was born and had grown up. Since I was no longer able to continue with my education and the fact I received no work, I made up my mind I must leave Germany.

I wondered how to leave Germany.... I had it!

I had relatives in America. I learned the United States was a free country- a grand land! A place that had no brown shirts, no fences between races. Surely this was the place of my future.
I must tell my parents about it. They cried about what I asked them, "Mother and Father may I go to America to my Aunt and Uncle?" These words I was sorry I said. I was sorry, for I knew they hurt my parents. "My child, for your future and safety you must go; we wish we all might be able to go. America is to be your home." That is what my father answered. What he said changed my life- a life that was to be one from chains to cheers.

Before I left Germany, I had an occasion to see Hitler. He was present at a Fair our city was giving. All anyone was able to see of him was a qui k glance. It was a huge parade. Nazi flags flying all about and people shouting, "Heil Hitler." The people seemed very happy to see him. As for me, I felt he was a great man. This thought flashed though my mind only a second. For in its place I had a passionate feeling of hate. This man was ruining my life. He was the one who was forcing me to leave my parents, my home and everything that I knew and loved. Could I have had a chance to kill him- I think I would have done so.

Today I know how futile that would be in attempting to solve the world's problem.

Time was passing. My relatives in America made out the necessary papers for my admission to the States. Every day brought me closer to the day I was to leave home. I visited all my relatives in Germany, for I knew not if I would even see them again. Needless to say, every departure was difficult and painful.

This was nothing compared to my departure from my house. A young and innocent girl, I hd to leave my parents when I needed them most. I had to go to a distant land to relatives I did not know, except by picture. I did not know how they would receive me. I did not know what was expected of me. When again, would I see my sweet sisters and poor parents? My parents tried to make the parting an easy one. My sisters were so kind and considerate that I felt very sad. A party was made form me and it was dreadful. I could not sleep that night because the next day was my sailing.
I left my house crying. I was unable to talk. I do not remember bidding my sisters good bye or going to the station where I kissed my wonderful Mother farewell. She kept saying, "Be careful, my child." I only remember her face fading into the distance.

My father traveled with me to the harbor. He stayed with me for several hours. We talked about the hope, in a prayer, that someday soon we would meet. The whistle whined a parting for visitors. We talked a little more, but nothing important. I turned from my Father, I was speechless. He was gone.
It was two a.m. The boat was moving. I should have gone to my room and then to sleep. I did not, however, U just stood on deck crying.

Lights from Germany were getting dimmer and dimmer. I was by myself, no one to guide me. It was not true, I thought. Wasn't' this all a dream?

The following morning, I arose for breakfast and tried to eat, but to no avail. I again went out on the deck. I could not enjoy the entertainment which was given on the boat. The second day the sea became very rough. This made me seasick. Thus, the trip was unpleasant. The next days I became more accustomed to the sea and the people. One elderly woman sympathized with me. She acted so motherly. I was grateful that I met this woman because it was she who comforted me during the rest of the trip.

As the boat was nearing New York, it started to get foggy. The boat was forced to stay overnight in one place. By this time, I received a telegram from my dear relatives, who were waiting anxiously at the pier, to take me to their home. The boar left the next day, for the pier.

On the way toward the harbor, and out of the fog, the Statue of Liberty was sighted. It was beautiful. People on the boat told me that from now on I was safe. They told me that this statue meant freedom, happiness and fairness to all. I found out later that people were able to walk all through the statue, even to the finger tips. The finger on the Statue of Liberty pointed to heaven- I felt as though I was in heaven of a different form.

Coming into the dock, I saw people moving about. So many people, such hurry- everyone going in different places. Shouts made from the people coupled with the tug boar shrieks and other New York noises welcomed me to the United States. Tall buildings, towering higher than any I had ever seen before made up the background. In spite of all the people and marvelous sights, I began to be lonely. Perhaps it was because I saw people going some place and I was all alone.

Passengers were leaving the boat. Passengers were having their trunks examined. And still no one paid attention to me, at least I thought so. My thoughts were wrong for, suddenly it seemed my name was called. I went up to the next deck and there I was examined. After the examination my uncle was called.

I wondered if he would look like the pictures I had of him. I had anxious moments. Would he gather me in his arms, would I cry, or would I be shy? Little more was there to guess about, for here he was.
All I was able to do was say a quiet "Hello" and then I cried on his shoulder. I was so overjoyed and thankful to see someone who cared a little about my future, that I could not talk. I was all choked up. What a sensation I had!

After other formalities, I was placed in my Uncle's car. My Uncle led me to his car where my Aunt and two of my cousins were. Here I was- a foreigner, or better still a German Refugee, being with people of whom I had only heard about. Questions were asked of me faster than I was able to answer. Questions about my parents, my sisters and Germany. I thought these questions would never end. I guess they had a right in asking me all those things. But, I was not able to think. So many things were not clear in my mind.

Everything was moving so fast. The car stopped. And now I was "home." A little gathering was made in my honor. Everyone was so nice to me. I had something to eat and then my Aunt slipped me into my room. Signs were here, greeting me to my "home"- so the signs stated, and they were true. I felt so much at home. I talked a short time with my Aunt and then she left me. I was glad she took me to my room, for I began to feel the effect of a busy day.

It was during vacation months that I had arrived. My Uncle entered me in the evening classes for a High School. I was afraid to go into any public buildings, at first. My Uncle assured me it was alright and so I went. This amazed me, a Jew going into buildings that were not Jewish, talking to the teachers who were not Jewish; this was certainly strange. I learned English here and other subjects which aided me in becoming better settled in this land.

The students and teachers were very kind to me. The students talked and walked with me. Teachers were patient and very helpful. I walked to and from school and no one harmed me. There were no people wearing brown shirts, no Nazi flags hanging in any windows, no signs posted anywhere mentioning Jews; it all seems too much to believe.

To the average American this may seem nothing. To people all over the world who have had tragedy befall them, as I, it means much. It means more than I could even write in words.

When I completed my course at the evening school, there remained two weeks of vacation left. I traveled much with my relatives in their car. I visited parks, more of New York and other places of interest. I went to the movies, saw a few games at athletic stadiums. To me, it seemed I had come out of jail into the open. What interested me most was the missing of Jewish signs posted and the high level any person, of any origin, is held. No one is a criminal, unless he really is guilty of some crime.  

I shall never forget the feeling of strangeness I had when I first traveled among other peoples. My relatives thought me shy, when I was really afraid. I just count not get used to being free. I had been chained too many years to the Nazi regime. The made one terrible ruin out of my young life.
During the rebirth of my life I received weekly letters from my parents. From these letters I learned they were well, more than that they wrote not. My people dared not write of their discomforts.
I received these letters for many weeks, then suddenly they stopped. I was frantic. What happened? Were my parents well? I wondered until I knew not what to think. I prayed to God.

Then one day mail came from Poland. It was my mother's writing. Thank God. What she wrote was pitiful. It amounted to the following: Two a.m. on October 29, 1938 three policemen came to our home. They demanded that my people let them in. My parents were forced to do as they asked. Then they told my mother and father to "dress their children and come with us to the police station." My mother begged them. It did no good.

At the police station they found other Jewish people with their children. Every minute brought other Jews to the station. My mother believed there must have been at least three hundred Jews all together. They were all kept in a jail until six o'clock at night when they were searched for money and other valuable possessions.

After the examination, everyone was placed on a train. All they were given was a loaf of stale bread. The train brought them to the boundary line at Poland. From here they all walked four hours until they came to a town. Imagine the situation: Men and women and children walking in cold, hard weather; walking without other clothes that what they had on. All walked they knew not where, they just pushed on. Is it any wonder that many had gone insane? On the way one of my sisters became very sick. When they arrived in town, they had to place her in a hospital, where she remained for six weeks. A very kind woman, who felt sorry for them, allowed my parents and the two other sisters to sleep in her house. They ate in a camp with all the other people. However, when my sister was able to leave the hospital, all were forced to live t the camp. Conditions at the camp, you must understand, are bad. No one is permitted to leave the camp. All must remain in one place. No work to do- just sit and think. Many, among them, have become very sick.
            
My parents at the present time are still there. Germany does not want them. Poland cannot take care of them. Palestine has its own troubles. They are truly people without a country.

At this writing, I am enrolled in a High School of this glorious country, I hope someday, in some way, I will be able to show my appreciation for everything that is being done for me. I want to be a real American citizen. I want to teach other Americans how wonderful a country we have here. I know, because I have seen tragedy and I now see "the land of the free.

This is God's land, may He always grace it with kindness, goodness and happiness. May there never be a censorship of any race or progress. America, from what I have seen, will live and prosper. Thank God for America, "the home of the brave and true."

I have written my tragedy that has happened to me. It has torn me from my family. Left them starving- no country to go to. All their belongings gone, all their life's work and happiness shattered. They are left with ruined lives to fulfill.

Shakespeare wrote his tragedies many years ago. Today I (and others in the same condition) have written mine.

Sunday, November 4, 2018

A Tale of Two Shivas



Click below for audio of this sermon


A Tale of Two Shivas
Rabbi Joshua Hammerman


The beauty of shiva is that it establishes the natural order of things when everything appears hopelessly chaotic.  It is incredibly life affirming, and I experienced that this week – right here.  I observed the traditional week-long shiva and sat publicly for ten hours each day, because I believe in the importance of that ritual and in its healing power.  Stretching forty hours over four days enabled me to have real conversations with about 400 people. 

And then yesterday, our Hebrew School students came to me and had a real time lesson in how to comfort a mourner, and I can say two things about that: 1) Not working has never been so exhausting. And 2) I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of our Hebrew School students. Each of them came up to me individually, held my hand or hugged me and said, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

As much as this was my personal loss, we all were feeling personal loss this week; our collective Jewish people’s shiva and my personal shiva fused together as one.  As much as people came to comfort me, they also looked to me for comfort.  As much as they helped to restore the natural order of things for me, we all sat together, low to the ground, and mourned the chaos that resulted in untimely death for good, innocent people, for vulnerable people, for people at prayer, for people who had only love in their hearts – and we mourned for their innocence and ours.  I felt helpless to do anything about it – and yet, one on one on one on one, the healing took place, down in the trenches of the mourning bench.

I received this email from one of my dear friends in the interfaith community this week:

Josh – our hearts are so heavy with you. On so many levels you are bearing great burden for your family – and your congregation, not to mention extended community. Please know what an incredible blessing you are to us (and undoubtedly to so many) we are grateful for you and stand by you in Love and Hope.

While this correspondence made passing reference to the world out there, the condolence email warmed my heart.  It was part of the natural order of things and it demonstrated the love that exists in our interfaith community.

I contrast that letter with this plant on the bima has been sent to us by St Cecilia’s church.  What a wonderful gesture of love and solidarity.  So necessary.  So welcomed – and yet, there is something wrong with this picture.  It angers me that we need to accept such condolences.  It angers me that we have to be victims.  It angers me that some sit idly by while the threat has grown.  It angers me that while our Hebrew School students can show such love for their rabbi, they need to have school shooter drills in their classroom and armed guards in their synagogue.

It angers me that our graduates feel that way too.  TBE young adult Matthew Katz wrote a poem trying process his ambivalent thoughts and emotions surrounding being a Jew in America.

He said that for much of his life, entering Jewish houses of worship made him feel like a target. Walking into services, his first action was locating emergency exits and mentally preparing to evacuate in the case of what he thought was the inevitable. He began to view public gatherings of the Jewish community as dangerous.

He writes, “I viewed my fears as irrational. However, this weekend, my deepest, most irrational fears became a reality for the Tree of Life Congregation.

He shared that poem in hopes it helps someone else process the events that unfolded in Pittsburgh and mobilize into action.  It helped him come to the decision to mobilize his thoughts into action: becoming Kosher, and he exhorts other Jews to take action too – to “Yell, scream, cry, vote, petition, protest, pray.”

His poem exclaims, “It's not easy being a Jew.”  Click here to read it.  There’s a lot of anguish in that poem – and we all feel it.

This was personal for us, but so were Parkland and Orlando and Charleston and the Sikh temple in Wisconsin.  In each case, groups of people were singled out because of the hate in the heart of man with an assault weapon.   The disease of hate goes beyond mental illness, and that's what drove a person to cold blooded murder.  In Pittsburgh, the murderer, who shall go nameless, accused Jews of bringing Muslims and refugees to the United States.   While the idea of Jewish puppet masters organizing hordes of invaders is an anti-Semitic lie that has been seen often before, the idea that Jews welcome strangers and love neighbors is nothing new – and is true.

Guilty as charged!  The Torah tells us to love three things: God, our neighbor, and the stranger.  God and our neighbor are mentioned almost in passing.  But we are commanded to love and not oppress the stranger thirty six times.  Of course that’s one reason why haters hate us and why demagogues enable them. Because they want to divide and vilify.  They are looking for scapegoats.  And the Jew has always fit the bill.

But we should be proud of the fact that we are singled out for caring for others – and never, never, never be afraid.  Never be afraid to support those who are weakest.

These victims were the weakest.  Like Amalek in Exodus, the killer attacked the rear guard, those in the back: the elderly, those with special needs - and he did not ask a single one whether they supported admitting refugees.  Because to the bigot, it never matters.

“The people who were there are the ones who kept this community going, who made things happen,” said Diane Rosenthal, a sister of Cecil and David Rosenthal, intellectually challenged adults who used to greet visitors at the door to the synagogue and were both killed. “I imagine they probably greeted this guy. This place was so part of their lives, a place where they could go and be welcomed at any time and where they were part of the fabric.”

Killing Cecil and David Rosenthal.  If my mother hadn’t died two days before, THAT would have killed her.   She often had premonitions about similar dangers befalling my brother.

These are the victims, this generations, martyrs for the Sanctification of the Name:
These were then stalwarts, the ones who came on time, the ones who made the minyan – a minyan plus one.  We all know them.  They exist here and at every synagogue.  These sweet lives were callously snuffed out, by a sane man with an insane idea, egged on by insanity.

If you are here to pray tonight, to share solidarity and comfort with your neighbor, let us feel that love and solidarity, between Jew and Jew, Jew and non-Jew.  That is the natural order of things – we experience death – we sit and mourn and share love and comfort.

But if you are here because it should be seen as in some way an act of extraordinary courage to come to synagogue, that this is a dangerous place to be, that approach is unsustainable and it cannot be allowed to continue.  Not here.  Not in this country.  Not in this place.

Come to services.  Every week.  You’ll find it compelling.  You’ll find that it brings joy to your life, not fear.  Come to services.  And sit up front.

I love the gesture of this plant but I never want to see a plant like this again.  We will have added security for now – but I’m putting that added security on the clock.  This is not sustainable.

The Pittsburg Post-Gazette had the Kaddish on the front page today – in Hebrew letters. Cool – and appreciated.  But never again should that have to happen! 

We don’t want pity.  We want partners.

Hand in hand we will defeat hate – hand in hand – Jews of all denominations, and backgrounds, Christian, Muslim, Sikh, Hindu, Buddhist and all others.  All ethnicities, genders and sexual orientations. We know the hate has never really gone away.  If it's been stoked, and it has, we need to douse the flames.  We need to call out White Supremacists and all who enable them.  We need to snuff out anti-Semitism in all its manifestations.  Matthew Katz is right. As he said: “Yell, scream, cry, vote, petition, protest, pray.”  But he is wrong in thinking that this kind of thing is inevitable.  It does not have to be.

We can end the fear.  And that is how the grief of shiva can become normal, good old fashioned mourning, again.

And we shall drown the hate in our love-soaked tears.