Below are two recent pieces I have shared, both reacting to various dimensions of these times. The first is a reflection on joy and sorrow that I shared on social media (I share it here too since I know not everyone does social media.) For the better part of two years now, I have shared funny Jewish-themed videos on TikTok and other platforms. I struggled with this over the past month, and this video (with transcript following) is a reflection on that struggle.
The second are the words shared at Resetting our Sacred Table, the newly re-imagined seasonal interfaith celebration hosted by Interfaith Works, our local interfaith organization. The Temple Beth Hatfiloh choir was privileged to sing at the event, and I share my words of introduction below. Again, text follows video.
As we head into this season of holidays, a season of gratitude and light, may we also be moved toward understanding and redemption.
Transcript: So here’s something I’ve been thinking about, I just wanted to come on here and share, and that is the question of how can I continue to make silly videos while all the horrors that are going on now in Israel and Gaza? And that’s the question that I’ve gotten in comments online and also in real life people ask me ask me that and it’s a fair question.
I have struggled with it. For the first week after October 7th I really didn’t post anything and since then I’ve thought about the balance and tone of my posts and what’s appropriate, and I’ve decided that while I do think about it a bit more I still intend to post some parasha related memes and funny observations about Judaism and synagogue life, and here a few reasons why why I think so.
So, one, part of the reason I make these videos is is really for me. I know I share them and other people watch them but I started making videos like this back during lockdown for COVID and it was kind of a way of dealing with that difficult time, with the struggles then. And now being consumed with fear and sadness constantly thinking about the hostages and people in Gaza and the shadow of anti-Semitism you know I’m continuing to make videos not as a way to deny what is going on but just as a little bit of release in a way of dealing with all of these difficult emotions that are going on right now.
The second reason is that Judaism has always taught that we need to be holding joy and sadness at the same time, joy and sorrow go hand in hand. If you think about some of our traditional practices like we break a glass at a wedding or we take the wine out of the glass during the seder when we recite the plagues or we postpone Shiva for Shabbat or even end Shiva for various holidays, that in some of these traditional practices Judaism is teaching us that we are always holding joy and sorrow at the same time. We’re always kind of holding on to grief and healing simultaneously, and that is what life is and so that’s kind of how we are living right now too.
Another reason is that, Judaism has to continue to survive. I mean my platform has always been about teaching Torah and Jewish practice and spirituality and meaning making. For me these are the keys to Jewish survival. That Jewish survival isn’t just physical survival but it’s spiritual survival as well. It’s our practices and our observances and Torah that has sustained us especially through difficult times of hardship and distress. I think about my congregational work: Shabbat still comes every week and I still have to tutor kids for their b’nai mitzvah and work with couples on their weddings and Hanukkah is coming up soon. Jewish life will continue, and we need to continue to lean into Jewish life as we mourn, and recognize that Judaism is a source of positivity and a life giving practice and that’s how we will sustain Judaism.
And a fourth reason is for me, joy means hope. Joy means hope. That when we’re able to express joy, then we are providing for ourselves a vision of the world as it can be when everybody is safe and secure and joyful. And again not despite but because of the sadness in the world we need to make time for happiness and recognize the blessings and see the joy so that we can be inspired to build the world that we want. That we can be inspired with hope for what can be. Joy itself for me brings hope.
So these are just a few of my thoughts. Thank you for listening I will continue to kind of wrestle with and weigh the balance between when to hold joy when to hold sorrow and when to express joy and went to express sorrow. It’s a very very difficult time right now and all of these emotions are wrapped into one. And that again is kind of what life is all about. And just like life we’re kind of figuring out as we as we go along. So holding you in grief, holding you in joy, and thanks for listening.
A deep honor and a joy to be here this afternoon to join these words and this music to this day of tikkun, this day of repair. May all of the voices, the drums, the bells, the guitar, join together in transformation.
The piece our choir is about to sing, Va’ani Tefilati, is taken from the morning liturgy in the Jewish tradition. It is one of the first prayers that we recite, and serves in communal worship as a means to bless the physical space we are in and prepare ourselves for the holy work of the prayer service.
Prior to becoming liturgy, though, these words were scripture. Indeed the prayer itself is not composed, but a compilation of several biblical verses woven together by the ancient rabbis.
The first verse of this composition is from Psalm 69, verse 14. And is translated as: “As for me, may my prayer come to You, O ETERNAL One, at a favorable moment; O God, in Your abundant faithfulness, answer me with Your sure deliverance.” It is a petition that the prayer that is to come be received, timely, worthy, and—especially—answered. It is a hope that our prayer be an inspiration for redemption.
The Hebrew though is interesting: The phrase in the Hebrew for “as for me, may my prayer come to you,” is va’ani tefilati lecha. And in reflecting on this, the composer of this musical setting, Rabbi Josh Warshawsky, offers the following interpretation, that rather than “may my prayer come to you, “the words, ‘va’ani tefilati lecha’ can be loosely translated as, ‘And I am a prayer to You.’ What does it mean for each one of us to literally BE a prayer?” he writes. “How can we serve as a source of hope, a source of gratitude, a source of love to ourselves and to those around us?”
Amen to that. For the best of our prayers are the ones that lead to action. The best of our prayers are the ones that are not only directed outward towards God, but inward towards ourselves. The best of our prayers are the ones that lay out a vision of healing and redemption and peace that we then bring into reality.
And the second verse serves as an example of this. The second verse of this liturgy is drawn from the book of Numbers in the Torah, from the story of Balaam (you know, the one that features the talking donkey). In the story, the King of Moab, Balak, hires Balaam to curse the Israelites who are on their journey through the desert from Egyptian slavery. Balak, the text says, v’yakatz mipnei bnai Yisrael–“dreaded the Israelites.” But when Balaam looks out upon the Israelite encampment, he is so overcome that he is unable to curse the people, but blesses them instead using the words mah tovu ohalecha yaakov mishkenotecha Yisrael–“How fine are your tents, O Jacob: your dwelling places, O Israel.”
And we include these words in our liturgy because we are blessing our own tents, our own sanctuaries and gathering places. But also, I suggest, by invoking the words of Balaam something deeper is happening. In this moment, Balaam becomes our teacher, for he serves as an example of one who is able to transform curse into blessing. One who is able to overcome bias and hatred and see the humanity of the other. One who turns evil intent into righteous action.
So let this be our prayer. And let us BE the prayer.
Let us know that healing and wholeness and peace are possible:
When we look back and remember and acknowledge the past, and yet focus forward and commit to a better future.
When we recognize difference and when we prioritize relationship, especially with our immediate neighbors and community.
When we know and can see that each one of us is in pain, and we when we refuse to dehumanize the other.
And when we remember that each one of us is deserving of blessing, and that each one of us can be that blessing for each other.
Rabbi 360 
Thanks for continuing the conversation!