Rabbi Howard Morrison

The well is a significant place in Sefer Berishit - the book of Genesis. Isaac comes from "Be'er Lachai Roi - the well of the vision of life" when he meets Rebecca and is destined to marry her. That narrative was read in last week's Parsha.

The origin of that well appears when God appears to Hagar and Yishmael in the Parsha we read two weeks ago. 

The well is also a place of meeting. Abraham's servant meets Rebecca by a well enroute to fixing her up with Isaac, as we read one week ago.

 In next week's Parsha, Jacob will meet Rachel at a well.

In this week's portion of Toldot, we find many references to wells, but in a disheartening manner. In our first scene, after Isaac had become wealthy and blessed by God, the Philistines stopped up all the wells which Isaac's father Abraham had dug, filling them with earth. Avimelech, king of the Philistines, says to Isaac, "Go away from us, for you have become far too big for us." Is this remark one of propaganda and a Biblical form of Jew-hatred, comparable to Pharaoh in the book of Shemot-Exodus when he says that the Israelites have become too numerous and populous for us?????

"So, Isaac departed from there and encamped in the wadi of Gerar, where he settled. Isaac dug anew the wells which had been dug in the days of his father Abraham and which the Philistines had stopped up after Abraham's death, and he gave them the same names that his father had given them. But when Isaac's servants, digging in the wadi, found there a well of spring water, the herdsmen of Gerar quarreled with Isaacs herdsmen, saying, 'The water is ours.' Isaac named that well Esek, because they contended with him. And when they dug another well, they disputed over that one also, so he named it Sitnah (hostility). Isaac moved from there and dug yet another well, and they did not quarrel over it; so, he called it Rehovot, saying, 'Now at last the Lord has granted us ample space to increase in the land (Genesis 26:17-22)." 

Time and time again, Isaac had to dig and re-dig wells based on hatred coming from his Philistine and Gerar neighbors. In a legendary Midrash, which is cited in the Artscroll commentary, the three wells dug by Isaac refer to three Temples in Jewish history. The first was destroyed because of Esek, contention with the nations of the time. The second was destroyed because of Sitnah, hostility from the nations of the time. The third yet to be built, will be based on Rehovot, when contention and hostility will be things of the past. I would add that the first two Temples were also destroyed because of contention and hostility which resulted from strife within the echelons of the Jewish people.

Now, I am not proposing a third Temple will be built now or anytime soon. Just a few months ago, Israelis were sharply divided over governmental concerns. Over the last several weeks, however, Israelis and Jews around the world are united as never before because our very Statehood and survival as a people are at stake. I pray that this unity will remain not only in the weeks to come, but in months and years to come.

It is noteworthy that as we read about the wells called contention and hostility that one of the first places massacred by Hamas was Kibbutz Be'eri, which literally means "My well." I have read and heard that the residents are eager to reinhabit their Kibbutz and rebuild their homes and their community, symbolic of a resilient people. 

In the Biblical events surrounding a well and in the events of our time, I pray for when the well will always be known as Be'er Lachai Roi, literally, the well for life and where God sees me. This is the place where Hagar was blessed by God. This is the place at which Isaac lifted up his face and saw Rebecca. The fact that the same well is mentioned in separate narratives with Hagar and Isaac prompts the Midrash to suggest that Isaac went to Be'er Lachai Roi because he knew Hagar was there and brought her back for Abraham to marry her after Sarah's death.

We need a Be'er, a well, a place in the world, which will be defined by love, blessing, peace, and promise.

Shabbat Shalom

After Rebecca instructs Jacob to dress himself as Esau and receive his father's blessing, we read the visually impaired Isaac's response, "Ha'Kol Kol Yaakov V'Ha'Yadayim Ydai Esav - The voice is the voice of Jacob, and the hands are the hands of Esau."

Our Sages interpret this verse as follows: " When the voice of Jacob is weak, the hands of Esau dominate, but when the voice of Jacob is strong, his voice dominates."

The way of the Jewish people is through the voice, whereas others rely on the violence of their hands. We Jews fight back, as Israel is doing defensively, when there is no alternative.

The voice is the voice of Jacob - All Jews must speak loudly and clearly with our voices. We must educate ourselves and others about the history and authenticity of Israel. We must denounce the propaganda and the blood-libel lies.

The voice is the voice of Jacob - We Jews are speaking and must continue to speak in one shared collective voice.

The voice is the voice of Jacob - We Jews must assertively speak to elected officials, media representatives, university administrators, lawmakers, clergy and adherents of diverse faiths, and others with moral clarity. What is at stake is light versus darkness, right versus wrong, and righteousness versus evil.

For some four thousand years, we, the people of Jacob-Israel, have been known by the accuracy and integrity of our unified voice.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Howard Morrison

This evening, I am wearing a yellow badge with the words "Never Again." When I saw Israel's U.N. delegates do so a couple of weeks ago, I was very moved. The badge itself reminds us of the horrors of the Shoah which, according to many, became acceptable on the night of November 9, 1938, when Jewish homes, shops, and synagogues were smashed, burned, and destroyed without any form of social protest or legal consequence.

Ever since October 7th, we are seeing some parallels. People around the world, even in Toronto, Montreal, and other parts of Canada, are verbally and physically beating up on Jews, accosting Jewish students at universities, defacing Jewish institutions, propagandizing with blood liberal rhetoric, all without any social protest or legal consequence.

The essential lesson we learned from the Shoah are the words "Never Again." More than a slogan, "Never Again" is now. We have a State of Israel since 1948. We have Jews of all backgrounds and persuasions who have united as never before because we have learned the lesson that "Never Again" is now.

I urge us all to be pro-active in as many ways as possible: Donating funds, preparing materials and goods through organizations which will ensure they go directly to Israel, recite Psalms and prayers, attend synagogue, support Israeli and Jewish owned establishments, get involved legally and politically, and more.

Tonight, we remember history. We must also learn from history and take action right now. "Im Lo Achshav Eimatai - If not now, when (Pirkei Avot)."

Am Yisrael Chai

Chazak Ve'Ematz

Yachad Ne'Natzeach

Rabbi Howard Morrison

Today, Thursday November 9th, is the anniversary of Kristallnacht, the night of broken glass, in 1938. Many people associate this tragic date and events with the beginnings of the Shoah. Jewish homes, shops, and synagogues were smashed and burned, along with all kinds of edicts legislated against the Jewish people. One cannot help but feel that kind of hatred once again with the rise of Jew-hatred around the world and in the support of Hamas, which murdered over 1400 innocent lives on October 7^th and which took well over two hundred hostages, including young children and the elderly.

On this coming Shabbat, November 11th, we will commemorate Remembrance Day. At the eleventh hour, we will pause and reflect on the memories of all those Canadians who made the ultimate sacrifice fighting for our freedoms today.

Next Shabbat, I will proudly wear the poppy, a State of Israel tie, and a yellow star badge bearing the words, "Never Again." I am proud to be a Canadian. I am proud to be a Jew. Am Yisrael Chai!

Rabbi Howard Morrison

It is impossible not to read today's parsha with one eye without keeping another eye on Israel and the Jewish world.

We are introduced to the relationship of Yitzchak and Yishmael. Yishmael is "Metzachek" on Yitzchak. The meanings are vast. He made sport of, made fun of, abused in some way - all really bad - So bad that while Abraham is unsure what to do, Sarah has moral clarity. Yishmael and Hagar must be banished for the sake of Yitzchak. God says to Abraham to listen to Sarah's voice. 

This text reverberates for us. Yitzchak is the Jewish people. Yishmael for us right now represents a particular evil segment neighboring Israel called Hamas. Listen to Sarah's voice. The latter cannot be allowed to be Metzachek on Yitzchak.

Let's analyze the most perplexing chapter of the entire Torah, the binding of Yitzchak. Books have been written on it. A modern etiological approach suggests that this narrative points to the litmus test distinction between the ethos of Abraham versus the world. The Abrahamic Hebrew way will never allow for the killing of children to worship God. Animal offerings are Biblically instituted as a substitute. This while the pagans of the time killed children in their worship.

The Jewish people revere human life, especially as it pertains to our children. The evil despots show no regard to protecting their children toward their fundamentalist beliefs 

Today, an empty chair adorns our Bimah. Surrounded by a Tallit and Siddur, symbols of faith and hope, the sign reads, "BRING THE HOSTAGES HOME." They are all our children.

With so much anti-Jewish hatred here and around the world, we pray for all our children. It is no accident that once our patriarchs become a nation, we are called Bnai Yisrael, the Children of Israel.

May the hostages come home soon and safely, and may all the Children of Israel be safe in Israel and around the world 

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Howard Morrison

God singles out Abram (later - Abraham) to start a unique way of life based on belief in one God and a particular set of norms. Known As "Avram Ha'Ivri - Abram the Hebrew," Ivri literally means one who stands on one side, while others stand on another side.

Sadly, and tragically, many Jews feel all alone and isolated right now, notwithstanding that the crisis began with unprovoked acts of savagery and barbarism initiated by Hamas on October 7th.

In Parshat Lecha Lecha, God promises to Abram the land of Canaan-Israel as a major feature of an eternal covenant. For four thousands years, we Jews have called Israel our home physically and spiritually. For Diaspora Jews like myself, we feel like the medieval Judah Ha'Levi, who famously said, "Libi B'Mizrach - My heart is in the East (Israel)."

While much of the world protests against Israel and aligns itself with Hamas for reasons I will never understand, there is moral clarity here. Hamas uses children to protect weapons. Israel uses weapons to protect children. Hamas attacked innocent civilians with such brutality as rape, decapitation, hanging, mutilation and other acts of graphic savagery. Conversely, Israel uses many forms of media outreach to warn civilians in Gaza to get out of harm's way. It becomes the responsibility of those living in Gaza, Egypt, and the Arab world to secure safe passages of entry. Israel's only goal, completely moral, is to eradicate Hamas.

While we Jews may not feel the blessings given by God to Abram right now, the Torah does state "Those who bless you will be blessed, and those who curse you shall be cursed."

Chazak Ve'Ematz - We the Jewish people must be strong and courageous during these overwhelming times.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Howard Morrison

A colleague of mine relates a lesson he had with his high school students. If you found yourself visiting an island on the other side of the world and the inhabitants worshiped with human sacrifice, what would you do? Most of the students responded that while they would not believe in such a thing, they would not intrude on the ritual practice of another culture. We have our truth, and they have theirs.

Really? Is all morality relative?

Can it simply be that we call Hamas pure evil, and their followers call them resistance fighters, freedom fighters, fighters for decolonization? And all is morally relative?

Can it simply be that there is a moral equivalence between Hamas monsters, not killing, but murdering peace lovers at a concert? babies, some barely out of their mother's wombs? hurling grenades in bomb shelters filled with innocent people? torching bodies? abducting elderly Holocaust survivors?  That all of this equivalent to an Israel Defense Force patiently and with calculation seeking to eradicate only evil and not innocent life?

Can it simply be that an Israeli nation compelled to defend its own be expected to have an equal obligation to defend innocent civilians who are being purposely used as pawns, propaganda, and as human shields by evil Hamas?

Can it simply be that when Hamas or Egypt refuses to provide refuge for civilians that Israel be the one condemned for not being humanitarian?

If there is one lesson that Parshat Noach teaches us, it is that there are some absolutes in life for all humanity. Noach is not considered the first Jew. That will be Abraham, whose saga begins next week. Noach is considered the father of all humanity. After evil is allegedly flooded from the world, and a rainbow is brought in as a sign that God will never flood the world again, seven universal norms are introduced according to Jewish tradition so that basic decency and ethics will govern all mankind. The first of these seven universal norms is the prohibition of murder. The Parsha is very clear; "Whoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed, for in His image did God make man (Genesis 9:6)."

It is sad and tragic that all over the world, even in Canada and the U.S., there are politicians, journalists, academics, and even clergy who refuse to call Hamas terrorists; who refuse to specifically refer to Israel and Jews as the victims of monster-like savagery and barbarism; who even before Israel began to respond argued for a proportional response, whatever that means.

One journalist, from England, perhaps gave the best definition of a proportional response in a rhetorical way. Perhaps, then, Israel should look for a peace festival and murder everyone there. Perhaps, then, Israel should look for a bomb shelter and hurl a grenade at those inside trying to survive. Perhaps, then, Israel should look for a Kibbutz and murder babies and burn parents of children. Oh! But there would be no peace festivals or protective bomb shelters or kibbutzim of ethically minded people under the tryanny of Hamas.

Rabbi Angela Budahl, the senior rabbi of Central Synagogue, a large Reform synagogue in Manhattan, laments that after all the work she has done in multi-faith clergy dialogue, she could not find one Christian or Muslim body of clergy to call out unconditionally the evil perpetrated by Hamas, which was directed at Israelis/at Jews. She is not alone!

At last week's meeting here of the Toronto Board of Rabbis, we, an organization of rabbis from all the streams of Judaism, were admittedly chagrined that we had not received any outreach from any organization of local clergy. In years past, when churches or mosques were attacked, we rabbis formed rings of solidarity around non-Jewish congregations to show our concern and compassion for all people created in God's image. We were so saddened and upset that we posted a statement of our anger and frustration, which I will share with you now:

An Open Letter to Canadian Faith Leaders

From the Toronto Board of Rabbis

On October 7, Hamas slaughtered over 1300 Israelis and abducted more than 150. They kidnapped children, tortured elderly Holocaust survivors, murdered entire families, slew over 250 concertgoers, paraded the dead as war trophies, and did unspeakably worse. It was the largest murder of Jews on a single day since the Holocaust. These are indisputable facts. 

We are grateful to those of you, our colleagues, who have reached out to us, and we thank you for your ongoing comfort and support. For those who have kept quiet, we who formed Rings of Peace around your churches and mosques when terror struck your communities must ask: Where are you? Your silence is both sobering and clarifying.

Some of you have issued statements. Distressingly, many minimize Hamas’s massacre of innocents by decrying violence “on both sides,” woefully failing to recognize the moral distinction between those who butcher and those who are butchered, between intentional carnage and self-defense against that carnage. Like you, we also pray for the safety of all civilians and for peace. However, Hamas is a Canadian-designated terrorist organization whose stated goal is the annihilation of Jews. Their callous disregard for life extends even to their own people. There are no “two sides” to that reality.

We call upon Canadian faith leaders and organizations to unequivocally condemn Hamas for their murder, torture, and kidnapping of Jews and non-Jewish Israelis, permanent residents, and tourists; to call for the immediate return of hostages; and to denounce the horrifying and deeply un-Canadian displays of support for Hamas in our streets and online. Since Hamas claims to act in the name of Islam, we especially call upon leaders within the Muslim community to speak out publicly against these inhumane acts of terror. 

Your Jewish friends and neighbours are suffering. We hope we can count you as our allies. We, your colleagues in spiritual leadership, await your response.

My friends, if you were to visit an island on the other side of the world only to see human sacrifice taking place, I hope that you would not consider that act to be appropriate to a particular place or culture. Unprovoked murder is MURDER, "Shefichut Damim," the spilling of blood, and is forbidden for all humanity.

At this time, Israel's goal is to eradicate an evil whose purpose is to murder Jews here, there, and everywhere. Israel's purpose is not to hurt anyone else. The fact that Israel warns a citizenry with texts, leaflets from the sky, and a delayed ground response are all evidence of Israel's concern for life.

As Golda Meir famously said - if only they would care for their children more than wanting to murder our children.

Shabbat Shalom!
Rabbi Howard Morrison

One cannot help but care for and reach out to survivors of the horrors unleashed over a week ago in Israel. families have lost parents, siblings, children, grandchildren, and grandparents. Families have watched death take place in front of their eyes graphically. Families have learned minutes or hours later the terrible fates of loved ones. Some of our people are survivors in a literal sense. All of Israel and the Jewish people are survivors. We are all walking in a fog, feeling helpless, and paralyzed.

In this week's Torah portion, we read about the very first survivor, Noach. He witnessed an entire world rooted out in a flood. While Noach is known for his righteousness at the outset of the parsha, he turns to alcoholism after the flood when he considers all that has transpired.

Tragically, we are a people of survivors. Many of our parents and grandparents survived the horrors of the Shoah. It is unbearable to think of Holocaust survivors now having to hear about the evil of Hamas and feeling like survivors all over again.

I pray that none of us turn to alcohol or other vices to deal with our pain. Turn to your rabbi, to your synagogue, to mental health support provided by UJA-Federation and Jewish Family and Child Services, and other resources in the community. Attend shul and bond spiritually/emotionally with your community.

No one should have to be fearless and brave all alone. We are here for each other. 

Chazak Ve'ematz (Be strong and have courage)

Rabbi Howard Morrison

Over the last couple of years of years I have been deliberating over the topic of performing same sex unions/commitment ceremonies. In recent weeks, I have shared my thinking with our shul’s leadership.

Below, you will see a video in which I share my perspective, and you may also read the background paper on this subject.

I invite the congregation to learn more at an open forum next Tuesday, October 17th at 7 pm in our Chapel.

Background Paper

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Howard Morrsion

Today, Shabbat/Shemini Atzeret concludes the Fall holy day and festival season. Both, Sukkot and Shemini Atzeret are regarded as Zman Simchatenu - the season of our joy. The two holidays are independent and separate. Sukkot, understandably, is a season of joy. It comes a few days after Yom Kippur and is filled with the joyous rituals of the Sukkah and the four species. On Shemini Atzeret, whether it falls out on Shabbat or not, there is no taking of the four species. In addition, there is no obligation to dwell in the Sukkah on this day. So, why is Shemini Atzeret also called a season of our joy?

Our ancestors understood today as a one day holding over. "Atzeret" means to hold back. Thus, after the High Holy Days and Sukkot, God tells the Jewish people to hold back one more day, a twenty-four-hour period about you and Me, like two close friends sitting together. There is no prayer for forgiveness, no prayer for repentance, no specific holiday rituals - Just God and Israel sharing a close bond together for one more day. Now, what can be more joyous than that? Our ancient Sages deduce this interpretation from the fact that in Temple times, the Torah ordained seventy sacrifices to be brought over the seven days of Sukkot, which corresponded to the nations of the world. However, the Torah ordained only one sacrifice to be brought on Shemini Atzeret, to accentuate the bond between God and Israel.

Already for many generations, today's joy is tempered with the recitation of Yizkor. While remembering loved ones should bring back fond memories, Yizkor also provokes sadness in that these loved ones are no longer physically with us. Or, in some cases, our relationships with some loved ones may not have been such a blessing or even marred with acts of physical and/or emotional abuse. 

In our congregation and in many others, Yizkor is also defined by remembering the martyrs of the Shoah, six million brothers and sisters who died a Kiddush Hashem, an act of martyrdom. They died because they were Jews. While Canada was not the most welcoming country during the war; while Canada was noted by much anti-Semitism back in the day; the fact of the matter is that many Holocaust survivors found their place of refuge in Canada, and many of them in the GTA. It in this community, where many survivors came with almost nothing. They began their lives anew, found love, raised families, achieved levels of prosperity. Many survivors who have already left this world also left behind children, grandchildren, and even great grandchildren. Amazing stories of courage and resilience have defined the Canadian Jewish narrative. The success and growth of many synagogues locally, like Beth Emeth, can be attributed in large part to survivors and their families who helped to make our Jewish community what it is today. 

With all of this in mind, the joy associated with Sukkot and Shemini Atzeret is marred even further this year. While the news came out on a Tuesday the day after Yom Kippur, on the preceding Friday between the High Holy Days, our federal government at the insistence of its Speaker of the House of Commons, Anthony Rota, publicly honored and celebrated as a hero a 98-year-old man, Yaroslav Hunka, who was designated as a Ukranian-Canadian war veteran. It was discovered after his being celebrated that this same man served and fought in a voluntary unit under Nazi command. 

As a Jew, I was completely shaken when I heard this news the day after Yom Kippur when preparations for joy were supposed to have begun. I am the child of American born parents. I cannot begin to imagine the shock and anguish found amongst many of you, survivors of the Shoah, along with your children and grandchildren. Our Joy is so deeply diminished on this final day of the Yom Tov season.

In our Beth Emeth recitation of Yizkor, we mention the Nazis with the term, "Yimach Shemam - May their names be blotted." How paradoxical it is this year saying these words when our own country naively honored a Nazi member two weeks ago. While a resignation and apologies have ensued, the emotional and spiritual damage has been done. Never again can such an act happen.

We the Jewish people will recover. We will be fine. That is the feisty nature of the Jewish people. And in spite of it all, two weeks ago and the perils of a 4000-year history, we continue, will continue and must continue celebrating the joy of our heritage. We can not let our legitimate pain prevent us from celebrating the joy of being Jewish.

And so, I say today - ZMAN SIMCHATENU - THE SEASON OF OUR JOY AND CELEBRATION.

Chag Sameach,
Rabbi Howard Morrison

A stolen Lulav and my lesson in humility

 The story I want to share is true and personal. I had been accepted into the rabbinical school of the Jewish Theological Seminary in the Spring of 1982 to begin taking classes in the Fall. The six-year program began with introductory Talmud. After attending a Yeshiva day school and continuing Talmud study in private settings, I asked the dean of the school what I could do to begin with the more advanced second year Talmud class. Easy, he said, just prepare any thirty pages of Talmud and be examined by one of our Talmud professors.

I took a few weeks to review a chapter of Talmud I had learned in day school. It was the third chapter in the tractate called Sukkah. The third chapter is entitled, "Lulav Ha'Gazul - the stolen lulav," based on the opening teaching in the chapter. An appointment was made for me to come from Boston to New York to take an oral exam on that chapter. The dean of the school had me meet with a professor I did not know of at the time, Rabbi David Weiss Halivni. When I entered his office, he was not aware of the material I had prepared. With the Talmud book sitting in my knapsack, I told him the chapter I had learned. Right away, he began asking me questions about a particular text on a particular page. He was asking me by heart. I was overwhelmed. Little did I know that this man had a photographic memory and knew the entire Talmud, thousands of pages, by heart. I explained to him with trepidation that I had LEARNED   the chapter but did not MEMORIZE it. He allowed me to open up the Aramaic text.

Shaking in my boots the whole time which felt like an eternity, really 30 minutes, Rabbi Weiss Halivni told me that I passed, and that I would begin the Fall semester with the second year Talmud class.

Less than two years ago, Rabbi Weiss Halivni passed away while living in Israel. Years earlier, he was awarded the Talmud prize by the Jewish Agency in Israel. He was a scholar and a mentch. I was blessed to have known him, and I was humbled, more than anything else, when I was examined by him in his office before I knew anything about the man.

The chapter I had learned begins with a question - May one use a stolen lulav to observe the Mitzvah on Sukkot? While the answer seems so logical, the Talmud examines this question like most others from all kinds of angles. What I really like about the teaching is that ritual law and ethics come together. The Sages introduce a concept called Mitzvah Ha'Ba'ah B'Aveira. The fulfillment of a commandment that comes as result of a transgression disqualifies the fulfillment of the Mitzvah. One cannot steal a Lulav and recite the appropriate blessing over it.

On the first day that we take the Lulav, which will be tomorrow, one must own the lulav he or she is using. For those who do not bring their own, we will "gift" to you a lulav for the purpose of the blessing, and then you will "gift" it to someone else who did not bring a lulav. On all the remaining days, one may borrow a lulav.

The teaching about a stolen lulav had practical implications a few years later at my rabbinical seminary. The school had built a tremendous new library on the campus which cost lots of money. The project was underwritten by a board member who was financially successful. His name was Ivan Boesky. After the gift was given, and after the library was built, it was discovered that he was guilty of financial improprieties. A library of all kinds of sacred Jewish books was largely established from a proverbial stolen lulav. What to do??? Without getting into details, one of the consequences for Mr. Boesky was for him to become an auditing student and tell of his tale to the seminary community. Teshuva and recompense did take place in this and other ways.

When the Festival of Sukkot begins, I am always reminded of my first rabbinical school experience - a lesson in modesty for me from a great sage of the 20th-21^st century and a lifelong lesson in the ethical underpinnings of Jewish law and tradition, all of which started with the title of Tractate Sukkah, chapter 3, Lulav Ha'Gazul - the stolen lulav.

Chag Sameach!

A Minyan is more than individuals

The word minyan literally means a number. The concept of Minyan means a community of equally obligated Jews. In prayer, the Minyan number of ten symbolizes the minimum needed for the presence of community. A Minyan is required for the fullness of a community worship service. A Minyan is required for the fullness of a wedding ceremony. A Minyan is required for the recitation of the mourner's Kaddish, where a mourner sanctifies God's name and remembers the merit of a loved one in a communal setting. In the vastness of the Jewish world, depending on the circumstance and the religious ideology, the Minyan may require ten men, ten women, or be a combination of the two. 

During the height of the pandemic, among other things, we felt the pain of not having the presence of a real physical Minyan. Not being able to recite the familiar Kaddish was frustrating to many of us. Even in more liberal settings, where the familiar Kaddish was recited in a Zoom only service, not actually being in shul surrounded by others was frustrating.

In the cold of Winter or in the heat of Summer, pre and post pandemic, we have felt the sting of being one or two short of a Minyan. Those present know the feeling of frustration. Whether it be in an Orthodox setting, a traditional setting, or an egalitarian setting, that experience of being just short of a Minyan is also one of frustration. Even in big shuls where morning services, Shabbat and Festival services, boast of large enough turnouts, many of us here feel the sense of loss when we do not have a Minyan - the prayer service is abbreviated and the familiar Kaddish is not recited.

Now imagine the plight of a small congregation which has educated all of its members to attend as frequently as possible for the risk of not attaining a Minyan. Imagine a small shul which has its core group of Minyan regulars who keep the services going week after week, and year after year. Then, imagine, when shockingly and suddenly your core group has been assassinated, slaughtered, in their familiar house of worship. Your Minyan is gone. Other members, actively or peripherally involved, are afraid to attend - No Minyan, No Kaddish, No Torah service, No wedding, etc.

The power of ten is the power of community. Thus, when Robert Powers, an American white supremacist, murdered 11 worshipping Jews at the Pittsburgh synagogue in 2018, he did more than murder eleven individuals. He did more than raise the concerns of gun violence, the death penalty, and the free exercise of religion. As a Summer article in the New York Times put in its headline, "The Pittsburgh gun man didn't just kill eleven Jews. He killed a Minyan." That particular Minyan has yet to re-establish itself five years later.

During the martyrology of Yom Kippur, we recite "Eleh Ezkerah - These do I remember" - Ten famous Sages, a Minyan of rabbis, who helped to formulate our tradition and who were brutally slain by the Romans.

Fast forward to the Shoah - We remember six million slaughtered men, women, and children. We remember synagogues, communities, Minyanim forever vanquished.

 I will never forget our Beth Emeth trip to Poland in 2015. We brought moments of life to destroyed synagogues when we would pray one of the daily services at the remnant of what was once a shul. 

I will never forget our Beth Emeth trip to Spain and Portugal in 2019. We brought moments of life to destroyed synagogues when we would pray one of the daily services at the remnant of what was once a shul, destroyed during the inquisition or some other dark chapter of our history.

When we recite Yizkor in a few minutes, we will lovingly remember precious individuals. We will also remember communities and Minyanim of Beth Emeth which span almost the last seven decades. 

The Talmudic origins of ten being the requisite number for a communal prayer Minyan are found in a few sources. When God informs Abraham about the impending destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, God is willing to spare the cities if ten righteous are found among them. The reunification of Joseph and his family begins when ten sons of Jacob sojourn to Egypt from Canaan during a famine to procure food. Had ten tribal chieftains believed in God's promise about the promised land, there would never have been a forty year wandering in the wilderness.

On this most sacred day of the year, we pray and remember the righteous of our shul. 

We pray and remember the martyrs of the Shoah. 

We pray and remember those lost to old age, poor health, or hatred in all chapters of Jewish history.

We pray and remember small shuls which either have difficulty or can no longer attain a Minyan. 

We pray and remember larger shuls, like our own, which struggle at times to attain a Minyan.

We pray and remember that a small but viable shul in Pittsburgh had its Minyan killed by an anti-Semitic white supremacist. 

We pray for the day when all synagogues of all streams of Judaism will have a healthy Minyan in whatever way a Minyan is defined at all occasions.

I am grateful for the hundreds, if not over a thousand, who have joined us this day in person or on livestream to ensure the continued perpetuation of our Beth Emeth Bais Yehuda Hebrew Men of England congregation.

I wish us all Gmar Chatimah Tovah.
Rabbi Howard Morrison

WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO BE RELIGIOUS?

If, as I mentioned yesterday, Rosh Hashanah commemorates the birth of humanity, why do our Torah readings for Rosh Hashanah not come from the opening pages of Genesis? Rather, our Biblical passages originate from the early experiences of the very first Jewish family, Abraham and Sarah. While Genesis chapter 1 is universal and predates Jewish history, the stories of Abraham and Sarah inaugurate the Jewishness of the Torah. Perhaps the specificity of the Jewish people explains the ancient choice for the Rosh Hashanah Torah readings.

Abraham and Sarah are the originators of the Jewish way of life. Together, they recognize the Oneness of God. Together, they provide an open tent to all who want to be divinely inspired. Together, they welcome passersby and those in need into their tent. Yet, they are not perfect. By definition, all people, even those who call themselves religious, are imperfect human beings. Abraham and Sarah do not come off so well in their treatment of Hagar and Ishmael, who are banished from the family. At face value, Abraham does not come off so well in taking his son Isaac up to the mountain for a near slaughter. The age-old question of why Abraham can challenge God about wiping out Sodom and Gomorrah but not challenge God about what might happen to Isaac continues to be an age-old question of generations on the subject.

With all the imperfection, Abraham and Sarah are the progenitors of Judaism. Their open tent becomes the model for the Jewish home and for the synagogue. Four thousand years later, the Jewish home and the synagogue are still here and continue to provide the best guarantees of Jewish meaning, purpose, and vitality. Yet, the Jewish home, the synagogue, and affiliation with Jewish life are in peril, and not because of the pandemic. Traditional Jewish practice in the home has waned in the 20th-21st century. Affiliation and volunteer involvement in synagogue have waned in recent years. The word religion or religious has become a negative word for many people.

When I was ordained in 1987, one of my classmates was David Wolpe, the son on a congregational rabbi himself. David was our class valedictorian at our ordination ceremony. He has gone on to write many books and has recently retired after many years as senior rabbi of the Sinai Temple in Los Angeles. This past Summer, his public retirement article, entitled, "As a Rabbi, I've had a privileged view of the human condition," has gone viral.

Here are some excerpts from his meaningful essay:

For over a quarter of a century now, I have listened to people's stories, sat by their bedsides as life slipped away, buried their parents, spouses, sometimes their children. Marriages have ended in my office, as have engagements. I have watched families as they say cruel, cutting things to one another, or just as devastating, refuse to say anything at all. I have seen the iron claw of grief scrape out the insides of mourners, grip their windpipes, blind their eyes so that they cannot accept the mercy of people or of God. . . . I have come to several realizations. All of us are wounded and broken in one way or another. Those who do not recognize it in themselves or in others are more likely to cause damage than those who realize and try to rise through the brokenness. This is what binds together a faith community. No religious tradition, certainly not my own, looks at an individual and says: "There, You are perfect." it is humility and sadness and striving that raises us, doing good that proves the tractability of the world and its openness to improvement, and faith that allows us to continue through the shared valleys.

I have had a privileged view of the human condition, and the essential place of religion on that hard road. Sometimes it seems, for those outside of faith communities, that religion is simply about a set of beliefs to which one assents. But I know that from the inside it is about relationships and shared vision. Where else do people sing together week after week? Where else does the past come alive to remind us how much has been learned before the sliver of time we are granted in this world?

I know the percentage of those who not only call themselves religious but also find themselves in religious communities declines each year. . . . Keeping a congregation together has never been easy. . . . Two practices have enabled us to stay together. Over the years, I have encouraged people to learn about each other's lives. . . . The second is listening. We, who do not know ourselves, believe we understand others. We must always be reminded that each person is a world.

I still believe the synagogue is a refuge for the bereaved and provides a road map for the seeker. I have been moved by how powerful that teachings of tradition prove to be in people's lives, helping them sort out grievances from grief, focusing on what matters, giving poignancy to celebrations. The stories of the Torah, read year after year, wear grooves in our souls, so that patterns of life that might escape us become clear. Sibling rivalries and their costs are clear in the story of Jacob and Esau, Joseph and his brothers. The consequences of kindness emanate from the book of Ruth. We share unanswerable questions with Job and passion with Song of Songs. The Torah acts as a spur and a salve.

Religion may be on the decline . . . but if you wish to se the full panoply of a human life, moments of ecstatic joy and deepest sorrow, the summit of hopes and the connections of community, they exist concentrated in one place: Your local house of worship.

I only wish I could speak and write as beautifully and as meaningfully as my classmate and colleague, Rabbi David Wolpe. I look out at you. I look into the livestream camera knowing who you are. I know that in my twenty-three years at Beth Emeth and in my thirty-six years in the rabbinate that I have seen and experienced everything that Rabbi Wolpe has seen and experienced. With many of you, I have come to learn, understand, and respect your lives, as you have done with me. When we are commanded to HEAR the Shofar and not BLOW the Shofar, we are taught the importance of listening to each other completely and not blowing empty words at each other. It is appropriate that the origin of the Shofar is found in the Torah reading for Rosh Hashanah. We do not sacrifice our children or others on the proverbial altar. The ram's horn teaches us to listen, to love, and to care with and for each other.

It is time to reclaim the words religion and religious. They are not limited to external garments or a fixed set of beliefs and practices. They are about cultivating homes, synagogues, and lives that are predicated on striving to be the best we can be even while being imperfect beings; on finding moments of meaning in celebration and in sorrow; and in being there for each other.

I wish us all Shanah Tovah U'Metuka.
Rabbi Howard Morrison

Today is 9/11. We all knew where we were in 2001 when the tragic news reached us. On a Tuesday, I was teaching the sisterhood weekly class at that time.
I remember over 3000 fallen souls from disparate locations.
I remember the clergy led memorial service performed in our shul.
I remember learning after the fact that my brother walked from near the New York destruction to New Jersey to get home safely.
I remember the acts of kindness performed by so many volunteers.
Tonight, the Yankees play the Red Sox. While I have my loyalty, it is good to live normal lives and play ball. 
May we remember the New Yorkers and others who lost their lives on 9/11.

Rabbi Howard Morrison

At the outset of this week's Parsha, we read the first story to be told by our people when they are to enter the land of Israel. While participating in a dramatic first fruits ceremony, a liturgical history is recounted, beginning with the words, "My father was a wandering Aramean. . . " These words harken back to either Abraham or Jacob, depending on one's interpretation. The narrative goes on to briefly summarize how our ancestors came to Egypt, were oppressed, but were ultimately liberated. The story concludes with taking care of the needy and celebrating in gratitude God's gifts. 

This brief story became the highlight of Shavuot when our people literally celebrated the holiday with first fruits when the Temple stood. In a post Temple age, our rabbinic Sages inserted this same Biblical text as the KeyPoint narrative in the Pesach Haggadah, which is recited to this very day.

Next week begins the Selichot season. Rosh Hashanah is two weeks away. What has been your story for the past year? Have you enabled all or part of it to come true? What will be your story for yourself, your family, and your community for the coming year?

As we read perhaps the single most poignant summary of Biblical Jewish life, history, and values in this week's Parsha, may our contemporary Jewish narrative augment the story and stories of our people's 4000 years of Jewish storytelling.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Howard Morrison