“Welcome Home”- Shabbat HaGadol, Friday, April 19, 2024

May the door of this synagogue be wide enough to receive all who hunger for love, all who are lonely for fellowship.
May it welcome all who have cares to unburden, thanks to express, hopes to nurture.

I began our worship tonight with these beautiful words of welcome. Here at Temple Beth Israel, we open our doors to those who wish to join us to pray, to study, to celebrate – to be part of something special and greater than themselves. Our numbers are growing – people of all ages and backgrounds. To all of you, I say: Welcome home!

This Shabbat marks a “welcome home” for all the Jewish people everywhere. We call it “Shabbat HaGadol,” or the Great Sabbath – the Shabbat that falls right before Passover. Passover marks the exodus of our people from bondage in Israel, as Moses led us out into the wilderness and to the foot of Mount Sinai to enter into our eternal covenant with God. Passover is just the beginning of this journey that eventually brought us into the Promised Land. But it marks God’s four-fold promise to us, as we recite each year in the Passover Seder:

I am יהוה. I will free you from the labors of the Egyptians and deliver you from their bondage. I will redeem you with an outstretched arm and through extraordinary chastisements. And I will take you to be My people, and I will be your God. And you shall know that I, יהוה, am your God who freed you from the labors of the Egyptians.[1]

Freedom. Deliverance. Redemption. These are much on the minds of Israelis on this Shabbat HaGadol. Especially redemption. With 133 hostages still being held in Gaza – a number of them believed to be dead already – redemption of the hostages, one of the most important mitzvot any Jew can perform, is essential for deliverance and freedom for all Jews everywhere.

Our hostages have been, horrifically, used as bargaining chips by Hamas, which bears responsibility not only for their care but also for the well-being of all Palestinians living in Gaza. Clearly, had the international community condemned the atrocities of October 7th on October 8th and demanded that Hamas return the hostages immediately, lay down their weapons and depart Gaza, we would not be in the position we are in today.

But here we are. A terrible loss of life in Gaza. And an estimated 250,000 Israelis, from both the north, where Hezbollah continues its attacks from Lebanon, and the south, the site of mass slaughter, living life as evacuees in Jerusalem and elsewhere in the interior of Israel. Because it is far too dangerous to return home.

We are doing what we can. Remembering those who have died and those who are, hopefully, still alive. Making donations to organizations that are helping care for the sick and the injured and the homeless.

But mah nishtanah ha lielah ha’zeh, how different this night is from all other nights. How different this Passover is from any Passover in our memories!

While we prepare for the traditional “four questions,” Rabbi Yael Levy’s web page, “A Way In,” shares with us four new questions to think about this year:

  1. How do we go out from the narrow perspectives and constricted thoughts that so deeply divide us?
  2. How do we soften our tender, vulnerable hearts in a world of such violence, pain and fear?
  3. How do we cross over into a new way of being in which all people, all life, earth herself, are treated with dignity and sacred care?
  4. What will guide us through this wilderness?[2]

For me, what guides me through the wilderness is what waits for us on the other side.

Earlier, I spoke about the four ways God talks about redemption, which we read in our Haggadah from Exodus, chapter 6. But there’s actually one more, a fifth one, in the very next verse[3]:

“I will bring you into the land which I swore to give to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and I will give it to you for a possession, I יהוה. ”

Oddly, we don’t mention this last one at Passover. I think that’s weird. After all, we will end out seder by proclaiming: “Next year in Jerusalem!” Maybe it didn’t fit into the mold of creating everything in the Seder in fours. Maybe it was dangerous to speak in times gone by of redeeming the Jews from the four corners of the earth[4].

But we should speak it. Because this is the ultimate promise: A return to our promised land. The place where, as God promises us in this week’s special reading from the prophet Malachi:

“Then the offerings of Judah and Jerusalem shall be pleasing to GOD as in the days of yore and in the years of old . . . Lo, I will send the prophet Elijah to you before the coming of the awesome, fearful day of GOD. He shall turn the hearts of parents back to their children and children to their parents.”[5]

As the rabbis teach, this means that Elijah will come to make peace in the world.[6]

That, truly, would be a “welcome home” – for all Israelis and for all Israel.

May this synagogue be, for all who enter, the doorway to a richer and more meaningful life.

And let us say together: Amen.

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©2024 Audrey R. Korotkin

[1] Exodus 6:6-7

[2] https://www.awayin.org/teachings-archive/2024/four-questions-as-we-enter-this-new-season

[3] Exodus 6:8

[4] Isaiah 11:12

[5] Malachi 3:4, 23-24.

[6] Rashi, Eduyot 8;7.

“With a Little Help From My Friends”  Shemini April 5, 2024

“May all your hopes and dreams come to fruition.”

This is the prayer we often shared among my classmates at Hebrew Union College while we were studying, preparing and sharing our lives together 25 years ago. This is the prayer we shared a week ago Thursday, as we gathered in Cincinnati to mark these 25 years and to be honored with our Doctor of Divinity degrees. We meant it with all our hearts – as we had through five years of seminary, and now 25 years in the rabbinate.

We will always be the Class of 1999 – brash, distinctive and uniquely us. Maybe not all our hopes and dreams have come to fruition. But enough of them have that I look around at these friends and colleagues with joy and love: watching them grow up, get married, and have children of their own who now are close to the age that they were when we first met. Watching them learn and grow and be the rabbis they were always meant to be. Yes, I admit, sometimes I feel old. But sometimes, I’d bet, so do they. We are not divided by the years. We are strengthened by them.

The years have not, I should point out, been kind to our alma mater. As many of you know, the class of 2026 will be the last one to be ordained at HUC Cincinnati. The school has decided to shut down the Cincinnati program that has been ordaining rabbis since 1883 and concentrate bi-coastally in New York and Los Angeles. Many of us waged a bitter and losing battle to save Cincinnati. And being on campus last week was bittersweet.

We loved being together with our professors who taught and guided us and remain our teachers and our friends.

But while we were there, we discovered that the dean of the campus was out of a job as of this week, as was the liturgical arts director, as already was the chaplaincy coordinator. And we just discovered within the last few days that Sabbath worship will no longer be held at the Scheuer Chapel, where many of us led prayer, gave sermons, and received our hoods on March 28. Where we learned how to create a true kehillah kedoshah – a holy community.

Creating a holy community is the crux of the sacred work that we do. It is both a gift and a challenge. On this past Wednesday afternoon, our class gathered with two of our beloved teachers in a study session, both to mark our 25 years and to honor the memories of two classmates, Scott Corngold and Marcus Burstein, who have passed away.

Rabbi Shaul Feinberg, who was the dean of the Israel school when we spent our first year there, was thoughtful and positive as ever. Like so many Israelis, he remains horrified by the massacres of October 7th by Hamas and troubled by what is happening in Israel today. He shared with us that there are times when he is pondering all of the sadness and the fear – and, remarkably, comes into a state of gratitude. “Thankfulness for gifts in these difficult moments took me by surprise,” he said. “It seemed out of place.”

Yet he recognized that this gift of thankfulness was not for him alone. It was a gift to be shared. “It is most challenging to be grateful,” he said, as he taught us a lesson from our prayer book. He took us to the final two prayers in our Amidah – the prayer for thankfulness and the prayer for peace – that we just read in our service a few moments ago. They are, he said, in that place for a very good reason.  

“We place these two blessing at the very end,” he said, because “we cannot assume thankfulness and peace will be handed to us on a silver platter” – echoing the words of Israel’s first president, Chaim Weitzman, in 1947. “We read these two blessings as gifts,” he said. “Given [from] our own heart.” Two blessings, two gifts, two challenges, that we must work for – not just pray for. It is our duty – the Jewish duty — to bring gratitude and peace to the world.

We learn this from Scripture, from Torah – and specifically in this week’s portion, Shemini, early on the book of Leviticus. The parashah opens with Moses’ command to the children of Israel: This is the thing that God has commanded you to do, so that the glory of God will appear to you.[1] The Midrash – the rabbis’ interpretations of the Torah – asks:

What does the Torah mean when it states, This is the thing which God commanded that you should do? Nowhere in this passage are we given any commandments that must be fulfilled. Rather, when Moses saw how all the congregation drew near, as a result of which the Shekhinah – the indwelling, nurturing presence of God — rested upon them, he was very moved and said “This” – this brotherly feeling for one another – “is the thing which God commanded you.” If you always act this way, with brotherly love for one another, “the glory of God will appear to you” always.[2]

God knows that gratitude and peace are challenges for us. God asks us to choose them anyway.

In our study session on Wednesday, Dr. Gary Zola, who just retired as the executive director of the American Jewish Archives, charged us with this blessing: “Believe in the glory of our heritage and the promise of our future.”

These past ten days I have celebrated in the glory of our past but worried for the future of our rabbinate. I mourn the loss of a great kehillah kedoshah, which each of us had a hand in building and nourishing.

But what can we do?

That’s the question that our beloved teacher, Dr. Richard Sarason, posed to the congregation last Saturday in the final Sabbath service in Cincinnati’s Scheuer Chapel. He answered it by honoring outgoing dean Rabbi Jonathan Hecht, and outgoing liturgical arts teacher Cantor Yvon Shore. “The most important thing we can do right now,” he said, “is to celebrate our honorees and express to them our ongoing love, care and, above all, gratitude.”

For me, the answer lies in these two final prayers in the Amidah: Thankfulness and peace. We cannot expect them to be handed to us on a silver platter. As we learn in our Torah portion, they take all of us working together to bring them into the world.

May the Torah of light and kindness come to us, O God. May all our hopes and dreams come to fruition. And let us say together: Amen.

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©2024 Audrey R. Korotkin

[1] Leviticus 9:6.

[2] Torah Gems Volume II, compiled by Aharon Yaakov Greenberg, translated by Rabbi Dr. Shmuel Himelstein (Tel Aviv: Yavneh Publishing House, 1992), p. 264.

The Blessings We Bring – Parashat Pekude, Friday, March 15, 2024

As many of you know, I spent the last few days in my hometown of Philadelphia for this year’s meeting of the Central Conference of American Rabbis. I hadn’t been to a CCAR conference since 2019, pre-covid. But since it was in Philly and I could get there by train, I knew I had to go.

I needed to go. And it was as wonderful as I’d hoped it would be. An amazing week of connection for those of us who are trying so hard to lead our congregations and communities through the dark times after the October 7th massacre in Israel. In Jewish life, 10-7 now has the same resonance as 9/11 – not just for us but especially for Israelis and our Israeli colleagues who joined us this week to share their thoughts, their stories, and their prayers. They are caring for their congregations as best they can. We did our best to hear from them, learn from them, and care for them. It was a week of blessing – blessings for ourselves as we blessed each other.

Which takes me to this week’s Torah portion, Pekude, with which we conclude this year’s reading of the Book of Exodus. I believe this portion points to the need we all have for blessings, and how much we deserve them.

I’m sharing some thoughts with you from my friend and mentor, Rabbi Dr. Gary Zola, the Executive Director Emeritus of the American Jewish Archives, who introduced our guest speaker, Dr. Lila Corbin Berman, at our opening program Sunday at the Weitzman National Museum of American Jewish History.

Here’s what Dr. Zola pointed out in our parashah:

“It has been noted,” Dr. Zola said, “that the familiar Hebrew designation, Beit Yisrael, the ‘Household of Israel,’ makes its first literary appearance in the Book of Exodus, where it is linked to two noteworthy events. The phrase is introduced for the first time in Parashat Beshallach, where we read that Beit Yisrael – ‘Household of Israel’ collectively — dubbed the edible substance they ate during their desert travels [as] ‘Manna.’ Beit Yisrael appears for a second time at the conclusion of Exodus, in the portion we read this week, Pekude, where we are informed that the Household of Israel was guided in its desert wanderings by a divine mist by day and an ethereal light by night.
Perhaps,” he said, “this literary happenstance comes to teach us a lesson.”

I think he’s right.

I’m going to suggest that Beit Yisrael, the “household of Israel” could be considered a more inclusive term than B’nai Yisrael, the “children of Israel.” I know that sounds counter-intuitive but hear me out. “B’nai Yisrael” often denotes the actual physical descendants of Yisrael, or the patriarch Jacob.

We see it first after Jacob’s wrestle with the stranger -slash – angel, as an explanation of why the B’nai Yisrael do not eat the meat of the thigh socket.

We see it most prominently at the very beginning of the Book of Exodus, in which we learn that B’nai Yisrael who had settled in Egypt were “prolific.” The new Pharaoh worried to his people that “look, this people, the B’nai Yisrael, are too numerous for us” – as he plans to enslave the Israelites and later to order the death of the male babies.

It’s also the B’nai Yisrael – the children of Israel — who complain about the food, who complain about the journey, who say oh, if only we had died there and not in this godforsaken place in the middle of nowhere![1]

As for Beit Yisrael, the community of Israel, we see it first as God calls manna to fall from heaven so they have the blessing of food wherever they go.

And we see it here, as Torah describes the blessing the people had to be able to follow God through the pillar of cloud by day and fire by night, as our reading of Exodus comes to an end.

Now, the two ways to describe the people are often used interchangeably, often in the same verse. BUT.

If B’nai Israel does indeed mean the children of Israel – and only the children of Israel — it neglects those who come to the community by choice, including the mixed multitudes who fled Egypt with them and accepted the covenant at Sinai. Beit Yisrael, on the other hand, means the entire community – those who were born to it and those who choose to be part of it.

This, in itself, is a great blessing. 

As Dr. Zola concluded:

“Perhaps this literary happenstance comes to teach us a valuable lesson.
The entire collective, the ‘Household of Israel’ – becomes one in
gratitude when we experience essential, foundational blessings in life, the benisons [that is, the blessings] that sustain and guide us as we journey along life’s path.

As we begin our annual conference, let us consider some celebratory thoughts on the blessings that have come to the whole house of Israel — through the sustenance and guidance we have received from our colleagues and our friends.”

This then is, for me, the blessing of Beit Yisrael – the entirety of our community.

  • The blessing of loving one another as we love ourselves.
  • The blessing of singing and praying and reading and eating together with joy and gratitude.
  • The blessing of getting to know new people and welcome them into our homes – including this home right here, our Temple home.
  • The blessing of knowing we are here for one another in times of joy and in times of difficulty.

This is the blessing that I received from my colleagues this week, as we try to cope as best when can in a post 10-7 world. Not all of them belong to B’nai Yisrael. But ALL of them are part of Beit Yisrael, the covenanted community. And this is the blessing that I feel from each one of you.

On Tuesday evening, our evening prayers were led by our Israeli colleagues, who offered new and beautiful blessings for the occasion out of their own prayer book and out of their experiences post 10-7.
I’d like to close with one of those prayers, written by Rabbi Sivan Navon- Shoval. It’s on the handout I gave you before services began. Let’s read it together:

Prayer for These Times

By Rabbi Sivan Navon-Shoval

Our God and God of our ancestors, during these times of trouble and torment watch over us and over our loved ones.

Give us the strength to overcome the pain, suffering and fear that engulf us. Give us a sound mind and a tenacious spirit to maintain our physical and mental health and care for those around us.

Give our defenders on the front lines and on the home front wisdom, strength, courage and resourcefulness. Fortify and guard their hearts and souls in the face [of] the battles and the sights that the mind can barely endure.

Give our leaders reason and wisdom to navigate our people toward security, hope and peace.

May the Shechinah be revealed like a merciful ray of light, hope, holiness and life. May it strengthen our hearts and minds and open paths of healing and recovery, and may we fulfill the verse “Choose life so you and your offspring would live by loving.”[2]

Baruch are you Adonai, who in compassion restores the Shechinah to Zion, bringing life and shalom to all who dwell in Her midst.

And let us say together: Amen.

[1] Exodus 16:3

[2] Deut. 30:19

“But First, We Rest!” Shabbat Vayakhel, Friday, March 8, 2024

I came upon a wonderful old Danny Kaye movie recently called “The Inspector General.” It is, shall we say, “suggested” by a play of the same name by the brilliant Russian writer Nikolai Gogol. Gogol’s play was a satire that played on ideas of greed, stupidity, and the vanity and corruption of the Russian ruling class under the Tsar. The Danny Kaye film incorporates some of this into a great vehicle for a versatile actor who could sing and dance and play the fool with wit and charm.

One big scene involves someone trying to kill Kaye’s character with poison wine. His toast turns into a rollicking musical number in which he, time after time, stops just short of taking a sip when he announces, “But first, we sing!” And they sing. “But first, we play!” And they play. “But first, we dance!” And they dance. Sorry to be the spoilsport, but he never does drink the poisoned wine. But it’s a hilarious and well-directed scene that you can find on YouTube.

The song-and-dance routine reminded me of what’s going on in this week’s Torah portion. The last three weeks’ parashiyot have been a whirlwind of commands from God (take a breath in here): Make the covers for the ark out of gold. Make the table for the offerings of acacia wood. Make elaborate lampstands of hammered gold. Make the tabernacle itself out of linen strips, goats’ hair, and acacia wood planks. Then do the linen curtain that separates the holy Ark from everything else, along with the altar, the eternal lamp, the fine tunics for the priests embedded with jewels, plus the headdresses, the sashes and the fringes. Then rub the priests with fragrant ointments and consecrate them with offerings to God.  (Breathe).

And after all that – after all that — Moses goes up to the mountain, the people are afraid and they have Aaron create a golden calf for them to worship, which makes God (and Moses) very mad.

So okay. Hold your horses. Tonight, God tells us to stop. We take a deep breath. We still have to finish all these things that God commanded us. But here, God says to us very clearly:

“But first, we rest.”

Before one tree is felled. Before one cover is woven. Before one lamp is lit.

Here, at the very beginning of the portion, Moses brings together kol adat b’nai Yisrael – the entire community of the children of Israel – to do one thing first for God:

On six days work may be done, but on the seventh day you shall have a sabbath of complete rest, holy to the Eternal.[1]

 “But first, we rest.”

God orders the prohibition of working on the Sabbath before the command to work on the building of the Mishkan. But why?

Maybe this is God, acknowledging moving a little too fast for the Israelites to cope. Maybe this is God acknowledging pushing Moses – who is frustrated as heck at this point — a little too hard.

God threatened the people with a plague. Moses chastised God for putting too much pressure on him. All the tension built up until neither God nor Moses could take it anymore. So now they all take a chill pill.

“But first, we rest.”

In the rabbinic annals, we are taught:

The Sabbath is the foundation of the entire Torah. If one observes the Sabbath, it is as if he had observed the entire Torah . . . If you succeed in keeping the Sabbath – said the Holy One to Israel – I will account it to you as though you had kept all the commandments . . . [and] whoever observes the Sabbath properly, even if he is idolatrous, is forgiven.[2]

So even after the episode of the Golden Calf, which could have led to God to do away with all the people, God not only forgave them but let them start over again — by taking the people back to the beginning of history itself, the Creation of the world. We rest on the seventh day because God rested on the seventh day. And when we walk the path of God, we are both loved and forgiven.

So first, we rest.

When we all gather together to enjoy and observe Shabbat, maybe God is giving us a hint that we need to let up on ourselves – just as God let up on the Israelites. Maybe God is reminding us that taking care of ourselves is as important as anything else we have going on in our lives. And we have a LOT going on in our lives. But if we don’t care for ourselves, how will we be able to care for everyone else?

In the Book of Proverbs we read:  גֹּמֵל נַפְשׁוֹ אִישׁ חָסֶד The merciful man does good to his own soul.[3]

On this Shabbat, it is time to do good for our own souls. Celebrate. Eat. Study. Walk. Talk.

But first, we rest.

Ken yehi ratson. Be this God’s will and our own mission here on earth. As we say together: Amen.

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©2024 Audrey R. Korotkin

[1] Exodus 25:2.

[2] Torah Gems Volume II, compiled by Aharon Yaakov Greenberg and translated by Rabbi Dr. Shmuel Himelstein (Tel Aviv: Yavneh Publishing House, 1992), p. 227. Sefer Ha-Aggadah The Book of Legends, edited by Hayim Nahman Bialik and Yehoshua Hana Ravnitsky, translated by William G. Braude (New York: Schocken Books, 1992), p. 487.

[3] Proverbs 11:17

“Each Shining Face” Ki Tissa March 1, 2024

In this week’s Torah portion, in the midst of ordering the beautiful vestments of the priests, coordinating the sacrifices to them, and arranging all of the water pans, oils and spices needed for the service of Aaron and his sons, God stops all the activity to make a very odd request. God instructs Moses to take a census of the people.

“When you take a census of the Israelite men according to their army enrollment,” God says, “each shall pay the Eternal a ransom for himself on being enrolled, that no plague may come upon them through their being enrolled.” Every one of these men, says God, must make a half-shekel offering to God.

It’s a weird place to put this – to stop the narrative this way. And weirder still that God says the ransom is due so that no plague come upon them. But tradition tells us that it’s against God’s law to conduct a census of the people unless God Godself orders it.

So only God can order a census. But the way God calls for the census tells us a lot more about what a census means than just numbers for army service.

כִּי תִשָּׂא אֶת־רֹאשׁ בְּנֵי־יִשְׂרָאֵל לִפְקֻדֵיהֶם

The phrase “when you take a census” actually means “when you lift up the head of each Israelite to take a count of them.”

And I think that’s a beautiful way to phrase it. The goal is not to take head counts. The goal is to have each Israelite show their face – who they are, what they mean to the community.

Every single person counts because we are unique, special and holy to God. Because, as the Mishnah teaches us:

“For humans stamp many coins with one seal and they are all like one another; but the King of kings, the Holy Blessed One, has stamped every human with the seal of the first man, yet not one of them are like another. Therefore everyone must say, For my sake was the world created.”[1]

For each and every one of us was the world created. For each and every one of us, God granted us a unique and beautiful face – a “Shayna punim” as my Grandmom Freda would say. And so when God commands tisa et rosh b’nai Yisrael – lift up the face of each Israelite — God is saying to us: Make sure every person is acknowledged and honored.

We still do this today when we take a census.

According to Israel, 253 people – men, women and little children; Israelis and non-Israelis; Jews and non-Jews – were taken hostage by Hamas on October 7th, when they slaughtered over 1,2000 people in their invasion of Israel from Gaza. About 130 of the original 253 remain as hostages in Gaza. And that number includes the bodies of about 30 people who died at Hamas’s hands but whose remains have not been turned over to Israel for proper burial.

But when we talk about the hostages, and pray for them, and demand their return – we don’t look at them as numbers. For each of them, we tisa et rosh – we lift up their heads, and force everyone to see their faces.

On billboards and on flyers. On Facebook and TikTok. On television. This morning’s paper had a story about the Jews of Buenos Aries, Argentina and their connection to the hostages. There was a photo of a huge bill board along a street in Buenos Aries showing their faces and demanding their release.

We show their faces. We show the faces of at least 85 men – fathers and grandfathers, some of them in their 70s and 80s including 85-year-old Shlomo Mansour and 83-year-old Oded Lifshitz.

We show the faces of at least 14 women aged 18 to 39, including Amit Buskila and Daniela Gilboa. We show the faces of the dozens of ravers, kidnapped from an open-air music festival where hundreds were murdered. And we show the faces of the dear children — including little red-headed Kfir Bibas, who turned one on January 18th, along with his four-year old brother Ariel.

We show their faces, we share their names. We demand the world take note of the horror of their plight — and take responsibility for their freedom. Tisa et rosh. Lift up their heads. For their sake was the world created.

According to one commentary on this parashah:

“When one counts the Jews and organizes them into a unified community, they are raised up and exalted.”[2]

Each of the hostages is raised up and exalted when we as B’nai Yisrael stand up together and make our collective voice heard. And each one of us is raised up and exalted when we speak and act as one.

As we look at the very first words of this Torah portion, I always find it instructive to also look at how it concludes. Here, when Moses comes down the mountain with the two tablets of the Pact, his face is actually radiant – a radiance that emanates from within him. His countenance is not only raised up, it actually glows.

When we feel that connection with God – and through God with each other – we too feel that glow. What a shayna punim! Tisa et rosh: We raise our heads with pride and with dignity, knowing that we are part of a people that loves us and values us.

Ken yehi ratson. May this be God’s will and our mission here on earth. As we say together: Amen.

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©2024 Audrey R. Korotkin

[1] Mishnah Sanhedrin 4:5.

[2] Avnei Ezel, the commentary of the Rabbi Alexander Zusia Friedman of Poland (1897-1943). Torah Gems Vol II, compiled by Aharon Yaakov Greenberg, translated by Rabbi Dr. Shmuel Himelstein (Tel Aviv: Yavneh Publishing House Ltd., 1992), pp. 204-205.

Into the Dungeon – Parshat Vayetze, Friday, December 8, 2023

As we celebrate our season of lights with the lighting of the second candle of the Chanukah menorah tonight, we keep in mind those who are suffering in darkness – an estimated 122 people still held hostage in Gaza by the Hamas terrorists who kidnapped them on October 7th in a rampage of slaughter we Jews haven’t seen since the Holocaust.

Israel says most of those still held are male and are Israeli. Israel has recovered the bodies of at least three hostages in Gaza and reports at least six others died there. With the resumption of fighting and the end of the cease-fire, we don’t know what will happen with those who remain – a number of whom may be injured or sick. Every week, thousands of people gather to pray in front of the Tel Aviv Museum of Art – now colloquially known as “Hostage Square” – to demand the Israeli government move swiftly to negotiate the release of everyone in captivity. For a government that was on the precipice of implosion just weeks ago, it’s a tall order.

Last week, I read excerpts of Uri Feinberg’s post-Thanksgiving essay to his American family, in which he described the multitude of feelings Jews in Israel have today: pain and pride, isolation and embrace. He wrote of how Israelies have changed how they think and feel and act. He added:

“We are most importantly changed, however, because of what we have been reminded of. We have been reminded of what it means to be an Israeli. The perseverance, determination, ability, comradery, love and bravery of our soldiers and our civilians are all part of the foundational corner stones of what it means to related to the Jewish People and interconnected with the State of Israel.”[1]

To appreciate this reminder of the corner stones of what makes us the Jewish people, at this season we of course turn to the Maccabees and the story of Chanukah. A small brave group of men with perseverance, ability, bravery, comradery, and love defeated an army much larger and more powerful than anyone could have imagined.

But I also wonder if these foundational cornerstones go back to Joseph’s imprisonment in Egypt and what it meant for him to be an Israelite – in captivity, apparently forgotten, in a foreign land.

To understand the longing for freedom of those in captivity, we look to this week’s Torah reading, Vayeshev, which describes the dreams of Joseph, who grandly and arrogantly saw himself as rising greatly above his parents and siblings, who bowed down low to him. “A man came upon him in a field,” we are told, and directed him toward his brothers, who were so angry with him that they sold him into slavery. He ended up in Egypt, purchased by a courtier of Pharaoh’s called Potiphar. Potiphar’s wife took a liking to the handsome young Israelite, put the moves on him, and when he refused her attentions, she lied to her husband that it was Joseph who came on to her. He was immediately confined in the King’s prison.

So there was Joseph. Alone in the dark, in a foreign country, locked up with no one to support him and no chance of freedom. Terrified for his fate.

Joseph befriended two men who had had a falling out with the Pharaoh- his cup bearer and his baker. He read their dreams and won their freedom.

Joseph begged for their help. He told them:

“For indeed, I was kidnapped from the land of the Hebrews; I haven’t done a single thing here for which they should have put me in the dungeon.” (Gen. 40:15) Twice, then, was Joseph wronged: for being enslaved in the first place, and then for being imprisoned.

The two men quickly forgot about him – and we read later that God saved Joseph by imbuing him with the capability to read Pharaoh’s dreams as well. But Joseph experienced a miracle. For those held in Gaza, there are no miracles. Only hopes and prayers and immense pressure on the Israeli government and, especially, on Hamas – which perpetrated the tragedy and is responsible for their lives. Hamas, which dreams only of destroying Israel and every Jew within her.

 “For indeed, I was kidnapped from the land of the Hebrews,” Joseph told the cup bearer. Nachmanides comments on these words, “From Hebron, where Abraham, Isaac and Jacob lived. For Abraham the original ancestor of the group was called ‘Abraham the Hebrew’ . . . and his name was honored among all the nations[2] . . .  all his descendants bore the name Hebrew and the name has stuck with all the descendants of Israel ever since.”[3]

It is this pride in being related to the Jewish People, in being interconnected with the State of Israel, that Uri Feinberg wrote about so poignantly. It is this pride that helped the Maccabees defeat the Syrian Greeks. It is this pride that helped Joseph survive in imprisonment and helped him eventually win his freedom and save his entire family.

Those who have been stolen from us, and must be returned, feel the same thing – what it means to be an Israeli. They are persevering as best they can. Sharing their love, their food, their bravery. Their identity. This is the gift that Joseph gave us. This is the gift that the Maccabees gave us.

As Moshe Davis wrote,

“A candle is a small thing. But one candle can light another. And see how its own light increases, as a candle gives its flame to the other. You are such a light.”[4]

Let us each pledge to be the light for one another in this season of light.

Ken yehi ratson. Be this God’s will and our own mission here on earth. As we say together: Amen.

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©2023 Audrey R. Korotkin

[1] https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/thanksgiving-a-letter-to-our-family-in-america/

[2] Malachi 1:11.

[3] Miqraot Gedolot: The Commentators’ Bible: Genesis, ed and annotate by Michael Carasik (Philadelphia, The Jewish Publication Society, 2018), p. 355.

[4] https://www.jewbelong.com/holidays/hanukkah/hanukkah-readings/hanukkah-short-but-sweet/