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I went to Juárez seeking a window into what is happening along our southern border, but I left staring at a mirror of culpability and responsibility.

How can we take on our own “marking of the doorposts” for this moment? What am I prepared to do, or say, to help bring this cursed war to an end? How might I “mark” myself as someone committed to the collective liberation of Palestinians and Israelis?

As I recall standing upon those millennia-old steps holding that aged stone in my hand, I take heart in the ancient truth that functional families, close friendships, and coalitions of decency with other religions and peoples have the capacity to sustain us, that historical perspective is a balm to mind, heart, and soul, and that pragmatic, sure, and visionary leadership is a hedge against societal chaos and an opportunity to seek the fulfillment of our people’s and nation’s highest aspirations.

Before I was a rabbi, I was a lawyer. Most of my legal career was spent assessing almost-inevitably doomed appeals. These were often criminal cases based upon what are popularly called “technicalities.” That work came back to me when I read the story of Nadav and Avihu, to which we return again this week in parshat...

I am puzzled by the ways in which a country that readily replaces phones and computers as soon as we experience even the slightest decrease in performance can insist that our inherited system for organizing our economy and government works just fine.

In Parshat Behar, urban spaces were not considered a factor in the wellness and stability of society. Today, we must acknowledge our centuries of disenfranchisement and commit to fostering an urban landscape of equity and opportunity.

Wherever there is imperfection in our world — people suffering, an ecosystem in distress, systemic injustice — there are unfinished spaces that call on us in our role as God’s partners. 

Real intimacy — with the Divine and with each other — is an ability to say I will show up, but only if I can demand that when there is destruction there is rebuilding, when there is grief there is space to mourn, when there is heartbreak there is space for healing.

My father’s family were refugees from Vienna, who fled just before World War II broke out, but not before my grandfather had been deported to Dachau. He remained incarcerated there from November 13, 1938, until January 19, 1939. He knew he had to leave Austria with his family. But leaving wasn’t easy. First, it meant...

CONGREGATION SHA’AREI KODESH 2nd Day of Passover MARCH 27, 2013 ©  RABBI LOUIS RIESER   Hag kasher v’Sameah. I want to thank Rabbi Baum for this invitation to speak about my experience in Immokalee with T’ruah: The Rabbinic Call for Human Rights.  In January I joined 9 other rabbis to learn first-hand about the conditions...