Resources

I yearn to live in a generation where everyone, including our leaders, recognizes that leaders sin; where our leaders admit their mistakes, are held accountable, and where they actively make amends.

Only from an open and spacious heart can I experience a connection to what is holy. When I am focused on what I want and need, or when I am filled up with my own sense of righteousness, then what I have created within is actually a Golden Calf instead of my own small sanctuary.

We need each other’s lights. A friend, colleague, or ally — perhaps even those we consider adversaries — have the sacred potential to ignite in us the lamp of tamid consciousness and the willingness to widen our circles and give ourselves to the tasks of care, compassion, advocacy, and love.

Theologically speaking, to be human is to be sacred. Full stop. During human engagement, when we remain mindful of the sanctity of the other person, we bring acknowledgment of our shared holiness and further elevate the other and ourselves.

Since the attacks on October 7, T'ruah has offered public webinars for prayer and mourning, to engage with the moral challenges of the war, and to hear from staff who traveled to the region.

Today, we still struggle to recognize the gray within our heroes as well as within our ideological opponents. We jump to point out the hypocrisy, unethical behavior, and dearth of compassion in our enemies, while doing everything possible to underplay that of our allies — and, of course, ourselves.

What feels so hard in this moment is that I don’t know what the right course of action is. One of the problems I see in the world’s response to Hamas’ Oct. 7 attack is a preponderance of either Chesed or Gevurah thinking.

Perhaps Sukkot is the festival of understanding our journey, for journeys have no concrete and steel foundations, only earth and sandy feet. And the yearning that should come out of this collective memory must be a passionate commitment to end homelessness everywhere, physical, spiritual, or national.

We find that we have to learn from our ancestors with a dual dose of humility and chutzpah: both to learn from their wisdom, and also to transcend their limitations.

God, according to the Torah, created the world in six days and then rested on the seventh. This doesn’t mean that the world was perfect at the end of the sixth day of creation. Rather, God models the necessity of taking just one day to experience the world as it is, while acknowledging our own limitations in perfecting it.