I can’t quite remember when, but sometime around 30 years ago my father made me a small business card with the traveler’s prayer on it. It was on laminated yellow cardstock and has resided in my wallet ever since, growing tattered over the years. At some point, it fell apart and Duncan, knowing how much it meant to me, made a new set for me. My attachment to this distressed and faded yellow card was as much about the fact that my father gave it to me as it was about the narrative of protection on our journeys.
This week we read Parshat Lech Lecha, where God famously beckons Abraham to travel from the only place he’s known as home to a new place that Abraham has never seen before. I can only imagine how terrifying this might have been, and yet Abraham agrees to the journey. Why? Because God promises that he will be a blessing.
Whether it’s a short trip from your home to camp in the summer, or venturing out to explore the world, the traveler’s prayer can connect us to our hearts, and the grounding of home.
Parshat Noach, our Torah portion this week, is famous for the two central accounts that take place: first, the flood of the earth to drown out those who were not righteous, second the Tower of Bavel and the subsequent spreading out of the nations and languages. These two narratives are bridged together by the expectations for humankind to behave in an honorable and righteous manner and the covenant established between God and the generations to come, symbolized by the rainbow.
In our parshah, chapter 9 verses 12-16, the rainbow officially takes new meaning. The text states: “God further said, “This is the sign that I set for the covenant between Me and you, and every living creature with you, for all ages to come. I have set My bow in the clouds, and it shall serve as a sign of the covenant between Me and the earth. When I bring clouds over the earth, and the bow appears in the clouds, I will remember My covenant between Me and you and every living creature among all flesh, so that the waters shall never again become a flood to destroy all humankind. When the bow is in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and all living creatures, all flesh that is on earth. That,” God said to Noah, “shall be the sign of the covenant that I have established between Me and all flesh that is on earth.”
Rambam, the great medieval commentator Rabbi Moses ben Maimon, teaches that the rainbow is a sign of God’s covenant not to destroy the world again, a sign of peace. This sign is the only phenomenon that had already existed in the world that becomes invested with a new symbolic significance. The rainbow, in Hebrew keshet, represents all of the different shades and colors of our world bound together in a single instance. It stands as a reminder that while each of us has our differences, those differences should never push us apart. And just as importantly, it sets an example of how we should keep our promises to each other, as God did to us.
When we see a rainbow, we are obligated to say the following brachah:
Blessed are you, Adonai our God, ruler of the world, who remembers the covenant and is faithful to it and stands by his word.
Even today, every rainbow we see is a reminder of God’s relationship with humankind. More than that, when we take the time to take in the rainbow, to pause and remember that the covenant God made comes with expectations of humanity to treat one another with kavod, respect, we renew our covenant with God and create a kehillah kedosha, a holy community.
How often do you take the time to take a step back, zoom out, and just marvel at a moment in time? What about a project or event? When I officiate at a wedding I often ask the couple as they stand under the chuppah to turn around and look at the faces of everyone who has come to hold them in their celebration. I do this so that everyone in the space can be present and purposefully take in the joy and connection of this moment.
So often we all struggle to look beyond the myriad of trees to see the entire forest. We only see the minute details and forget to pause and take a beat to really live in those special moments.
As we read Bereshit, the creation story, God’s reaction to each act of creation serves as a reminder to pause and marvel at moments. After each part of creation, the text teaches us that God “saw that it was good.” This action models presence and gratitude in a way we might not be accustomed to.
Shannah tova! Here we are at the very beginning of a new year, which means it’s an opportunity to look back at the year(s) past and look forward to what lies ahead. It’s almost hard to believe I’ve written a weekly divrei Torah for 14 years straight. In other words, I’ve written my own version of commentary on the Torah 14 times over.
Over this time, my weekly and yearly practice has been to look at the Torah through the lens of our present world and relate it to contemporary life in some way. This year our congregation is focusing on the concept of blessings and the ability to respond with “amen.” A blessing is a way to mark a moment in time or an experience, and saying “amen” affirms and confirms that these moments and the people in them are seen and noticed.
I was inspired by this year’s theme to offer a slight twist on my weekly writing. This year I will do my best to relate each parshah, each portion of the Torah, to a relevant blessing that can be said in our daily lives.
On the High Holidays, Mel Berwin talked about the anatomy of a blessing. Each blessing begins with the words “Baruch Atah” (Blessed are You) reminding us that blessings are between God and the individual. But the next set of words “Adonai Eloheinu” (Adonai/HaShem our God) expands the blessing from a one-on-one relationship with God to the communal with the addition of first person plural. And finally “Melech HaOlam” (Ruler/creative energy of the universe) broadens this connection even further to the whole universe, the bigger picture that ties us to the past and future as well.
As we begin Sukkot and say a variety of blessings to usher in the uniqueness of the holiday, from leisheiv basukkah (sitting in the sukkah) to al n’tilat lulav (shaking the lulav) to the Shehecheyanu, may we use these blessings as opportunities to find and recognize other blessings in our lives and hopefully tap into some much-needed joy along the way.
This is the sermon I delivered on Yom Kippur, October 12, 2024.
Our theme this year as a kehilla, as a community, is “Amen: Be a Blessing.” I wonder if you’ve taken a good, long look at the logo. Have you noticed that “Amen” is on top, and below it, there are ellipses on both sides of “Be a Blessing”? We’ve been saying, “Amen: Be a Blessing,” but you could just as easily say, “Be a Blessing: Amen.” We’re used to hearing “amen” after a blessing anyway.
Whichever order you put these terms in, there’s no wrong way to express the idea of embodying blessing. In the same way that blessings don’t all fall into one neat category of situations. Yom Kippur is the perfect example of this. How do you greet people on Yom Kippur? Typically you don’t hear “Happy Yom Kippur.” You don’t usually hear “Chag sameach,” although there’s nothing wrong with saying that. After all, it’s not a sad holiday. But the greetings are on the solemn side. You hear “G’mar chatimah tovah” or “G’mar tov” or “Tzom kal.” People blessing each other to be sealed in the Book of Life or to have an easy fast. It’s our way of saying, “I know you’re going through something challenging, and I’m with you.”
This is the beauty of blessing in Judaism. In the Mishna, in Brachot 9, we encounter a truly nuanced understanding of this. It teaches us that we are obligated to recite a blessing for the bad just as we do for the good. Upon hearing good news or receiving rain, we recite the blessing, “Blessed are You, God, who is good and does good.”
But there’s also a blessing for bad news. What blessing do we offer after hearing of a death?
Right, for bad news, the blessing is “Blessed is the True Judge.”
It’s kind of a radical concept. How can we bless the bad as we do the good? Does this mean that we should celebrate misfortune? Not at all. The Mishna is inviting us to recognize that challenges, pain, suffering – these are also a part of life. When we say “Blessed is the True Judge” in moments of hardship, we’re not blessing the suffering itself; we’re affirming our faith in God’s wisdom and justice, even when we cannot understand it.
To me, this gives us a much broader understanding of blessing. It teaches us that blessing is not just about joy and prosperity; it’s about finding meaning in every experience, both the light and the dark. Blessing is about acceptance, about trust in God’s judgment, and about finding the strength to move forward despite our pain.
There’s a ton of ambiguity in Jewish blessing. Think about something as simple as “Baruch HaShem” which is a pet peeve of mine as a response. “How are you?” “Baruch HaShem.” “How’s work? How’re the kids?” “Baruch HaShem.” It’s the Jewish version of “It is what it is.” Is it bad? Is it good? Who knows.
It’s not that I’m bothered by a phrase saying “Blessed is God.” I just don’t think it’s an answer, at least not if you’re really trying to connect with someone. However, it is further proof of how we bless the good, the bad, and the in-between.
Here’s another example from the Mishna. Mishna Middot 2:1-2 gives us a vivid image of communal support. It describes the custom on the Temple Mount, where everyone entering would walk to the right and exit on the left, except for those in mourning or those who had been excommunicated. These individuals would walk in the opposite direction, signifying their sorrow or isolation. The community would respond with words of comfort, acknowledging their pain and offering a blessing of restoration.
“May the One who dwells in this house inspire them to draw you near again,” they would say to someone who had been excommunicated, signaling not just sympathy but a hope for reconciliation and reintegration into the community.
Being a blessing also means being attuned to the needs of those around us. It means offering comfort to the mourners, supporting those who feel alienated, and working toward healing fractured relationships. Yom Kippur is a time for personal reflection, but also a time to recommit ourselves to communal responsibility. To be a blessing is to recognize when others are in pain and to respond with empathy and action. Blessing is the good and the bad.
The “amen” part of our theme is just as broad. The word amen, as we say after each blessing, has its own significance. Its roots come from emunah (faith) and emet (truth). When we say amen, we are affirming not only the truth of the blessing but also expressing our faith in its power and significance.
In the Talmud Brachot 53b, Rabbi Yosi teaches, “Greater is the one who says Amen than the one who says a blessing.” Intriguing, right? Why might the responder be greater than the one who blesses?
Perhaps it’s because the blessing itself can be a solo act, but saying amen is an act of creating community. When we say amen to someone’s blessing, we are joining them, affirming their words, and sharing in the spiritual moment. The one who says amen acknowledges the blessing’s truth and power, making it a collective experience. On Yom Kippur, when we come together in prayer, it’s a chorus of amens.
It’s amazing how one word transforms blessings from individual acts to communal ones. It reminds us that no one prays alone. Even in our most personal moments of reflection and atonement, we are part of a greater whole. Blessings are most powerful when shared.
So, what does it mean to be a blessing on this Yom Kippur? It means embracing the fullness of life, both the joy and the sorrow, and seeing every moment as an opportunity to affirm our faith, to say amen to both the good and the bad. It means recognizing our role in creating blessings for others, whether through words of kindness, acts of charity, or simply by being present for someone in need.
On Yom Kippur, we are asked to confront both the good and the bad in our lives. We confess our shortcomings, acknowledge our failures, and seek forgiveness. But we also acknowledge the moments of joy, the blessings we’ve received, and the ways in which we have been able to bring blessings into the lives of others. Both are necessary to fully live out our call to be a blessing.
As we enter the new year, may we strive to embody the call given to Abram: “You shall be a blessing.” May we bless others with our actions, with our compassion, and with our presence. May we find the courage to say amen to the challenges we face, trusting that even in our struggles, there is an opportunity for growth and connection.
G’mar chatimah tovah—may we all be sealed in the Book of Life, and may our year ahead be filled with the blessings of peace, compassion, and hope.
Rabbi Eve Posen 