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.
This is the sermon I delivered for Kol Nidre on October 11, 2024.
My teacher Rabbi Ed Feinstein always taught that we as Jews are the people of the book, which means we’re the people of stories. There are stories we tell ourselves, sometimes hold us back, and stories we hear that teach us and allow us to grow. Here’s a story that has stuck with me this year. Click the video for the full sermon, which starts at 56:16.
This is the sermon I delivered on the first day of Rosh Hashanah, October 3, 2024. The embedded video contains the full service; the sermon starts at 1:29:45.
When I’m working on a Rosh Hashanah sermon, I ask myself “What would I want to hear?” And I have to say, this year was a little bit more of a struggle than it usually is. Normally, I start off with a very basic concept of a sermon in late spring that marinates and coalesces over the early summer and feels pretty ready to share by September. This year, however, that was not the case.
There’s no shortage of things to talk about in a year like we’ve had. Do I lean into politics? Tempting, but don’t worry, no. We have many other chances to discuss and listen, now is not that space. Do I talk about Israel? Again, calm your racing heart, no. I’m not sure there’s anything I could say in this particular season about Israel that I haven’t been saying for the last year.
So what would I want to hear? Of all the possible topics, what has enough weight and importance this year? What’s something that our community and each of us individually could focus on, discuss, and act on as we work through the liturgy and actions of the days of awe and inspiration?
What I kept coming back to was my cornerstone text Hillel’s own series of three clarifying questions. “If I am not for myself, who will be for me?”, “If I am only for myself, what am I?”, and “If not now, when?”
In particular, I’ve been looking at this as the ways it relates to identity in a time when so much of who we are as Jewish people seems to be questioned and discussed. First, the version of self we present – in other words, what makes up the me that you see. Second, the version of me that’s biological – what literally makes up who I am. Third, the version of me that I feel deep down – what do I tap into to connect with myself and with others.
Why three versions and three questions? Because we are doing too much dividing among each other and not enough dividing and examining of ourselves. More than anything else, I believe division is our number one threat today. Not long division, although that’s pretty menacing. I’m not looking forward to checking my kids’ homework when they get to long division. That’ll be Duncan’s job. No, our number one threat is thinking that not choosing sides is the equivalent of moral bankruptcy. We’ve been conditioned to think you have to have a side. You have to think this or that. And because I’ve chosen my side, I’m not going to listen to your opinion anymore. I’m only going to listen to the opinions that validate my side. I’m sure you’ve heard of this, it’s called confirmation bias.
Which, if you think about it, is self-destruction. We are doing this to ourselves. I promised no politics, but think about some of the issues that are front and center in our politics time and again – climate, sensible gun laws, immigration. How many issues would we be that much closer to solving if politicians didn’t pick a right and a wrong? Or if you didn’t blindly click share on that Facebook post that got your attention without bothering to find out for yourself if there was any truth to it. There’s no quick fix to the things that are driving us apart. So instead of trying to face societal division head-on, I’m proposing that we divide our individual selves in order to possibly put us all back together again. That’s what the High Holidays are about anyway. Taking things apart and putting them back together each year, hoping to make some improvements as we do.
To review, here’s how I’m dividing myself. There’s the self we outwardly present – let’s use a modern term and call that the “selfie.” There’s the self we are innately and biologically – let’s change the spelling a little and call that the “cellfie” – C-E-L-L. See how we did that? And there’s the self that connects us all through our humanity. Let’s call that the “soulfie.”
Rabbi Hillel’s three questions match up pretty nicely to these three selves. He challenges us to consider our individual responsibility, our relationship with others, and the urgency of the present moment. Let’s explore these through the lens, so to speak, of the “selfie,” the “cellfie,” and the “soulfie.”
First, the selfie. The version of us we have some control over, and the version that others see the most of. And if there’s any question as to the selfie’s legitimacy, this year is the 10th anniversary of the word “selfie” being recognized as a playable term in Scrabble. So happy Srabbleversary to “selfie.”
It’s also an interesting expression of Hillel’s teaching, “If I am not for myself, who will be for me?” Hillel emphasizes self-advocacy and responsibility, and it’s revealed in how you present yourself, whether capturing a single moment in time, like an actual photo, or your sense of style or your social confidence. How do you define and assert who you are?
At the same time, how do you acknowledge your worth and presence? Taking a selfie is taking the time to say, “I’m here, and I matter.” Hillel’s version of self-care is not a selfish act; it’s a necessary part of our well-being if we hope to put good back into the world.
It’s also about taking control of our lives. I don’t believe that we should become absorbed or obsessed over what other people think of us, but there’s a healthy element of ownership in Hillel’s wisdom. The act of self-representation encourages us to be mindful and intentional about our presence and our actions.
So if that’s the outward reflection, what about the inward? What about the C-E-L-L cellfie? Who am I at my core level, and what role, if any, should that play in how I lead my life?
Let’s say the concept of cellfie with a C is our genetic makeup, which is a fundamental aspect of who we are and remains unchangeable. “If I am only for myself, what am I?” What am I? Of the three parts to Hillel’s teaching, this if-then makes the least sense to me. The “if” phrase supposes that I could be a person who has no regard whatsoever for my fellow human beings. And the second part questions whether I’m even human at all. What am I? As if I had some choice? As if my molecular construction were somehow up to me?
Maybe it’s this very mortal “what” that Hillel is challenging us to look beyond. Charles Darwin’s cousin Sir Francis Galton, who first pitted nature against nurture, determined that nature was more important. We can’t change who we are.
But as you just heard, almost two millennia before Sir Galton, Rabbi Hillel seemed to say, “No. We have a choice.” You can either be a part of a community or not. But I still think there’s some validity to the nature side of the argument. I’d suggest that it’s our very nature, our very cells, that carry within us the desire for connection. We divide, we pick sides, we war, but through all of that, we need each other, quite literally. Without that, what am I?
The cellfie with a C represents a static and unchangeable part of ourselves, while Hillel’s wisdom emphasizes dynamic interaction. And that’s fine. Our true identity and purpose are found in the balance between self-awareness and altruism. Being aware of our inherited makeup doesn’t lead to self-centeredness. It should ground us, giving us the strength and clarity to contribute meaningfully to others’ lives.
It’s simply an invitation to reflect on how we use our unique innate qualities and strengths in the world. Our genetic makeup and inherent traits are starting points. True significance comes from how we leverage these traits in service to others.
By connecting the unchangeable, inherited aspects of our identity to Rabbi Hillel’s statement, we get a fuller picture of the human experience: one that values self-awareness but also recognizes the importance of our actions and relationships in defining who we are and what we contribute.
Going back and forth like this sets us up perfectly for the last piece of the puzzle. What’s a soulfie? It’s a little play on words created by Rabbi Naomi Levy, just like cellfie with a C, but have you ever stopped to think about what your soul reflects? What would a picture of your soul look like? If you could somehow create a portrait of all the ways you’re lifted up and given strength. All the ways you find yourself. All of your joy and fulfillment. Have you ever stopped to consider what that might look like? And if you haven’t, why not? And if not now, when? Think about it now. Think about a snapshot of self-discovery or personal growth or well-being.
I would hope that we all regularly have moments of soul fulfillment. But if you don’t reflect on them – if you don’t take a soulfie in the moment – how do you hold them and come back to them? Like they say, “soulfie or it didn’t happen.” Hillel’s call to action, “If not now, when?” is about more than the urgency of doing good. I think it’s about the urgency of remembering the good.
We don’t know if a soul is something that exists beyond us. But we do know that we exist here and now, and the present moment is the most significant part of our journey toward self-realization. Fulfillment of your soul isn’t something that you can schedule on Google Calendar. There’s no Meetup or Facebook group. It’s you. Now. Finding ways in every moment you’re given to be the truest you. There will never be a convenient time. Hillel knew that 2,000 years ago.
The question I’ll leave you with: What if you spent some time with yourself divided? Take a bunch of selfies, cellfies with a C, and soulfies, and see what’s reflected back.
May we be for ourselves, recognizing our worth and advocating for our needs. May we look beyond ourselves, finding our true purpose in our connections and contributions to the world. And may we seize the present moment, nurturing our souls and finding joy in the here and now.
Shanah tovah, and may this new year bring us closer to our truest selves and to the community we cherish.
Rabbi Eve Posen 