Rabbi Howard Morrison

A new Torah reading cycle begins today. We read once again our Torah from its opening pages. Will the reading and appreciation of our Torah be "a same old"? Or will we strive to find new meaning and purpose in this year's cycle?

How can Bereishit not be new this year after October 7 and Simchat Torah of this new Jewish year? How can Bereishit not be new with the release of hostages and a renewed sense of comfort, peace and unity found within Israel and the Jewish people? How can Bereishit not be new with many deceased hostages still in captivity in Gaza?

At face value, Bereishit seems far removed from Israel and the Jewish people. We read universal narratives of creation and humanity. When I was a child first beginning formal Torah study in a day school, we were introduced with Genesis chapter 12, the introduction to Abraham and Sarah, as if to suggest that the previous chapters were not Jewishly relevant, or least to eight year old children!?

In his Torah commentary, the most beloved of all commentators, Rashi, who lived in 11^th century France, asks the following: "Why does the Torah begin with creation, when the Mitzvot for the Jewish people do not begin until the second book of the Torah on the eve of the Passover liberation? Rashi makes clear that the Torah's beginning with creation is to demonstrate that the entire world belongs to God - lest the nations of the world come and say to the People of Israel - you have stolen the land of Israel. The People of Israel can respond that the land was given rightfully to them by God:

"All the land belong to God. God created it, and God gave it - To those upright in God's sight, God willingly gave the land (of Israel) to them (the Canaanites), and God willingly took the land from them and gave it to us, the Jewish people."

Why does Rashi transform a universal moment of creation into a particular moment connected to Israel?

It is because of the horrific times in which Rashi lived - during the Crusades, in which Jews were powerless, persecuted, and exiled from their Homeland. Rashi sought to remind his people that they have a Home with a capital "H."

Two years ago, our Home came under attack. The horrific stories of that day and its aftermath are known only too well by us. In Rashi's time, the Jewish people were unable to be sovereign in Israel; were unable to return to Israel. The Crusades prevented that. However, in our time, we are back in our four thousand year Homeland. Our history and our connection will no more be denied or undermined. 

Many Jews have come back to more formal expressions of Judaism in the last two years. We dare not lose the ties to our heritage. Hostages may be back, and peaceful co-existence with Gaza may be in the offing. However, make no mistake about it, Jew-hatred will not cease because of a peace deal. It became normative even before the IDF responded to October 7 two years ago. The world loves dead Jews, but we will not give the world that satisfaction.

Ha'Tikvah - We have not and will not lose hope!

Thank you President Donald Trump.

Thank you Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu.

Thank you to the men and women of the IDF.

Thank you to the will and perseverance of the Jewish people.

May we all know of better times ahead.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Howard Morrison

On the first day of Sukkot, October 7, I reflected on the second anniversary of that English date. On the Hebrew calendar, today is the second Yahrzeit of the horrific tragedies which took place on Shemini Atzeret in the Diaspora, which were Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah combined in Israel.

A lot has changed between October 7 and today. Twenty living hostages have returned home. Four deceased hostages have returned home. twenty-four remain unknown.

Today, we pause to remember deceased loved ones in our families and in our congregation. We pause to remember those who perished in the Shoah, martyrs of all ages in Jewish history, those who perished from acts of terror in Israel and around the world, Canadians who died making the ultimate sacrifice for our freedom. 

Today, we dedicate the newest memorial plaques which have been affixed to our memorial boards in the past year.

A year ago, we participated in the "Simchat Torah Project." We became one of 1600 synagogues to receive a special Torah mantle in memory of those who fell on Simchat Torah two years ago.  Each mantle bears the same looking front side, a memorial to all the fallen. On the front of the mantle, a quotation from Kohelet reads, "Eit Lisfod; Eit Lirkod - There is a time to grieve, and there is a time to dance. We feel both sentiments today.  The back side of each mantle identifies a particular fallen individual. On ours is the name of a young IDF soldier who perished at the young age of twenty during the first advance by the IDF in Gaza, mere weeks after the horrors of this date.

It is noteworthy that as we observe Yizkor today, the two Torah mantles and large Maftir scroll itself, memorialize the two saddest and most challenging periods of modern Jewish history. The Czech Torah reminds us of the six million who lost their lives in less than a decade. The Simchat Torah Project mantle reminds of us the thousands who lost their lives on one single day. It is said that the tragedy which befell our people on October 7-Shemini Atzeret/Simchat Torah two years ago is comparable to multiple 9/11's in one day.

And yet, as we sadly remember and grieve, we remember the Shoah and October 7 today by reading Torah. From the first Torah reading, we read a summary of the Pilgrimage Festivals and how they were celebrated in Biblical times. From the second Torah reading, we read the ancient sacrifices which were brought in antiquity on this sacred day. These festivals were revealed to us some 3500 years, and we continue to celebrate them thousands of years later. Our Torah is correctly called "Torat Chaim - a Torah of life." Despite the history of Jew-hated from Pharaoh to Haman, to Antiochus, to the Romans, all the way to Hitler, Hamas, and the like, thousands of us attended shul on the HHD, and hundreds of us are here today. We remember and we grieve - YES! But we also affirm our faith and heritage, and pledge to live on as Jews - YES!

This morning we will read multiple lists - We will read those of our Beth Emeth family who have died in the past year. We will read those whose names have been inscribed on the newest memorial plaques. We will read the names of many death and labor camps where members of our shul died or endured during the years of the Shoah. 

And - we will read the names of the twenty-four, twenty living and four dead. To the twenty, we pray for a Refuah Shlemah, a complete recovery. To the four, we pray for a dignified and honorable burial. May their memories be for a blessing.

Chag Sameach,

Rabbi Howard Morrison

The centrality of Israel? Do you know how to respond?

Last Tuesday, one week ago, I and many rabbis from across the GTA were invited to teach a class at CHAT. How can I ever refuse when my commute is the shortest in the city? The gathering of rabbis is symbolic of Sukkot itself. During the Festival when we gather the four species, our tradition teaches, we are binding together all the diverse elements of the Jewish people. Among the rabbis gathered at CHAT last week, were representatives of Chabad, ultra-Orthodoxy, centrist Orthodoxy, modern Orthodoxy, Conservative, Reform, and Reconstructionist. Gathered among us were male and female rabbis.

The CHAT leadership had assigned a single topic for the rabbis to address in any way we chose - the centrality and significance of Israel. The students were comprised of eleventh and twelfth graders who could choose with which rabbi to study, and their was a maximum size per class of approximately 25 students. How touched I was that over half of my students came from Beth Emeth affiliated families. Now the pressure was on for me. How well would I do? What would they tell their families? To this day, I do not know.

My presentation began with the following scenario: You are walking on the streets of Toronto in a safe area. You are identified as being Jewish. You are approached by a non-violent person who asks to speak with you. Kindly but firmly, this person challenges you. Palestine was a known term two thousand years ago. Israel usurped, colonized, and stole Palestinian land in 1948 because of sympathy after the Holocaust. Israel should rightly return the land to the original citizens of Palestine. I asked the students to respond. How would you respond? I told the students, as I tell you, that each of us needs to see ourselves not only as members of the Jewish people, but as leaders of the Jewish people. Being surrounded by falsehoods on television, in print, and on social media, we need to be armed with correct, factual and authentic information.

 I went on to study with the CHAT students texts from an array of Jewish sources, harkening back to the founding patriarchs who were promised the land of Israel some 4000 years ago to this very day. We looked at sources from the Bible, classical commentaries and the Siddur. I reminded the students last week that it was the Roman Empire that invented a variation of the word "Palestine" from the Biblical Philistines, an enemy of the Jewish people in Biblical times. The Roman word, Palestina, was chosen by the Romans as a purposeful and overt shtuch at the Jewish people, and which has no connection at all to those who call themselves Palestinians, and who became an organized entity in the 1960's.

Consider the Haftarot for the first two days of Sukkot: On day 1, the prophet Zechariah teaches us that Israel in general and Jerusalem specifically will be an ingathering site for Jews and nations of the world in futuristic Messianic times. On day 2, today, we read how King Solomon established and dedicated the first Temple of Jerusalem, which was already the sovereign Jewish capital from his father King Day, some 3000 years ago. The Haftarot for the opening days of Sukkot affirm the centrality and significance of the land of Israel from thousands of years ago right into the Messianic era.

"U'Fros Alein Sukkat Shlomecha - May God spread the Sukkah of His peace over us and all of Israel speedily in our day."

Chag Sameach,

Rabbi Howard Morrison

For those of us who grew up with a home sukkah, I imagine we have all sorts of memories. Growing up outside of Boston, I grew up with the annual tradition of a home-based Sukkah.

The metal work stayed up all year long in our backyard. After Yom Kippur, dad and the boys attached canvas walls to the four sides of the framework. We then unrolled bamboo carpets over the roof which served as the schach. Mom and my sisters were pruning branches from our front lawn, which were inserted into the gaps of the schach.

That was the Morrison Sukkah for years and years. We would eat dinner and lunch in it. We invited relatives and friends. Unlike last night, the first night was always rainy. Often after reciting Kiddush in the Sukkah, we had to retreat from the rains and eat the meal inside. Most years at lunch time, we were forced to share the Sukkah with a host of invading bees. I guess they were Jewish.

In the 1980's when I no longer lived at home, I was a rabbinical student in New York. Long before electronic media, I received in the mail from my parents an interview from the local paper. After a fierce storm, my childhood Sukkah had pancaked to the ground. fortunately, no one was inside at the time. The local paper got wind of this, no pun intended, and interviewed my parents.

The Talmud provides a debate on what exactly is a Sukkah - a human made hut? Or the clouds of God's glory? The first is the earthly realm - temporary, frail, vulnerable. The second is transcendent, permanent, and eternal. The two definitions remind us that while we strive to attain eternal and lofty goals, everything around us is transient and imperfect.

Thus, the Sukkah is real on one hand and idealistic on the other. We live with the beauty and the tension of the physical and the spiritual.

Chag Sameach!

Rabbi Howard Morrison

For many years, I have attended a five-day retreat for Conservative rabbis, called the Rabbinic Training Institute. It is held annually at the Pearlstone Retreat Center, a Kosher facility, located outside of Baltimore, Maryland. For a number of years, one of the faculty members, who excelled in Jewish meditation among other disciplines, was Rabbi Alan Lew.

Long before he was an educator and my being his student, Rabbi Lew was a classmate of mine at the Jewish Theological Seminary in New York. During our student years, he sat right behind me at daily services in the seminary synagogue. Rabbi Lew did not grow up as a religiously practicing Jew. He had actually experimented with Buddhism and other ideas before reclaiming his place in Judaism and subsequently becoming a rabbi.

At our annual rabbinic retreat, Rabbi Lew would go on a run by himself for about a mile prior to morning services. During the retreat of 2009, all the participants were summoned together to learn that Rabbi Lew had suffered a heart attack and dropped dead during his run. For the next two days, the participants, including myself, served as Shomrim, guardians of his body, until arrangements were made for his funeral. 

The author of many books, one of his most famous, written in 2003, is called, "This is real and you are completely unprepared - The Days of Awe as a journey of transformation." The book is his spiritual guide to the High Holy Days and other occasions. I was pleased to see that it is now required reading for those who take the Conservative Movement's Introduction to Judaism course leading to conversion.

In Rabbi Lew's memory and as a mood setter for this Yom Kippur, I wish to share excerpts from his chapter entitled, "The soul hears its name being called: Kol Nidre."

"When we recite the Kol Nidre, God calls out to the soul, in a voice the soul recognizes because it is the soul's own cry. You may have come to this service for other reasons. Nevertheless, here you are, sitting in your body, and suddenly your soul hears this music and it gives a jump, and it startles you. Your soul is hearing its name called, and its name is pain, grief, shame, humiliation, loss, failure, death - or at least that is its first name. That is the name the first few notes of the Kol Nidre service call out. 

Kol Nidre has an interesting if somewhat cloudy history. it seems to have been composed during the reign of Reccared I, a sixth century Visigoth king of Spain who ordered Jews to convert on pain of death. So, Kol Nidre was originally a cry of pain, an expression of overwhelming grief at having to commit apostacy. Spanish Jews chanted it when they gathered secretly to observe Yom Kippur. They did the same later under the Byzantine period of the ninth century, and again during the papal and Spanish Inquisitions of the thirteenth and fifteenth centuries. . . . the soul is in anguish because it has encountered a frightening obstacle to expressing itself. But it resolves to persevere, and in so doing finds its true voice.

We can hear all this quite clearly in the music itself. The chant begins with a fall, a descending minor tone, which goes on for two full phrases, but then there is a definite rise. There is the sound of pain and heartbreak, but after that comes a kind of rising emotion, a heroic, even a defiant persistence, and finally a kind of grim triumph.. . . This is nothing less than a picture of the journey the soul takes through this world. This is a picture of the soul's journey to express itself, to spawn, to create what it was put on this earth to create, and then to make a leap of great joy. And the soul makes this joyous leap in spite of the fact that as soon as it expresses itself, it will begin to die, it will begin to fade away. We rise up and we fall away. We express our unique and indispensable contribution to the great flow of life and then we pass on. 

Yet many of us are afraid to be who we really are, precisely because we sense this. We sense that once we have risen up, we will begin to fall away. Once we have spawned, we will begin to die. Many of us would rather try to keep our lives unexpressed, in potential, because we believe that if we don't express our lives, we can hold on to them. As long as we dream of that great novel we were always supposed to write, we never have to risk the unbearable tragedy of trying to write it and failing. Then where are we? Then what do we have? So, we never make that joyous leap. We remain weighted down by the burden of our unexpressed dreams.

The Kol Nidre expresses all this. Those first notes express this sadness, this impermanence, this heartbreak, this failure. But then there are the rising notes. Precisely because of this impermanence, the heartbreak, the soul expresses itself, expresses its singular onetime gift, leaps out of the water with joy, and then expires."

This is just a piece from Rabbi Lew's chapter on Kol Nidre - I would briefly add, based on other ideas he raises, that Kol Nidre focuses on speech, on how we use our words, on being genuine and authentic about the words we use to express ourselves. I would also briefly add, as I spoke about on the first day of Rosh Hashanah, that we are not expected to succeed on our own. Kol Nidre states that we are to pray with the "Avaryanim," meaning among other things, with those who transgress, because we all make mistakes, we are all transgressors. As Rabbi Lew concludes his chapter, "We are incomplete and imperfect and cannot survive without a spiritual community that can make us whole - that can give us what we need, what we don't have. Kol Nidre calls the soul to its community and to its rightful place in this great, shifting sea of life."

Rabbi Alan Lew did not grow up as a religious Jew but found his place in a spiritual community. His story reminds me of another perhaps not so well known person who rediscovered his Judaism through a spiritual community and on Kol Nidre night:

Franz Rosenzweig was born in 1886 in Kassel, Germany. He grew up in a home dedicated to civic responsibility and the cultivation of literature and the arts. Religious beliefs and observance were not evident in his home beyond occasional perfunctory participation. In July of 1913, Franz decided to relinquish his Judaism, which was barely known to him. His Jewish heritage simply did not matter. Franz decided that before converting to Christianity and undergoing baptism, he would attend synagogue services on Yom Kippur, a last hurrah as it were. He found a small traditional synagogue in Berlin. He intended for this to be his farewell to Judaism. But when he came out three hours later after Kol Nidre services, he was a changed man. It was no longer possible for Franz to change his faith.

The drama of the Kol Nidre service had a powerful effect on him. For the first time in his life, he saw a community of Jews who cared about their religious tradition. They had an intensity and a sense of spiritual engagement which he had envied when he saw it among devout Christians. Rosenzweig would go on to write several books on Judaism, the most notable called, "The Star of Redemption." He and the well-known Jewish philosopher of his time, Martin Buber, collaborated on the first Jewish translation of the Torah into German. Rosenzweig also founded the Lehrhaus, or, "House of Learning," an institute for serious adult Jewish study. All of his contributions to Jewish life took place in a short period of time. Tragically, he contracted ALS and died at the age of 42.

None of Rosenzweig's reclamation of Judaism would have taken place were it not for his fated decision to walk into that shul on Kol Nidre eve, just to taste one last time the tradition that he was on the verge of abandoning. Rosenzweig's experience in that Berlin synagogue teaches something very important. Judaism is not primarily an idea; it is primarily a religious community. Judaism is the Jewish people as much as it is Jewish belief. What ultimately "converted" Rosenzweig back to Judaism was the impact of the Jewish community - real life people turned on by the reality of their Jewishness.

Similarly, in a more contemporary spirit, Rabbi Alan Lew though raised in Brooklyn, NY, grew up in a secular Jewish household. In the 1960's, he experimented with Asian spiritual practices and eventually discovered Zen Buddhism. When preparing for ordination as a Zen Buddhist priest, he had an epiphany regarding his Jewish identity, which set him on a path to exploring Judaism. As a witness myself, I saw how he was transformed by the spiritual community he became part of at the Jewish Theological Seminary during our shared student years in the 1980's. He served congregations in upstate New York and San Francisco. There, he established the "Makor Or Meditation Center" - the world's first synagogue-based Jewish meditation center, akin to the "Lehrhaus-Learning Center" established by Franz Rosenzweig in the early 1900's.

We do not need to be a Franz Rosenzweig or an Alan Lew to claim or reclaim our place in Judaism. Each of them found his place with the safe support of an enthusiastic spiritual community. I hope and pray that Beth Emeth can be that catalyst for everyone here, led and mentored by myself, Cantor Noah Rachels, and all of you. All one needs to do is take the first step.

I dedicate my remarks tonight to the memory of my friend, classmate, and teacher, Rabbi Alan Lew, and to the memory of the early 20^th century German Jewish philosopher, Franz Rosenzweig.

May this Kol Nidre and Yom Kippur experience be as meaningful to you as it was to them.

Gmar Tov,

Rabbi Howard Morrison

For some twenty-five hours, we are engaged in prayer, spirituality, and reflection. The overriding theme is seeking forgiveness from God for sins committed over the past year, and being given by God the ability to start the new year on a clean slate.

Our tradition teaches us that Yom Kippur atones for sins committed against God. Prior to Yom Kippur, we are supposed to approach people we have wronged intentionally or inadvertently to ask for their forgiveness. If an offended person refuses to forgive, the agressor is supposed to approach that person three times with sincerity. After that, the person seeking forgiveness is no longer liable. How many of us, knowing that we have wronged another, really take asking for forgiveness seriously?

If we are unaware that we wronged another person, then the prayer and ritual of Yom Kippur take effect. We confess our sins not with specific details but with alphabetical acrostics and poetry in order to cover all unconsciously committed sins performed against others.

Forgiveness is not about forgetting. No one asks that we forget wrongs committed against us. Forgiveness is about removing a weight from our shoulders which is weighing us down. Forgiveness is primarily for us and not the other person.

It is never too late to forgive and be forgiven. Ultimately, we all need to forgive others and be forgiven by others.

Gmar Chatima Tova,

Rabbi Howard Morrison

It could not have been easy for Abraham. When Sarah was barren, she encouraged her husband to have relations with Hagar so that he could have a son. When Yishmael was a young boy, Sarah gave birth to Isaac. One day, Sarah witnessed Yishmael being METZACHEK toward Isaac. Commentaries abound on the perilous behavior displayed by the older half brother Yishmael to his younger sibling Isaac:

Yishmael was mocking Isaac.

Yishmael was persecuting Isaac.

Yishmael was claiming Isaac's covenantal status.

Yishmael was abusing Isaac, perhaps sexually.

Sarah understands that the two boys cannot co-exist. She demands of Abraham that Hagar and Yishmael must go. Unsure what to do, Abraham hears God's voice, "Shma B'Kolah - Listen to her (Sarah's) voice." Abraham listens.

The call by God to Abraham to listen to Sarah's voice could not have been easy. Throughout his spiritual development, Abraham was a unifier, one who sought inclusion and not exclusion. Abraham sought to bring people of all backgrounds into a belief in one God, uniting them under the canopy of the divine presence. The same Abraham challenged God not to destroy two wicked cities if there were even ten righteous among them. The same Abraham fought to rescue his nephew Lot after neighboring kings had taken him hostage. Abraham was principled about unity, inclusion, seeking a peaceful path. It had to have been painful for Abraham to heed Sarah's voice and banish Hagar and Yishmael from the household.

With sympathy to their plight, the Torah makes clear that God did not abandon mother and son, and an angel leads them to fresh water. The Torah then returns to the main narrative, the family of Abraham, Sarah, and Issac.

The day 1 Rosh Hashanah Torah reading is relevant today. The children of Sarah and Hagar, with minor exception, cannot co-exist. Those particular descendants of Yishmael who abhor Israel with violence simply cannot share a same space.

Almost two years ago, those particular descendants of Yishmael living in Gaza were METZACHEK on Isaac's descendants - mocking them, persecuting them, stealing their covenantal status, committing acts of brutality and sexual abuse.

It is right to sympathize with the pain of all who suffer. However, one must also assign the proper blame and responsibility that have caused the suffering - Hamas and its supporters. I must admit I lose sleep when the world at large, fellow Jews, and even rabbinic colleagues spend more energy faulting Israel's leadership and inadvertently enabling the world to almost forget about October 7 and the remaining hostages, who are either emaciated or dead.

I would advise Israel's critics who have never been to the area to spend one week in Israel and one week in Gaza and to share their comparisons and contrasts.

Did you know that already centuries ago with the birth of Islam, the Koran flipped many of the Isaac-Yishmael narratives, turning Yishmael into the covenantal son of Abraham?

I lament but understand that Hagar and Yishmael had to be banished.

I struggle but understand that for the sake of the first Jewish family's very survival, God had to instruct Abraham to listen to the voice of his wife Sarah.

We marvel that in recent years and decades Israel has made peace with Egypt and Jordan; that Israel has a relationship with the UAE - the United Arab Emirates. 

Now we hope and pray for the day when Israel and the Jewish people everywhere can have peaceful relationships with those particular descendants of Yishmael who on this exact day would want us dead.

It is ironic that while I was on vacation, I picked up a used copy of Dara Horn's best seller, "People love dead Jews," for only $10. Written in 2021, I am sure she could write additional chapters since that time to now.

At Abraham's funeral, the Torah informs us that both Isaac and Yishmael stood side by side to bury their father. Did Yishmael repent, as some ancient commentators suggest? Did Yishmael appear on the scene before his father died? Or only after his father died? Did Yishmael repair relationships with Isaac and/or Abraham? Did Yishmael come only for the funeral and then depart again and go his separate ways?

We will never know the answers to these questions. I hope and pray that in our lifetimes, we will see a genuine relationship between Israel and all Jews with those particular descendants of Yishmael who want us dead today. We dare not stop praying and working toward that goal no matter how far off it seems. In the meantime, with great pain and anguish, we understand how a troubled Abraham was commanded by God to listen his wife's, Sarah's voice.

Shana Tova,

Rabbi Howard Morrison

One of the most poignant messages of the entire Torah appears near the end of Nitzavim:

"I (God) call heaven and earth to witness against you this day: I have put before you life and death, blessing and curse, Choose life so that you and your offspring will live - by loving the Lord your God, heeding His commandments and holding fast to Him."

From the moment that God created humanity to the day that Moses will die, God endowed humanity with freedom of choice. God invokes permanent witnesses to testify that God has placed choices before us. We are free to choose. However, in the world of free choice, God is not objective. God puts the possibilities of life and death before us but then says CHOOSE LIFE! God also tells us the kind of life we should pursue, by loving God, being attentive to the Mitzvot, and clinging to God.

The Torah teaches us that life without purpose makes plain living incomplete. How many people upon retirement do not have a retirement plan in order to stay productive, fulfilled, and to find meaning and purpose in life? How many of those people sadly rot away without finding a rationale for living?

How many people, even before retirement, are living, but without a purposeful rationale to accompany their living? What will be of the sanctity and quality of their lives?

How many people live to eat, as opposed to "eat to live?"

With the High Holy Days right around the corner, now is the time to ask ourselves the deeper questions. What is it that we want to do with the life that we have chosen? In what ways will we choose to become closer to God, Torah, and Israel in the coming year? Will purpose and meaning come by finding those values in the jobs we perform to put food on the table and to keep a roof over our heads? Or, will purpose and meaning come by finding those values in voluntary pursuits outside our official forms of employment?

My recommendation - Judaism is not an all or nothing religion. Every Mitzvah, everything we do counts and has value. Take a look at the 613 Mitzvah menu that Judaism has to offer. Find at least one Mitzvah you have not done well or at all in the past year. Find a Mitzvah that you feel has the potential to raise you to new heights, to make you feel closer to God, our heritage, and to the Jewish people. You will not regret your free choice. 

Eleswhere in the Parsha, we learn that no Mitzvah is too far from us. It is not in heaven. It is right near to us. With or without rabbinic ot cantorial assistance, now is an ideal time of year to bring a Mitzvah closer to you and for your fulfillment of Judaism in the coming year.

Shabbat Shalom and Shana Tova,

Rabbi Howard Morrison

With this Shabbat, we will read the last of the seven Haftarot of comfort. All of them originate from the prophet Isaiah and are read after Tisha B'Av up to the season of Rosh Hashanah.

In this last message, we are reminded that Zionism did not begin with Hertzl or any of the other nineteenth century modern Zionists. Isaiah 62:1 states, "For the sake of Zion I will not be silent, for the sake of Jerusalem I will not be still, till her victory emerge resplendent, and her triumph like a flaming torch." 

Let no one confuse us of a fundamental truth. Judaism is Zionism, and Zionism is Judaism. When certain people proclaim, I love Jews and Judaism but despise Zionists and Zionism, they are trying to conceal their Jew-hatred.

The cause for a safe and secure Jewish state and homeland is as old as Judaism itself. The prophet Isaiah is one of many Biblical figures who invokes Zionism. Similarly, our Siddur proclaims Zionism throughout our liturgy.

While continued condemnations are hurled at Israel from around the world, Israel would never have needed to respond if October 7, 2023 had never occurred.

While continued condemnations are hurled at Israel from around the world, Israel would never have needed to respond if the nations of the world had pressured Hamas to drop its arms, give itself up, stop hiding behind human shields, and release the hostages.

Isaiah 62:2-4 continue where the previous verse left off: "Nations shall see your victory, and every king your majesty; and you shall be called by a new name which the Lord Himself shall bestow. You shall be a glorious crown in the hand of the Lord, and a royal diadem in the palm of your God. Nevermore shall you be called 'forsaken,' nor shall your land be called 'desolate,' but you shall be called 'I delight in her,' and your land 'espoused.'"

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Howard Morrison

Parshat Ki Tavo is meaningful to me. When I was a rabbinical student, my mother was honored by the religious Zionist organization, Mizrachi. On the weekend of this week's Parsha, I helped her write a dvar torah.

In my last year of rabbinical school, each senior student had to give a dvar torah on a particular shabbat, designated by the school. My dvar torah coincided with Parshat Ki Tavo. 

This year, we read Ki Tavo on the eve of ushering in the Selichot season. This year, we read Ki Tavo as we near the second anniversary of that fateful day on October 7, 2023.

While very few people outside of Judaism would care about what our Torah says, we Jews need to be reinforced. Our Parsha begins with the words, "When you enter the land that the Lord your God is giving you as a heritage, and you possess it and settle in it." Here is one of many promises made by God to our people in the Torah about God granting the land of Israel to the Jewish people.  Over the millennia, we entered, were kicked out, and entered again. We hope and pray that since 1948 for the whole of Israel and since 1967 for the whole of Jerusalem, we are here to stay forever. Ironically, evangelical Christians understand the absolute of God's promise more than many other religious groups, including certain segments of secular Judaism. 

In the Parsha, we are told that the first Mitzvah upon entering the land would be the celebration of the first fruits, during which time perhaps the very first communal prayer was recited. It is a summary of Jewish history from the dawn of our people's existence to the hardships caused by Pharaoh to a celebration of gratitude to God and the giving of gifts to the needy upon settling in the land.  The prayer begins with the words "Arami Oved Avi," and the paragraph has been recited to this day as part of the Passover Haggadah for the last two thousand years.

What do those opening words mean, "Arami Oved Avi?" From the Biblical Hebrew, it is unclear if the statement refers to one person or two. Thus, one reading is that an Aramean tried to destroy my father. In the Haggadah, this is indeed the interpretation and refers to Laban trying to destroy Jacob - a familiar scenario of an outside element seeking to destroy the Jewish people. The Haggadah posits from this that in every generation, there arise those whose purpose is to eradicate the Jewish people. We are sadly living in such a time again.

However, another reading of the same statement posits that it refers to the one and same person, namely, "My father was a wandering Aramean," referring either to Jacob or Abraham struggling from within what it means to be the progenitur of Judaism and the Jewish people. How many Jews today, regardless of threats coming from the outside, struggle with their Jewishness? Struggle with their commitment to God, Torah, and Israel?

It is noteworthy that we read Ki Tavo on the eve of Selichot and as a precursor to the High Holy Days. The Selichot season demands of us to examine ourselves from within, as a single wandering Jew - what does Judaism mean to me as a person?

It is noteworthy that we read Ki Tavo on this 708^th day harkening back to the onslaught of innocent Jews and the taking of hostages, harkening back to the interpretation of the verse as being about the external enemy, "An Aramean tried to destroy my father."

As we soon transition from one year to the next, I encourage us all to meditate on both meanings of "Arami Oved Avi," and consider what kind of Jew we want to be in the new year, and how will we as a people cope with the adversarial forces around us????

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Howard Morrison

Twenty-six years ago today, my mother, Helen Morrison, took her final breath. She was only 69, was a classically trained pianist and opera singer. She was the mother of four children, and she was a person of incredible positivity and acceptance.

Acceptance.

It was two years later when my very eyes, set just a mile from Wall Street, witnessed the eerily melting of the World Trade Center. As I write this note, the names of those killed on that horrific day in 2001 are being publicly recited, appropriately memorialized.

And just yesterday, an assassin took the life of Charlie Kirk, the 31-year-old conservative influencer as he was speaking before a phalanx of college students.

Intolerance.

I'm feeling my mother's spirit and praying that the acceptance she taught her four kids penetrates the hearts and minds of a nation growing increasingly intolerant. Let's debate through words and votes, not bullets. And even in our debates, let's see the humanity and Godliness sewed in us all.

Many of us come to shul every Shabbat; many of us attend once or twice a month; some of us attend Minyan almost every day; others attend shul on Holy Days and/or special lifecycle occasions; Still others pray privately at home. Regardless, Why? Why do we pray at all?

The story is told of two friends, Reuven and Shimon. They come to shul together almost every Shabbat. Reuven comes to talk to God, and Shimon comes to talk to Reuven. It is true that some of us come to pray a lot and shmooze a little, and others come to shmooze a lot and pray a little.

Just over a week ago, on the third day of school, a terrible tragic shooting took place at a Catholic parochial school in Minneapolis during the school assembly's recitation of Mass. In the aftermath, there has been a debate, at least in the U.S., about the veracity of prayer.

I for one affirm the importance and need for prayer, all the time, and at specific times of joy, sadness, anger and disbelief. Prayer is not about necessarily getting all we want. Prayer is something mature and nuanced. In Hebrew, the term for prayer, Tefila, stems from the infinitive, L'Hiptalel, which means to look within the self. Prayer is as much looking within, finding the Godliness within ourselves, inasmuch as looking into the heavens for a cosmic supernatural presence.

Jews pray at three specific intervals of the day, based on the life experiences of our founding patriarchs, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Early in the morning as Abraham prepares to sacrifice his son Isaac, Abraham prays. In the late afternoon, while still grieving for the loss of his mother and not speaking a word out loud, Isaac is found meditating in the open field. All alone at night for the first time in his life, fearing that his brother Esau is out to kill him, Jacob prays to God. At first, Jacob bargains with God. Twenty years later, a more mature Jacob prays to God once again fearful of Esau, but this time praying out of a sense of modesty and appreciation. Thus, we pray every day - morning, afternoon, and evening, based on the founding patriarchs facing real life challenges and experiences.

Whether we pray in the context of a group or alone, most of our prayers are couched in the plural. We pray for more than ME. We pray for WE. Sometimes that WE is the Jewish people, and sometimes that WE is the entire world. We are part of something greater than ourselves.

For some, Prayer reminds us of eternal timeless truths.

For some, Prayer connects us to other realms - a higher presence, connecting ourselves to the past/present/future.

For some, Prayer is done out of a sense of obligation and purpose.

For some, Prayer refines human character.

For some, Prayer is a form of spiritual discipline, or meditation, or group connection, or celebration, or group support.

Prayer does not guarantee a Divine response of YES or the granting of a miracle.

In Jewish history, when the first holy Temple was destroyed, our ancestors prayed, knowing that God was with them in the fire; that God was exiled with them; that God shared their pain. That theology has continued for the last 2500 years.

We pray that God listen to us. But we also pray that we should listen to the words ourselves: When we pray for health, what are we doing towards health? When we pray for peace, what are we doing towards peace? When we pray for justice, what are we doing towards justice? When we pray for compassion, what are we doing towards compassion? and the list goes on.

Books and books have been written on prayer. My Monday night class in person and on livestream after the Holy Day season will be a deep dive into prayer. This morning, just a few weeks before the High Holy Days and a week plus after a tragedy which took place in the context of prayer, I dedicate my brief remarks to the power and importance of prayer. I have shared with you many different ideas of why Jews pray, and there are more. I encourage each of us to find a meaningful purpose in our prayer life so that our coming to shul or praying at home is not merely to emulate Shimon talking to Avraham, but also to emulate Avraham talking to God.

May the memories of the two children murdered last week be for a blessing, and may the injured and their families find physical and emotional healing.

May the memories of the Jewish people lost over the last two years, and the memories of our own personal loved ones lost be for a blessing. 

May God hear our prayers, and may we hear them as well.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Howard Morrison

This week's Parsha of Ki Tetze begins and ends with a confrontation with the enemy. The Torah lesson starts with "When you go out to battle against your enemy," and the portion ends with "Remember what Amalek did to you."

On the plain level, the Torah underscores the threat posed by an external physical enemy. The most heinous in Biblical times was Amalek, who threatened the Israelites soon after the Exodus from Egypt. Amalek is also recalled annually on the Shabbat prior to Purim and on Purim itself, as Haman was a descendant of Amalek.

In the homiletical tradition, especially for this season of the year, our ancestors interpreted the "Enemy" and "Amalek" as those negative forces found within ourselves, the internal foe. The month of Elul is a time for "Cheshbon Nefesh," an audit of the soul, so that we can enter the new year on a clean slate. Now is the time to look within and correct the faults we have made over the past year. 

Sadly, we the Jewish people continue to face the threats of external enemies, while we also have to pursue the threats of the enemy from within. 

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Howard Morrison

If there is such a thing as a Jewish approach to warfare ethics, it originates in this week's Torah portion of Shoftim  - chapter 20. While the Talmud and especially the writings of Maimonides in the 12^th century go into great detail about the rules governing commanded and optional wars, the basics start in this week's Torah lesson.

Here a few observations: When knowing that the purpose of the war is divinely just, one is not to be afraid. If an individual is truly afraid about entering battle, he would be sent back home so that his fears would not diminish the morale of the troops. In addition, one who has not completed the process of establishing his home, marrying his intended spouse, and not yet harvesting his new vineyard, he would be sent home. These examples of starting a new home, family, and livelihood are considered central to the psyche and value system of our people. Subsequently, when the people find themselves in a war situation, the first prerequisite is to try to establish peace, which is always the preferred option. In a war situation, one is not allowed to destroy fruit bearing trees, which are innocent sources of life. In addition, these trees are comparable to non-combatant civilians who must be spared at all costs. In any siege, an opening has to be left for innocent civilians to escape.

Consider the rules found in Parshat Shoftim in relation to the war with Hamas which sadly is going on two years soon. Nobody wants peace more than the Jewish people. Remarkably, even during war time, Israeli society continues to flourish with weddings, renewed life, innovations in technology, medicine, and other fields. Israel does its best to warn and advise the civilian population which is abused by Hamas, who hides cowardly among them. What other nation concerns itself with any sense of ethics during war, and in Israel's case with a terrorist enemy?

The Torah underscores the potential reality of war, which we never ever want to have. However, even in war, our tradition provides rules and ethics for maintaining justice and compassion in near impossible situations.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Howard Morrison