Rabbi Howard Morrison

Our parsha today began with the command for Abram to leave his land, his birthplace, the house of his father. Leaving home is not simply the act of physically moving out nor of achieving economic independence. Leaving home means separating from our parents and finding our own unique voice. It is a psychological leaving. This even applies to our Bar Mitzvah boy today, who has left his parents' home in the sense that he is now Mitzvah observant on his own terms. This very notion was applied to me when a teacher of mine formally installed me as the new rabbi of my first congregation, with my parents and siblings present, back in 1987 in New Jersey.

Three times a day, we Jews pray the Amidah (four times on Shabbat). The prayer begins with a mention of the "God Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob. No - We are not praying to three gods. Why not simply say "the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob?" Did they not worship the same God?

The basic response is that the path Abraham took to God was different than that of his son Isaac. The path Isaac took was different than that of his son Jacob. Each of us must find our own path to God, and our own path on how to live our lives. We cannot simply relive our parents' paths. Children must leave home and find their own way if they are to succeed in the world. 

This is extremely difficult for both parties. Parents find it very hard to let go and let their children find their own paths, and children find it very difficult to leave and establish their own identity and to become their own person. In my own personal case, my thirty-year-old son now lives in New York and has been on his own for the last six years. Jewishly, he identifies himself as Masorti, traditional. My twenty-six-year-old son lives with me, after having served as a lone soldier in Israel and recently completing his four-year degree here in Toronto. Jewishly, he identifies himself as a Zionist first and foremost. Each has embarked on finding his own path in many ways, Jewishly being of part of that growth and maturity.

Our Parsha is entitled Lech Lecha, which literally means, "Go to yourself." Each of us has a destiny, a purpose, a mission, a calling. Abraham not only left his parental home physically, he found his particular calling. Some of us find our calling from the earliest days of childhood, some find it as young adults, some in their middle years, some not until they retire from work, some never quite find it. 

Today and tomorrow, November 9-10, commemorate the 86^th anniversary of Kristallnacht. To survivors, children of survivors, grandchildren of survivors, great grandchildren of survivors, or to anyone of us living two generations later, how is our Lech Lecha, our personal journey, impacted?

This past Monday, November 4, commemorated on the English calendar the 29^th anniversary of the assassination of Prime-Minister Yitzchak Rabin by a fellow Jew at a Saturday night peace rally in Tel Aviv. How is our Lech Lecha, our personal journey, impacted?

In the wake of October 7^th and its aftermath, with surges of anti-Semitism here and around the world, how is our Lech Lecha, our personal journey, impacted?

Just one day prior to the eve of Kristallnacht, a modern-day pogrom brought close to home the horrific memories of eighty plus years ago. After a soccer game in Amsterdam, hundreds of our people were hunted down, beaten up, kicked, run over by cars, and thrown into cold waters. At last report, some were still missing. The only difference from two generations ago - We have a State of Israel which immediately sent rescue planes to save our people. How is our Lech Lecha, our personal journey, impacted by this latest anti-Semitic event?

There is a well-known story about the Hasidic rabbi, Zusya, crying on his deathbed. His students asked why he was crying? Zusya responded, "I see what will happen when I enter the next world. Nobody will ask me why I was not Moses. Nobody will ask me why I was not Rabbi Akiva. They will ask me why I was not Zusya. That is why I am crying. I am asking why I was not the best Zusya I could be."

The greatest tragedy of life is not death. The greatest tragedy is dying without having completed our mission, dying before we know why we lived. Each of us has our personal Lech Lecha, our particular journey on this earth. Each of us has a responsibility to search our own soul and ask the ultimate question - Why did God place me on this earth? What is my Lecha Lecha?

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Howard Morrison