The first time I attempted to write this blog post, I included the suggestion that we hug a Muslim. It was not an original idea. Social media was peppered with the suggestion that we Jews should hug our Muslim neighbors to assure them of our concern in the wake of anti-Islamic sentiment expressed by our President-Elect. Why? Because Jews know what it is like to be singled out because of our religion.

My editorial board, being my two millennial adult children, first voiced skepticism.  My son asked, would I go around asking people if they were Muslim and offering pats on the back? Hours later, my daughter shared with me that a Rabbi and a small group of Jews greeted worshippers arriving for Friday prayers at the Muslim Center of New York University. They handed out roses, held signs of support and offered words of comfort.  Quote my daughter: “maybe dad wasn’t far off the mark.”

A key Jewish value is reaching out to the stranger, hachnasat orchim, which we learn from this week’s Torah reading. Abraham was sitting outside his tent and warmly receives three unexpected strangers. We might not have the opportunity to invite wanderers into our home, but we can extend care and comfort in other ways. Despite some calls to “get over it,” I believe we must first acknowledge that this election has triggered pain for many – women who have been abused, holocaust survivors, immigrants, Muslims, African Americans and the LGBT community. While hugs are welcoming gestures, they are not enough. We need to do more.

My sentiments were echoed on Friday night, November 11, when the Jewish Studio was honored to have Liz Schrayer speak after services. Liz brilliantly analyzed the election informed by her decades of bi-partisan work in Washington. Her comments both acknowledged the pain and made room for hope. Her message was that we must actively participate on issues that matter to each of us – immigration reform, gun control, women’s rights, race relations, or voter protection. As Liz reminded us our tradition teaches, “It is not incumbent upon you to complete the work, but neither are you at liberty to desist from it” (Avot 2:21, attributed to Rabbi Tarfon). And as Hillel asked, “if not now, when?” (Avot 1:14).

The first step is to be knowledgable about the issues. On December 2, the Jewish Studio’s Friday night services will be followed by a discussion of women’s rights. And throughout 5777, we will continue to explore issues of concern in a Jewish context, and do so in a container of respect and caring.

So, let’s open our hearts just as Abraham opened the doors of his tent. And let’s be vigilant in continuing the work of improving this world, even if we can’t complete the task. The hugs and our efforts should begin today.

R’ Evan Krame

My ancestors were wandering refugees. Yours too. We should remember that now. Lives depend upon it.

The Torah reading this week, Noah, ends with the start of Abraham’s journey.  It reads: “Terah took his son Abram, his grandson Lot the son of Haran, and his daughter-in-law Sarai, the wife of his son Abram, and they set out together from Ur of the Chaldeans for the land of Canaan; but when they had come as far as Haran, they settled there.” Genesis 11:31-32.

Genesis gives no indication why Abraham’s father, Terah, would suddenly uproot his family and head toward the city of Haran. Archeologists have an explanation. They discovered and interpreted cuneiform tablets from a city in Syria in the 18th Century BCE. They are known as the Mari tablets. The tablets describe political and cultural strife around Abraham’s time that scholars think offers clues to his migration.  That migration to Haran was a long and hazardous journey. Haran was located in what is now Syria, some 500 miles north and west of the Babylonian city of Ur where they started.

Most likely, Abraham’s journey was that of a refugee escaping instability in what is now Iraq. In recent years refugees from the war-torn areas of Iraq and Syria travel north and west seeking safety.

This year 3,740 refugees are reported to have died attempting to cross the Mediterranean to Europe. More refugees have died this year crossing the Sea than in previous years. And this year is not yet over. While overall numbers of refugees journeying have decreased, the danger of the crossing has increased.

How many young men with the potential of an Abraham may have been among the refugees?  How many have not survived the ordeal?

Refugees escaping economic hardship and political oppression are again seeking safer status. That’s the story of our ancestors, starting with Abraham and continuing today. To be Jewish is not merely to be the descendant of refugees but also to not turn our back on the stranger, the widow and the orphan. The memory of Abraham is calling out to us to assist the refugees today. Please go to the HIAS website and learn more about how the Jewish people are helping refugees today.

R’ Evan J. Krame

Amidst hopes for a good and sweet new year, this week’s Torah portion (Ha’azinu) between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur brings the swan song of Moses as he prepares to die. It’s no coincidence that these two poignant moments come together now.

In a sense, Moses’ preparation to die evokes our own. Each year, tradition calls us to rehearse our death at Yom Kippur – a reminder of our mortality, arousing our courage to act, forgive, repair and transform our lives while we still live (B.T. Shabbat 153a).

For many of us, however, rehearsing death asks too much (its difficulty might distract or inhibit us) – or it asks too little (death is an easy way out: as “George Washington” sang in the musical “Hamilton”, “Dying is easy, young man. Living is harder”).

If “rehearsing death” seems too hard or too easy, then Ha’azinu offers two alternatives.

One is to write the poem of your life. That’s what Moses did: this week’s Torah portion is Moses’ poetic song of his life. We can do likewise not to prepare for death, but to launch the life we most yearn to live. This time is especially potent for its power to inspire transformation: why not now?

Another is to see in Ha’azinu a chance to re-balance our lives: the ideal life is lived in balance. Unique in the Torah, typographically Ha’azinu lays in two perfectly balanced columns, evoking the balance for which Moses yearns. Even the word Ha’azinu means balance: its Hebrew root also means to “balance the scales” (Lev. 19:36).

Now is when we balance the scales. We seek renewed balance in our lives. We balance the renewal of our lives with the poignant reminder that all human life is finite. Rebalanced within, we remember anew to treasure each day, that we may attain a heart of wisdom (Psalm 90:12).

L’shanah tovah tichateimun: may you and your loved ones be sealed for a renewed life of balance and goodness in the year ahead.

As we approach Rosh Hashanah, here’s a reminder that our spiritual ancestors knew what neurobiologists only recently figured out.

Emotion is catchy – and a good thing, too.

In the 1980s, scientists discovered that the brain is wired with mirror neurons that fire when we perceive others’ emotions. These neurons mirror in us what we sense others experiencing, a signal so strong that we can feel others’ emotions as our own. (It’s also why yawning is contagious.)

This week’s Torah portion (Ki Tavo) is full of what we should do and not do, and the consequences of our choices – subjects fitting enough for pre-Rosh Hashanah introspection. The portion begins, however, with words reprinted in the Passover Haggadah about expressing gratitude for our blessings. Torah mandates, as perhaps Judaism’s first fixed liturgy, that these prescribed words of gratitude must be spoken aloud (Deut. 26:3).

Why? Enter mirror neurons.

Abraham Ibn Ezra, the great medieval mystic, taught that gratitude’s words must be spoken aloud – not just felt or pondered within – precisely so they are heard. Hearing words of gratitude, ibn Ezra wrote, teaches others because we emulate what we hear. Children, he taught, learn gratitude when they hear adults express gratitude. Adults, he wrote, learn to keep promises when they hear others’ gratitude for promises kept.

What we say matters. Others naturally mirror how we are: their mirror neurons fire, and so do ours. The more we speak gratitude, the more we prime the pump of a virtuous cycle of gratitude. The same goes for any words we speak – whether grateful and loving, or sharp and judgmental.

That’s how all of us are collectively responsible, especially at this time of year. It’s why we stand together at Rosh Hashanah. It’s why we confess together our missed marks. It’s why we ask together for forgiveness. It’s why we reach together for repair and healing. It’s why we feel together a whole so much greater than the sum of its parts. The sense of all of us together at Rosh Hashanah is potent not only because Rosh Hashanah is a great spiritual re-boot, but also because of the raw and poignant power of everyone subtly affecting everyone else.

Gratitude, love, contrition, forgiveness, hope – they’re all catchy viruses, and at this time of year we’re especially prone to them, thanks to mirror neurons. So go catch some good viruses, and be sure to spread some. Shanah tovah.

Rabbi David Evan Markus

What does Judaism have to say about our current election cycle in the United States? So much! And I am excited by the fact that ideas recorded 3,000 years ago are relevant today.  Here’s some historical context before we shift to the text.

Imagine that you’ve been camping in the rocky desert for 40 years with a few hundred thousand friends.  The journey is nearly over. Before you move forward, there are a few hundred rules and regulations you need to know. Some of the laws might not be needed for centuries to come.  Some of the laws are still relevant millennia into the future, like the ones addressing leadership.

At a time when no king ruled the Israelites, Torah offered instructions on how a monarch was to rule. Anticipating change is a brilliant innovation of Torah that permits our tradition to continue guiding us today.  Here are some of those rules (in the order in which they appear in this week’s parasha Shoftim).  See if they continue to be applicable.

When you set a ruler over you, no one should be sent back to the land of oppression from which they came (i.e. Egypt).  The ruler should not have many spouses. Nor should the ruler amass gold and silver to excess. The leader should keep a copy of this teaching at their side.  And the monarch should not act condescendingly to the people.

Seems to me that these lessons are relevant today. These rules evoke some of the hot button issues of 2016. Do we send people who have stealthily entered this Promised Land back to places of oppression?  Do we care if our leaders have stable family relationships or if they have had many spouses? What if the leader has become quite wealthy – will a rich sovereign be as effective or fair?  Whatever the law of the land, shouldn’t the ruler be intimately familiar with the constitutional document?  Does the ruler respect the people or mock them with taunting phrases and offensive gestures?

[Any similarity between these Torah rules and current political candidates is either purely accidental or divinely ordered, but in any event this is not an endorsement or indictment of any candidate by the Jewish Studio or its leadership].

Judaism continues to be relevant by bringing the loftiest values to mind and calling upon us to act as our finest selves.  Our religion even speaks to our hearts and minds in the context of our current election drama. Torah implores us to pursue lives of moderation, caring, and respect. No one is more bidden to be temperate and benevolent than the ruler. What great lessons for our country’s political leaders; ancient as the Torah and still true today.

R’ Evan J. Krame