There is a spiritual power to the Jewish calendar.
Rabbi Arthur Waskow teaches that Jewish time has a sacred rhythm,
mirroring the ebb and flow of the natural world.

Just as seasons turn and tides shift, the Jewish year moves us through cycles of joy and grief, contraction and expansion.
The calendar doesn’t just mark time—it shapes it,
guiding us through emotional and spiritual landscapes. 

Today we find ourselves at the lowest point of our Jewish calendar.
Israel is dry as a bone baking in the sun.
We are close to the summer solstice,
and so very far from the life-giving waters of the rainy season.


This is a time of mourning.

These past three weeks, leading into Sunday’s observance of Tisha B’Av, are known as bein hametzarim, the time between the narrows.
There is a tightening and restriction, meant to embody the siege of Jerusalem and the destruction of the Temple.

According to our sages, the destruction was the culmination of human failure, of leadership breakdown,
of unchecked greed, and of cruelty justified in the name of survival.

We read rebuke in this Shabbat’s Haftarah,
from the beginning of the book of Isaiah:
See how the faithful city has become a harlot!
She once was full of justice; righteousness used to dwell in her – but now murderers!
Your rulers are rebels, companions of thieves;
they all love bribes and chase after gifts.
They do not defend the cause of the fatherless;
the widow’s case does not come before them.

The destruction is also canonized in the book of Lamentations.
In Hebrew Eicha, Alas!
We will be reading it together tomorrow evening.

Scholar Adele Berlin reminds us of the reality beneath the poetry of Lamentations.
Ancient empires, she explains, used siege warfare as a brutal tactic
to break the spirit of a people.
Cities were blockaded until starvation and disease decimated those trapped inside.
No distinction was made between civilian and soldier.
The suffering was indiscriminate. 

All of this poetic outpouring is addressed to God,
so that God may feel the suffering of the people, rescue them,
and restore them to their country and to their relationship with their God.
The entire book may be thought of as an appeal for God’s mercy.
Yet throughout Lamentations, God remains silent.

The last two verses of Lamentations are perhaps the most distressing verses of our sacred texts:

Take us back, O God, to Yourself,
Oh let us come back;
Make us again as we were before.

But – if you have utterly rejected us, and remain so very angry with us…

And that’s it.
The if/then clause is left unfinished,
and we are left to sit in the pain of existential uncertainty. 
What if we cannot go back?

Tisha B’Av is a time for witnessing this pain. Our tradition demands it.

This week I have read and reread Lamentations side by side
with the endless news stories and first-hand accounts of the hell-like devastation being wrought in Gaza.

Our sacred texts are leaping off the page,
we are living the destruction in real time

We are witnessing civilians being herded into tighter and tighter spaces and then being shot at
We are witnessing lying and greed, self preservation over the sanctity of life
We are witnessing human beings die in the rubble from starvation and disease

There is no water, there is no flour
And where there is no flour, there is no Torah

I am sickened by this war being waged in the name of God
Adonai, Allah, whatever name you want to ascribe
And I fear to call it rock bottom,
because if this nightmare can somehow grow worse…

Read the articles, see the photos, and sit with the pain –
Let it break your heart
Let the pain pierce your soul in a way you will never forget.

—-

I have been asked “what can we do?” and I wish I had a more direct answer

I have found myself putting my efforts behind organizations I believe in,
I have sought to get to the core of the change I want to see, and try to determine who is doing it best.
Who is feeding children?
Who is mobilizing Israelis towards peace and political shifts?
Who is fighting to take greed out of life and death decision making?

I was listening to a conversation between Yehuda Kurtzer and Donniel Hartman where they compared the length of the arc of impact as seen by the educator, and the agent of change.
From their point of view, the educator needs to surrender an amount of control over influencing short-term change.

They cannot vote, they cannot stop the bleeding.
But they can flood the marketplace with ideas and morals and values,
They can teach, and inspire, and spread awareness until the tides shift

I find myself somewhere between
But what sticks with me from their conversation was the use of the word Flood.

While working on these words, and leaning in to the imagery of dryness and drought
It rained – a lot.
It rained last night while I taught Intro to Judaism,
As our class interpreted Tzedek Tzedek Tirdof
And determined that we are called on to pursue Justice time and time again
That we must pursue justice even when it might not be in our personal best interest
And that we must pursue justice, because we cannot rely on someone else to do it for us, especially someone in power. 

And it rained this morning right before I left for La Collaborativa
As 20 of us met under the bridge in Chelsea to help distribute food.
Like we try to do every month
It felt so good to feed someone in need of nourishment
Without judgment, without red tape, and in defiance of injustice
It felt like change in the right direction,
It felt like the words of Torah in the work of our hands

When we find ourselves in a moral desert,
we must flood our world with good in every way we can.

We must make justice burst forth like a river, righteousness like a never-failing stream.
The waters will find their way to the low places, to the dry places

Tisha B’Av is for witnessing. For mourning.
For facing the screams and the silence.

But it is not the end.

Immediately after the low point of Tisha B’Av, our calendar implores us to climb again.
Next Shabbat is called Shabbat Nachamu, the Shabbat of comfort.
And as we begin the Book of Deuteronomy,
We begin again the long arc toward return, toward hope, toward the possibility of change.

No one said the climb would be easy. It is slow. It is steep. One foot in front of the other.

So I ask you: as we turn this corner in Jewish time, what do you hope to see in our times of renewal?
By Rosh Hashanah? By Simchat Torah?

What changes feel beyond your control—and what actions are within your reach?

And where is the stretch—the courageous stretch—
that brings those two poles just a bit closer together?

Let us walk together, upstream. Toward the headwaters. Toward what is pure. Toward a world where righteousness flows again—not in poetry alone, but in policy, in practice, and in peace.

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Welcome to Shabbat Awakenings, a weekly reflection, as we make our way toward Shabbat. You can also listen to it as a podcast.

We are in the lowest moment in the Jewish year, but, maybe also in this year, too. In the middle of the heat of the summer (in the northern hemisphere), in what feels like a draining of the life force, we commemorate destruction. On the ninth of Av which begins tomorrow night, we recall the devastation of the first and second Temple, by the Babylonians and then hundreds of years later by the Romans. In both instances, it felt like all was lost including the community of people involved. The Jewish people fought against forces not only from the outside but also from the inside. Pessimism and despair were rampant then as it is now.

We cannot look away from the starvation happening in Gaza. We are at a low point. I share with you this statement from the leadership of the Reform movement:

***

Reform Movement Statement on Starvation in Gaza

July 27, 2025

The ongoing crisis in Gaza is a devastating reminder of the immense human cost of war. Nearly two years into Israel’s war against Hamas, Israelis are still waiting for the return of their loved ones held hostage, and innocent Palestinians are caught in a mounting humanitarian catastrophe. Hamas has repeatedly demonstrated its willingness to sacrifice the Palestinian people in its pursuit of Israel’s destruction, but Israel must not sacrifice its own moral standing in return. Neither escalating military pressure nor restricting humanitarian aid has brought Israel closer to securing a hostage deal or ending the war.

While long-delayed and not-yet-certain to be more effective than previous efforts, we are encouraged by Saturday night’s announcement that the Israeli military would revive the practice of dropping aid from airplanes and make it easier for aid convoys, including those from the UN’s World Food Program, to move through Gaza along “designated humanitarian corridors,” and to temporarily cease fighting in Gaza for a humanitarian pause.

No one should be unaffected by the pervasive hunger experienced by thousands of Gazans. No one should spend the bulk of their time arguing technical definitions between starvation and pervasive hunger. The situation is dire, and it is deadly. Nor should we accept arguments that because Hamas is the primary reason many Gazans are either starving or on the verge of starving, that the Jewish State is not also culpable in this human disaster. The primary moral response must begin with anguished hearts in the face of such a large-scale human tragedy.

Our tradition teaches that all people are created b’tzelem Elohim — in the image of God. One consequence of this is the moral priority, which is affirmed throughout the Bible and rabbinic tradition, of feeding the hungry — both for the individual and for the self-governing Jewish community.

More than a few members of the current Israeli government have publicly called for Israel to decimate the Gaza strip. The most recent was Heritage Minister Amichai Eliyahu who, on Thursday lauded the Israeli government for “racing ahead for Gaza to be wiped out.” He added: “Thank God, we are wiping out this evil.” Of equal concern are far — right Israeli politicians who advocate for Israel to permanently push most Gazans from much of Gaza and replace them with Jewish settlements. We condemn all such statements. They do not represent Jewish values nor those embodied in the Zionist vision that produced Israel’s Declaration of Independence.

Despite PM Netanyahu’s calls to ignore these full members of his cabinet, their presence in this government has consistently morally compromised Israel’s actions.

Starving Gazan civilians neither will bring Israel the “total victory” over Hamas it seeks, nor can it be justified by Jewish values or humanitarian law. It’s hard to imagine that this tragic approach will bring home the 50 remaining hostages, including the 20 whom we pray are still alive.

It’s imperative that the Government of Israel ensures that the recently announced plans to deliver humanitarian aid succeed as Israel works with international partners to ensure its safe and sustained delivery and do whatever possible to reduce or eliminate the shootings and other injuries sustained at food distribution centers. We applaud Israel’s green light for foreign nations to resume providing humanitarian aid to the Gaza population desperate for food and are confident that they will do all they can to ensure that such aid does not fall into the hands of Hamas…

…Finally, while it is imperative that Israel and the U.S. resume diplomacy to bring home all hostages and end this war, denying basic humanitarian aid crosses a moral line. Blocking food, water, medicine, and power — especially for children — is indefensible. Let us not allow our grief to harden into indifference, nor our love for Israel to blind us to the cries of the vulnerable. Let us rise to the moral challenge of this moment.

Union for Reform Judaism
Central Conference of American Rabbis
American Conference of Cantors

Read the full text of the statement.

***

The Biblical book of Lamentations we read at Tisha B’Av begins with the Hebrew word how — eicha אֵיכָ֣ה. It describes how Jerusalem sat empty of her people carried into exile, void of moral clarity and justice. Yet, eicha  אֵיכָ֣ה, how, is also a question. How shall we go on? How can we rise together as a Jewish community, despite our differences, to ensure a future for us all? How can, as our leaders have implored,  “we not allow our grief to harden into indifference, nor our love for Israel to blind us to the cries of the vulnerable?”

Our voices matter. We raise them together.

Shabbat Shalom! שבת שלום

I look forward to hearing your thoughts and impressions. Share with me what you think. Your email goes directly to me!

Shabbat Shalom! שבת שלום

Rabbi Elaine Zecher

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Welcome to Shabbat Awakenings, a weekly reflection, as we make our way toward Shabbat. You can listen to it as a podcast here.

This week, I offer this poem by Mary Oliver as I make my way toward my daughter’s wedding on Saturday night with great excitement and my strong desire to be mindful.

Mindful

Every day
I see or hear
something
that more or less

kills me
with delight,
that leaves me
like a needle

in the haystack
of light.
It was what I was born for —
to look, to listen,

to lose myself
inside this soft world —
to instruct myself
over and over

in joy,
and acclamation.
Nor am I talking
about the exceptional,

the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant —
but of the ordinary,
the common, the very drab,

the daily presentations.
Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself,
how can you help

but grow wise
with such teachings
as these —
the untrimmable light

of the world,
the ocean’s shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?

— Mary Oliver
(“Why I Wake Early”)

Shabbat Shalom! שבת שלום

I welcome your reflections and responses, Connect with me with comments and reflections here.

Rabbi Elaine Zecher

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Welcome to Shabbat Awakenings, a weekly reflection, as we make our way toward Shabbat. You can listen to it as a podcast here.

“Where is Superman?” This question often animates a scene of people in distress in a movie. Imagine a world where out of nowhere, a man of steel saves the day, even if it means rescuing a kitten? But Superman did not start in his cape and tights, his origin story is a familiar one. It mirrors what happened to Moses from the Torah.

A baby, in danger in a world that will collapse, was placed in a vessel. His parents don’t know if he will survive or where he will end up. He is discovered and adopted, allowed to grow in the open field of opportunity in the palace. Protected until he is grown, he soon learned that he has a gift that he can hear the voice of God and takes on the role of rescuing and redemption. There will be opposing forces that will challenge him, but he will have to garner his strength.

Was Superman Moses? Was Moses Superman?

Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, children of immigrants who grew up in Ohio, had a front row seat to the idea of coming from the outside to find a new home and perhaps to start anew. Were they Torah scholars? I don’t think so. Might they have known the story of Moses even from a Passover seder? Probably. Their creativity perhaps informed by their Jewish knowledge birthed Superman. It is an important story to inform how to see the world.

Isn’t this also the immigrant story for many of our ancestors and many today? They faced a world of danger. They left behind a world they knew to find a new world who they hoped would adopt them. They did not forget their past but looked to the future and what they might be able to bring of their own talents and abilities to contribute. The Superman tale is a way to elevate the immigrant experience rather than to denigrate it.

The most recent Superman story shows a dark side through the ill regard of those in power for someone like Superman. With no spoiler alerts necessary, our superhero is regarded as an “it, not a man.” He must declare that he is a human who laughs, cries, and despairs.” The message of the movie is how our actions make us who we are. But you already knew that.

Those who come into America deserve to be included, to be treated with respect, and not to be rounded up as if they are an “it” rather than a human being. We may not be made of steel, yet we do have our own individual superpowers that can bring out the best of us in the way we regard one another. To me, that is “truth, justice, and the American Way.”

Shabbat Shalom! שבת שלום

I welcome your reflections and responses, Connect with me with comments and reflections here.

Rabbi Elaine Zecher

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Tonight,
if I may,
I’d like to tell you a story.

*****

In the summer of 2005,
I was a recent high school graduate,
spending my last summer in Los Angeles before starting college at Emerson.
I thought surely Boston would be a quick four-year detour before returning to
California for good.
Needless to say,
20 years later,
I’ve spent more of my life here in the northeast than I ever did in L.A.
And somehow,
along the way,
I’ve become a proud New Englander.

*****

This summer marks 20 years not just since moving back east,
but since coming out.

In 2005,
I found the courage to live truthfully,
openly,
and without shame.

And to mark that moment,
I did something big:
I went to my first Pride Parade.

*****

At 18,
I had no idea what to expect.

I didn’t know how to act,
or dress,
or fit in.

But with a close friend by my side,
I showed up as myself.
And what I saw were thousands and thousands of others doing the same.
None of us was alone.

Before social media,
this was how we saw each other.

This was where we were seen.

*****

In more recent years,
I haven’t always felt the same pull to Pride.

It’s usually on Shabbat.
It’s loud and crowded.

And honestly,
at a place like Temple Israel,
every day feels like pride.

So I’ve often opted out.

*****

But this year felt different.

*****

The voices are louder.

The ones that say trans people shouldn’t get healthcare.
That drag queens are a threat.
That kids shouldn’t learn about people like me.
That books about LGBT families shouldn’t be on library shelves.
That our marriages,
our safety,
our dignity are up for debate.
And those voices have power.

And they’re not just online.
And sometimes they’re accompanied by very real violence.
In this moment,
it can be hard to feel like the arc of the moral universe is bending toward justice,
no matter how long.

*****

So this year,
I didn’t just attend the parade –
I marched.

****

And at the same time,
this year,
a close friend of mine was harassed at a Pride event in California for wearing a
Jewish star necklace.

This year,
the New York Dyke March officially banned Zionists –
without defining the term –
expelling longtime Jewish organizers.

KeshetUK, the only Jewish LGBT+ education and training charity in the United
Kingdom, had to pull out of London Pride due to lack of assurances that Jews
would feel physically and psychologically safe at the festival.

The 15th annual Brooklyn Pride Interfaith Service was canceled.

The Reform rabbi set to host it said her congregation’s connection to Israel
– which she described as deep,
complex,
and largely not supportive of the current government –
was one of the reasons it was no longer welcome.

*****

So this year,
I showed up with a different kind of hesitation.

But I showed up.
I marched with Keshet and Boston’s Jewish community.
I wore a large Jewish star necklace and carried a sign with a Jewish star over a rainbow background –
(a flag that has actually been banned at multiple other Pride celebrations)

*****

I braced for a curse.
I expected slurs,
or worse.
It’s happened to others,
why not me?

But what I saw instead were crowds –
in the rain!
– lining the streets.
And as we marched,
I heard so many people shout right at us:
“We love you!”

“We support you!”
For a mile and half,
I heard nothing but love showered on us.
I saw many of you along that route.
I hugged many of you along that route.
And most impactfully,
I saw myself at 18 along that route.
I saw myself in the queer youth attending their first pride parade,
maybe even admiring the confident,
self-assured LGBT adults proudly marching.

I’ve become one of those adults that my teenage self needed to see.

*****

What I expected to be a day of curse turned out to be a day of blessing.
A surprise blessing.
A moment of healing I didn’t know I needed.

*****

Which is where my story bleeds into the story of this week’s Torah portion,
Balak.

This week,
Balak,
a Moabite king,
hires the prophet Balaam to curse the Israelites.
He wants them condemned,
damned,
destroyed.

And in Numbers Chapter 24,
this prophet Balaam,
at the king’s insistence,
looks up and sees all of the Israelites gathered together,
as he opens his mouth and delivers his preamble:
נְֻ֤אם ִּב ְל ָע ֙ם ְּב֣נֹו ְב ֔עֹר”
Word of Balaam son of Beor,
word of the man whose eye is true,
word of one who hears God’s speech,
who beholds visions from the Almighty,
prostrate,
but with eyes unveiled:”
And then,
what follows is far from the expected curse.

What comes out of Balaam’s mouth are the words now made famous by our
morning liturgy:
“Mah Tovu Ohalecha Yaakov”
–
Look how good your tents are,
Jacob!

How gorgeous is this –
how beautiful and good and blessed is this group of Jews.

*****

Now in the context of the biblical story,
this is far from the first time Balaam has offered a blessing when the King has
asked him to offer a curse!

So,
arguably,
the King really should have seen this coming.
But when we have curse on the mind,
it’s sometimes impossible to even imagine blessing.
Curses can blind us to the good right in front of our eyes.

*****

Balak expected a curse and was livid when met with Balaam’s blessing.
I expected a curse and was instead overcome with a sense of gratitude for an
unexpected blessing.

*****

The curses in this world are very real.
Antisemitism is alive and well –
I don’t need to tell any of you that.
As are homophobia and transphobia.
But what doesn’t make the news are acts of love.

Parents loving their queer kids is not in the New York Times.
Jews being loved and welcomed and embraced by our friends and neighbors
doesn’t go viral.

Jewish communities welcoming LGBT people with open arms, and queer spaces
welcoming Jews openly and without ideological litmus tests –
these are not headlines that gather enough clicks to entice advertisers.
But that doesn’t mean they’re not real.

*****

It would be easy to convince you that we are alone in this world and have no allies
and no support.
Easy maybe,
but not true,
Certainly not a complete picture.

This year,
for all of us,
no matter who you are,
no matter who might be trying to make you afraid,
you are a blessing and deserving of blessing.
And there are more of us who believe that than you realize.

Balaam saw a group of Israelites waiting to be cursed and told them their
encampment looked like palm-groves and gardens and cedars, dripping with
moisture, with deep roots in abundant water.

Surely, a vision that could only be seen from a distance.

Surely an image the Israelites could not have even had of themselves.

*****

This week,
may you find blessings where you least expect them.
May the blessings you experience surprise and delight you.
When you feel a curse coming up in your own throat,
may you find that sacred inner voice to help you transform it into a blessing.
Mah Tovu –
how good it is,
to be who we are,
and to be loved for it.
Eizeh Bracha –
What a blessing.

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