22 Jan

Free Will and the Stiffened Heart

Posted by Cantor Neff in D'var Torah. Tagged: , .

Below is the sermon that I delivered at The Reform Temple of Rockland on 1/20/23 on Parshat Va’Eira:

“But the Eternal stiffened the heart of Pharoah, and he would not heed them.”  Parshat Va’Eira brings up for me year after year the question of free-will.  Pharoah was a human – he had his own mind.  Why did G-d “stiffen” his heart?  Did G-d take away Pharoah’s volition to prove a point?? Did G-d inflict more suffering than necessary on all of Egypt just to “show G-d’s signs and wonders”?  This makes me seriously uncomfortable.  And judging by many years of Taste of Torah, it makes a lot of other people uneasy as well.  But maybe there is some insight here that we haven’t noticed.  Let’s look at all the times that Pharoah’s heart stiffens in this parshah.

  1.  Exodus 7:12-13 “each cast down his rod, and they turned into serpents. But Aaron’s rod swallowed their rods. Yet Pharaoh’s heart stiffened and he did not heed them, as G-d had said.”
  2. Exodus 7:21-22 after the Nile was turned to blood, we read “and the fish in the Nile died. The Nile stank so that the Egyptians could not drink water from the Nile; and there was blood throughout the land of Egypt. But when the Egyptian magician-priests did the same with their spells, Pharaoh’s heart stiffened and he did not heed them—as G-d had spoken.
  3. After the plague of the frogs had been removed Exodus 8:11 “But when Pharaoh saw that there was relief, he became stubborn and would not heed them, as G-d had spoken.”
  4. After the lice Exodus 8:15 “But Pharaoh’s heart stiffened and he would not heed them, as G-d had spoken.”
  5. After swarms of insects Ex. 8:28 “But Pharaoh became stubborn this time also, and would not let the people go.”
  6. After livestock disease that affected only Egyptian livestock Ex9:27 “yet Pharaoh remained stubborn, and he would not let the people go.”

Time after time, plague after awful plague, it isn’t G-d who hardens Pharoah’s heart, but Pharoah himself.  He is stubborn and set in his ways.  It starts simple – with a trick that his magicians can replicate.  A rod turns into a snake.  Great trick.  Harms nobody.  His people can do it too.  His pride swells.  He’s not going to give in to this Moses guy.  But things escalate quickly.  Water turned to blood means that there is no water for the people, the land or the animals.  Frogs, lice, insects, pestilence.  These aren’t mere tricks, and you can imagine Pharoah becoming angrier and more set in his ways.     But with the next plague something new happens.  

After the plague of boils took down everyone, even the priests, we read in Ex 9:11-12 “The magician-priests were unable to confront Moses because of the inflammation, for the inflammation afflicted the magician-priests as well as all the other Egyptians. But G-d stiffened the heart of Pharaoh, and he would not heed them, just as G-d had told Moses.”

The plagues have gotten personal.  People themselves are afflicted.  People Pharoah knows and trusts.  Pharoah must be under a tremendous amount of pressure to just give in already.  But G-d made him stick to it.  Why would G-d remove his free-will in this moment when he was maybe about to finally give in?

Maimonides wrote in Hilchot Teshuvah that the reason G-d hardened Pharoah’s heart at this point was to punish him for the first five times when Pharoah’s own cruelty blinded him to the plight of both his people and ours.  Maimonides says, “judgment obligated that he be prevented from repenting so that he would suffer retribution.”  Ouch.  Cruel.  Maybe deserved but shouldn’t one be allowed to change ones ways without G-d’s interference?

Another point of view is in Sefer Ha-Ikkarim Rabbi Yosef Albo posites the opposite point of view.  According to Albo, Pharoah was only going to give in because of pressure, and not because of change or because of his own volition.  G-d hardened Pharoah’s heart in order to RETURN his free-will – to remove the stress of the pressure from others to give in and bring Pharoah back to his normal state!  The, “owing to his wicked attitude, when in a state of freedom” he would look for causes of excuses to attribute the plagues to in order to make them seem natural or accidental and not divine – thus ignorable.  

Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks z’l shared another viewpoint.  Although philosophers and scientists often view the concept of “free will” as an absolute, Rabbi Sacks writes that this is not how it works in real life.  

“Consider addiction,” he writes. “The first few times someone gambles or drinks alcohol or takes drugs, they may do so freely, knowing the risks but ignoring them. Time goes on and their dependency increases until the craving is so intense that they are almost powerless to resist it. At a certain point they … no longer have the ability to stop without external support.”  They have no free-will over their choices.

Addiction is only one of many types of examples he gives.  Lies lead to more lies to cover up the original lie.  Habits lead to more habits.  As he writes, “We lose our freedom gradually, often without noticing it.”  In the case of Pharoah’s story – it all starts with a magic trick – turning a rod into a snake–  but somehow almost inexplicably it leads to plague, darkness, and death.  Whether the root cause is habit or hubris, the result is the same.  Pharoah, for whatever reason, cannot give in, cannot change.  After all, Pharoah represents Mitzrayim – a land whose very name means narrowness.

Enslaving others, Pharoah himself becomes enslaved – a prisoner of his values and his land, he lost the ability to see the suffering even of his own people.

We are our own Pharoahs.  We create bad habits and routines from small things and whether through compulsion, coercion, impulsion or mere inclination – are hearts are hardened to change.  This is why the New Year’s resolutions of January rarely survive until March.  But our tradition demands, “Let My People Go.”  This week, may we find the places where we are narrow and constricted – where our hearts are hardened to the needs of others and to the changes that we know we need to make for our own health and for the health of our society; and may we seek the freedom to change ourselves and our worlds – as is our birthright.  

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26 Dec

A New King Arose Who Did Not Know Joseph

Posted by Cantor Neff in D'var Torah. Tagged: , , , , , .

This was sermon for Parshat Sheimot (Delivered via Zoom 12/24/21)

         In this week’s Torah portion, Parshat Shemot, we read that “a new king arose who did not know Joseph.”  Because he did not know, learn or remember history – he lived in fear of a nation that meant him no harm.  Because he lived in fear – he resorted to violence and murder.  He enslaved a people – killed its male children, and led his nation down a path that gave rise to misery and heartbreak for both his people and ours.  

         Right at this moment that begins the epic tale of our people’s history, the Torah teaches us the importance of grounding ourselves in an understanding of our nation’s story – if we do not learn it, we will mistake ancient allies for enemies – brothers for adversaries.  But it’s not just about learning, but rather about knowing – deeply understanding.  It does not say a new king arose who had not heard of Joseph – but rather a new king arose who did not KNOW him.

         I have been studying and rereading Rabbi Naomi Levy’s, wonderful book, “Einstein and the Rabbi,” in preparation for teaching a class on it.  In the chapter, “Finding the Me Within Me,” she says, “There is something that your soul knows that you’ve forgotten.”  Actually I think there are universes that my soul knows that I’ve forgotten – bits of family and communal history contained within stories I didn’t listen to closely enough; burning-bush-sized reservoirs of soul knowledge that I didn’t stop to look at and thus do not see or know.  

But what do we do with this?  If we’ve forgotten something – it is gone.  Its knowledge no longer does us any good.    No – in order for it to benefit us – we must RE-Member it.  To dismember is to take something apart into its component pieces – we must do the opposite – we seek out the component pieces, search for them, study them, put back together our personal, family, and community histories and RE-member them in our minds.  We can then begin to figure out some of what our souls know, but had forgotten.

         The book of Exodus takes us annually on this journey – the creation of our peoplehood, and in the spiral of its yearly retelling we have the opportunity to REMEMBER what it meant to be slaves in Egypt, to be freed, to wander in the dessert of the unknown and ultimately to make it to Sinai (only to complain once there about how much better we had it before).  Our souls’ journey as Jews is to keep RE-membering.  To redraw our lives and our history again and again until it makes more and more sense to us.  Until we begin to see more than just our outlines in the story, but how we are living it still, and how it is continuing to bring meaning to our lives.

         How many burning bushes were in our path that we neglected to stop and gaze at and thus missed?  How many times were we enslaved to ideas or goals that no longer suit us?  How often were we floating aimlessly in a Nile of disengagement.  But this week’s parashah stands to remind our souls to cry out, “Let My People Go.”  Our personal, communal, and spiritual freedom is in front of us always.  We, unlike Pharoah, do remember Joseph.  We also remember Pharoah.  We remember slavery and we remember freedom.  We remember feeling slow of tongue and too afraid to speak – and we remember actions that spoke far louder than words could.  

         As we begin to reembark on our peoples’ foundational journey, I pray that we will connect to it in ways that help us to recall the things our souls have long forgotten.  I pray that it will lead us to better awareness, connection, and unity with our own souls and with the soul of our people.

17 Apr

One Year Later – Introduction to Healing Service

Posted by Cantor Neff in Uncategorized.

A little over a year ago, we started in fear and panic.

Stores closed and those that remained open were out of essentials.

If we ventured out of doors at all, we crossed the streets to avoid faceless, 

masked strangers.

There was fear, death, isolation, desperation, and depression.

As five turned to ten turned to a hundred to a thousand and on

As numbers of dead became too staggering to seem real any longer.

And we were alone.

But we also were not.  

We created communities out of the void.

We found friends and loved ones and embraced over a thing called Zoom – 

A thing many of us had not even heard of before 

And it was now our lifeline.

Imagine if we had not had it at all…

Yes – Funerals were attended by two or three people in person

Baby namings were celebrated online. Weddings were postponed

And yet…

At those same funerals and shivas and namings we came together

By the hundreds from the four corners of the earth.

Those who could never have been able to attend in person

Were there.

They could speak and share their love.

It was a silver lining on a very, very dark cloud.

We prayed for a vaccine.  And then we feared a vaccine that came so quickly.

Every conversation began with questions

Where can you get it?

When can you get it?

Did you get it yet?

Did you react?

And the biggest question of all…

Now what?

How will we heal?

How will we return?

Will there ever be a normal again?

And what will that be?

Who are we now?

Who CAN we be?

Will we become better people?  Will we care more?

Will we help one another and support one another as we “return?”

And in Hillel’s famous words:

“If not now, when?”

12 Feb

My Thoughts on 1/6/21

Posted by Cantor Neff in Uncategorized. Tagged: , .

I’ll take that flag back now

You cannot claim it anymore.

Don’t wear it on your hats, your t-shirts, your bandanas.

Don’t hang it from your car

Or in front of your home.

You have forgotten what it stands for

And your waving of it is a lie.

That flag should be freedom and democracy.

That flag should be elections won and elections conceded,

Fair say and human rights

Fighting against those who put children in cages – not sending them there ourselves.

That flag is not stop the count.

But rather – we all count.

That flag’s pole doesn’t shatter the windows of our capitol,

but shatters the tatters of oppressions once overcome

and again and again won.

We will take up its tatters now

With needles and thread and tape and glue

With angry hearts and hurt souls

And love of country – for what it could and should be

For what it will be someday…

We will weave it back together

One colorful thread at a time.

9 Feb

Trying to Be a Hopeaholic

Posted by Cantor Neff in D'var Torah. Tagged: .

This past Shabbat, I was having a conversation with one of our congregants, Lillian Spier. Lillian just turned one-hundred years old. I half-jokingly asked her what the secret was to her longevity. I expected her to talk about being active, making healthy eating choices – something like that. But instead she said, “I’m a hope-a-holic.” To her, the secret of her long life was all about attitude, all about the way that she chooses to see the world.

It’s funny how sometimes things come together all at once. The next day, I was listening to a podcast and the speaker was talking about how important it is to take “delight” in the world. This too, is about how we choose to perceive events around us. Yet, it was also a challenging week last week, and the state of the world seems quite bleak. How can we be hopeaholics at a time like this? How can we take delight in such a world?

This week’s Torah portion, parshat B’shallach, contains one of the most famous miracles in the Torah. The children of Israel have finally escaped Egyptian slavery and encounter before them a body of water. Moses raises his rod over the waters and they part. The people cross to freedom on dry land. Once they are safe, Miriam and the women take up their tumbrels and sing one of the oldest songs: “Mi Chamocha, ba-eilim, Adonai” – “Who is like You G-d, among the gods that are worshipped?”

We don’t experience miracles like this anymore. In fact, most people would agree that the age of miracles has passed. But perhaps not. Maybe, in order to see the miracles today, we have to strive to be hopeaholics?

One of my favorite liturgical poems speaks to this. Rabbi Sidney Greenberg wrote in his prayerbook, Siddur Hadash:

We look for miracles in the extraordinary, while too often we remain oblivious to the miracles, which abound in the ordinary moments of our lives.

Our lives are drenched in miracles. Miracles are all around us – and within us. We are each walking miracles.

When we are bruised, what miracle heals us? When we sleep, what miracle restores us? When we see beauty, what miracle elevates us? When we hear music, what miracle moves us?

When we see suffering, what miracle saddens us? When we give and receive love, what miracle warms us? When we pray, what miracle renews us?

Every springtime is a miracle; every snowflake is a miracle; every newborn is a miracle. The thoughts we think, the words we utter, the hopes we cherish – each is a miracle.

We live from miracle to miracle. That is why the Modim reminds us: be thankful for God’s miracles, which are daily with us.

On this Shabbat, in which we read the Mi Chamocha from the Torah, let us be reminded to seek the miracles, the look for the delight that will lead us to declare in wonder, “Who is like You?”

28 Jun

Be A Giant

Posted by Cantor Neff in D'var Torah, Judaism. Tagged: , .

I have just returned from a wonderful four day cantorial conference in Atlanta, GA. The theme of the conference was social action. So many times over the course of the week people spoke about how helpless they felt in the face of so much horror happening in our country and in the world.

In this week’s Torah portion, Sh’lach L’cha, Moses sends spies to scout out the land before they would enter and conquer it. The spies are very impressed by the land and all that they see there. They return to the people and report that the people there were giants and that next to such giants, they would be perceived as nothing but grasshoppers, and thus they started to see themselves as such.

When facing an enormous challenge, it is easy to see ourselves small in the face of the enormity that lies ahead. And if we see only this, how can we move in any direction, let alone, one that would require the strength and power to overcome those perceived giants. So what was the fault of the spies? The spies imagined how they would be perceived and then put that vision onto themselves, giving it power. But this was all in their minds. Their smallness was in their own perception, but their fear made it real.

Once it was clear that they saw themselves thus, G-d could not allow them to proceed. A whole generation needed to pass before the children of Israel would be permitted to attempt to conquer the land. The children of Israel needed to move beyond their slave mentality, to see themselves as free and worthy, before they could accomplish what they needed to.

Today, we do not have time for this. We must overcome any feeling of being helpless right now, because that too is only in our minds. Our Torah teaches us to care for the widow, the stranger, and the orphan. Over and over again, the Torah stresses these essential values. Even in this very week’s Torah portion, we read, “You and the stranger shall be alike before the Eternal.” (Num 15:15) This isn’t about politics. This crosses the boundaries of democrat and republican. This is about human rights, and is something that we can all get behind regardless of our feelings about immigration politics. These are the values that our Torah teaches, and this is the time that we must be giants.

I will leave you with the prayer that I wrote as part of the service that I led for the cantors this past Tuesday morning:

From cowardice, I will burst forth with courage

“Kol ha’olam kulo gesher tzar m’od v’ha-ikar lo l’fached klal”

“The whole world is a very narrow bridge,

And the most important thing is not to be afraid.”

My voice will sing out my strength and my joy

And through melody – the inspiration for deliverance.

From laziness, I will sing now with energy.

“Lo alecha ham’lachah ligmor v’lo atah ben chorin l’hibatel mimena.”

“It is not up to you to complete the work,

But neither are you free to desist from it.”

No. I will sing.

Sing loud and strong,

And the energy of my song, of praise will move me,

Can move you

Can move us all to move mountains together.

There will be no arrogance in this song

“V’anochi afar va’efer.”

“For I am nothing but dust and ashes.”

And yet through breath and song, the dust stirs the air,

changes its essence

Brings forth ruach from nothingness.

G-d of truth, let the truth of this song ring out.

Breathe Your ruach into our souls,

Inspiring us to partner with you in tikkun olam

So that we may declare: “Kol Han’shamah T’haleil Yah!”

“Let every soul sing praise to You!”

14 Jun

May You Be Blessed With Love

Posted by Cantor Neff in D'var Torah. Tagged: , , .

This week’s Torah portion, parshat Naso, contains the famous words of the Priestly benediction: “May G-d bless you and protect you. May G-d deal kindly and graciously with you. May G-d bestow G-d’s favor upon you, and grant you peace.” (Num. 6:24-26) This blessing is ancient, dating back to the days of the ancient Temple, and has always held an important place in synagogue worship.

In ancient times, the priests recited the blessing twice a day while standing on a special platform called a duchan. Today, in Orthodox and Conservative congregations, the prayer is still only recited by the descendants of the ancient priests, known as Kohanim. At the appointed time in the worship service, the prayer leader calls upon the kohanim, who drape their tallitot over their heads, arrange their fingers in the shape of a shin (the same shape made famous by Leonard Nimoy in Star Trek), and then bless the congregation.

In reform communities, this blessing has taken on a different role. At The Reform Temple of Rockland, we end virtually every service with it. We also use it to bless people for weddings, B’nei Mitzvah, anniversaries, and even birthdays. The prayer is usually lead by the Rabbi and Cantor together, regardless of their heritage as kohanim.

For many years, I used as my primary melody for this blessing, the one composed by Max Helfman (1901-1963), a Polish-American composer, choral conductor, and educator. https://youtu.be/sTqbEnSdUNs His melody has a place for the rabbi to add a translation built into the composition. The tune begins with a triumphant call. Each line of the three fold benediction rises higher in melody and volume and the final prayer for peace returns lower and has a lovely melody for the congregation to join in. The prayer moves back and forth between the heights of the Divine, and the community. It is perfect for the moment of blessing of a bride, a Bar or Bat Mitzvah student, and so many more circumstances.

Lately, I have been ending our worship services with a different melody. Peri Smilow’s Priestly Benediction. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B0vA9kOITtg Her original composition is only in English, and actually differs from the translation we normally use because it is not based on the verses from the Torah as we know it, but rather on the Priestly Blessing of the Qumran sect, a group of Jews who lived in the Second Temple period, and who lived a very strict and separatist way of life. The remnants of their library were found in the Dead Sea scrolls. The translation is: “May G-d bless you with all good. May G-d keep all evil from you. And may G-d fill your heart with wisdom and grace you with all truth. May G-d lift up G-d’s merciful face and shine on you for all time. And may G-d grant you eternal peace.” I have added the Hebrew verses from Numbers to Peri Smilow’s melody to make a combined text out of it.

Peri Smilow’s tune is VERY different from Max Helfman’s. It is congregational throughout, written to be accompanied by guitar, and is very gentle and loving. To me, it is a perfect sweet closer to a worship service, embodying the love contained within a sacred community.

Before performing the Priestly Benediction, it is traditional to say the following blessing, “Blessed are You… who has sanctified us with commandments and commanded us to bless the people Israel with love.” Note that the blessing stipulates that it must be completed “with love.” Nowhere in connection with any other mitzvah do we find this phrase.

May you be blessed with a Shabbat of peace and joy and may that blessing come with an abundance of love.

15 Mar

Vayikra

Posted by Cantor Neff in D'var Torah. Tagged: .

This week, with Parshat Vayikra, we begin the book of Leviticus. The first word of the book, and the one that also gives this Torah portion and indeed this entire book of the Torah its Hebrew name is, “Vayikra” – He (sorry for the gender pronoun) called. The use of this word to start the Torah portion seems redundant. The first verse of Vayikra reads, “The Eternal One CALLED (Vayikra) to Moses and SPOKE (vay’dabeir) to him from the Tent of Meeting SAYING (leimor). The Torah is famously succinct, so why so many words that seem to say the same thing?

Most of G-d’s messages in the Torah are preceded by the words, “Vayomer” (He said), “Vay’dabeir” (He spoke) or “Vay’tzav” (He commanded). These are all words of authority. But Vayikra doesn’t have this connotation at all. Vayikra is an invitation to engage. The book of holiness begins with a sacred summons.

The word, Vayikra is written in an unusual way in the Torah itself. The aleph at the end of the word is tiny. Why should this be so? If the aleph were not there at all, the word would be vayikar – He encountered, chanced upon. What is the connection? Why make the aleph small? Some people experience holiness in grand moments or major life events. For others, it’s more subtle. It’s a chance experience, an encounter with the Divine, a “still small voice” – a tiny, silent letter aleph.

The book of Vayikra brings to mind both types of holy encounters and invites us in to find a spiritual path. According to Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, Leviticus is divided into three parts. The first is about the holy – more specifically sacrifices. The second is about the boundary between the holy and the world – the things that prevent us from entering sacred space. The third is about taking the holy into the world. Leviticus democratizes holiness so that it becomes a part of the ongoing life of the people as a whole, and not something that only Moses can approach. Later, when prayer replaced sacrifice, this process would get taken even further.

Holiness is about setting things apart for a sacred purpose. Vayikra calls us to live a life of sacredness – whether we are the person who sees G-d’s hand in everything, or the person who seeks to hear that tiny, silent aleph. Vayikra is a challenging book, it is difficult to understand, has moral difficulties, and is hard to relate to. But we cannot begin to approach it without first engaging with it, and with that first word, Vayikra, we are invited to start.

8 Mar

It’s All About the Journey

Posted by Cantor Neff in D'var Torah. Tagged: .

With this week’s Torah portion, Parshat P’kudei, we complete the reading of the epic book of Exodus. The book began with the words, “V’eileh sheimot” – these are the names. “These are the names of the sons of Israel who came to Egypt with Jacob.” A new king arises who did not know Joseph and the children of Israel become slaves. The book tells us of the birth of Moses, his rise to leadership, the plagues, the Exodus, the ten commandments, the sin of the golden calf, and finally the building of the Tabernacle – a portable sanctuary. The people leave Egypt a “mixed multitude” and over the course of their wanderings in the dessert will become the Jewish people.

The last sentence of the book of Exodus reads, “For over the Tabernacle a cloud of the Eternal One rested by day, and fire would appear in it by night, in the view of all the house of Israel throughout their journeys.” By the end of this grand book of the Torah, we have not completed our journey. We are still in the wilderness, but now we have an accessible, visible, spiritual presence that accompanies, unifies, and comforts us.

The book began with the names – the foundation of who we came from, but it ends with the word, “journeys.” Our journeys are what will define us going forward. As Jews throughout our history, we have always been wanderers, but our connection to our people, our faith, our history, and our Torah have been the fire and the cloud that have united us. The names are our foundation. The journey is our destiny. The destination has never really been the most important part. In fact, even by the end of the Torah, we haven’t reached The Promised Land.

It is so easy to become caught up in our visions for our future, in goals yet to be realized, but we learn from the Torah that perhaps the purpose of the goal is to lead us through the journey.

Shabbat shalom.

1 Mar

Finding Stillness

Posted by Cantor Neff in D'var Torah. Tagged: .

A few days ago, there was an article in the New York Times entitled, “Do Not Disturb: How I Ditched My Phone and Unbroke My Brain.” The author discusses how his use of his smartphone had become a problem in his life. “I found myself incapable of reading books, watching full-length movies or having long uninterrupted conversations. Social media made me angry and anxious, and even the digital spaces I once found soothing (group texts, podcasts, YouTube k-holes) weren’t helping.” He decided that, despite the fact that he is a tech columnist, he needed to find a way to bring himself back into having a more normal, healthy relationship with his phone use. He sought help. In the process of working on the problem, he noticed that he was reaching for his phone in every spare moment he had – while brushing his teeth, walking outside, even during the “three-second window” between when he would insert his credit card in a chip reader at the store and when it was accepted. He realized in trying to wean himself off of these extreme behaviors that he had become “profoundly uncomfortable… with stillness.”

In this week’s Torah portion, Vayak’heil we read, “On six days work may be done, but on the seventh day you shall have a Sabbath of complete rest, holy to the Eternal…” (Exodus 35:2). In the traditional observance of Shabbat, Jews do not use electronics. This includes not only the lights and television, but indeed cell phones. Many Reform Jews that I know take a cell phone Sabbath every week. I will admit that I have not yet done this, partially because it is not practical for my life as a parent. Still, I felt some discomfort as read this article in the Times (and I read it on my cell phone). I do not have an extreme problem like the author does but I do (and I suspect many of us do) recognize this new discomfort with stillness and the empty time that appears while waiting in line.

One of the beauties of Reform Judaism is that we have the opportunity to define what Shabbat means to us. What does a “Sabbath of complete rest” mean? What are some new ways to distinguish Shabbat for all the other days of the week, to make it stand out as set apart? Maybe a break from social media, or from cell phone use altogether could be an interesting way to mark a separation “bein kodesh l’chol” (between the sacred times and all other times.) Maybe it is time off from something else that disturbs your sense of stillness and peace. But even if you choose not to go this particular route, the point is to find ways to distinguish Shabbat from the rest of your week, to find paths to stillness and rest. As Reform Jews, we often don’t walk the traditional route, but that doesn’t mean we should abandon the ultimate beauty that our tradition is trying to help us bring to our lives.

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