Dear TBZ Community,
On Monday, September 1, I joined interfaith leaders and over 600 people from different houses of worship from greater Boston and across Massachusetts, for a powerful day of walking and praying together. An interfaith gathering that retraced (in reverse) the route of our Revolutionary forebearers, from the Lexington Battle Green to the statue of The Embrace in Boston Common. This walk is part of a great effort to mobilize people to gather in community, in prayer, and in protest, to speak out at this time, and to continue to do so as we know that we will need to keep showing up together to save our country from tyranny. Our democratic traditions, along with the sacred texts and values of our faiths, call us to act.
It feels especially meaningful to make this call to wake up during the month of Elul. This morning at TBZ, during our first Selichot service of the year, we sang a piyut (liturgical poem) that begins with the words:
בֶּן אָדָם, מַה לְּךָ נִרְדָּם
Ben Adam, ma lecha nirdam
Child of Adam, why are you asleep?
The poem calls us to rise, to stand, to turn away from wrongdoing, and to seek forgiveness – not only from God, but from ourselves, from each other, and from the world around us.
The first stanza of the piyut reads:
בֶּן אָדָם, מַה לְּךָ נִרְדָּם, קוּם קְרָא בְּתַחֲנוּנִים
שְׁפךְ שִׂיחָה, דְּרשׁ סְלִיחָה, מֵאֲדון הָאֲדונִים
רְחַץ וּטְהַר, וְאַל תְּאַחַר, בְּטֶרֶם יָמִים פּונִים
וּמְהֵרָה, רוּץ לְעֶזְרָה, לִפְנֵי שׁוכֵן מְעונִים
וּמִפֶּשַׁע, וְגַם רֶשַׁע, בְּרַח וּפְחַד מֵאֲסונִים
אָנָּא שְׁעֵה, שִׁמְךָ יודְעֵי, יִשְׂרָאֵל נֶאֱמָנִים
לְךָ אֲדנָי הַצְּדָקָה. וְלָנוּ בּשֶׁת הַפָּנִים
You there, why are you still asleep?
Get up, cry out and beg,
Pour out words, ask for forgiveness from the Master of all.
Your time is passing, don’t wait! Cleanse and purify yourself,
run quickly and ask for support from the One who dwells in Heaven.
Fear and flee from wrongdoing and evil – they are disastrous.
(To the One we say:)
Please respond to the loyal people of Israel who revere Your Name.
Justice, Adonai, is on Your side.
We are left with shame.
This piyut, which has many different traditional tunes, speaks about waking up, standing up, not falling asleep, rushing into distancing ourselves from wrongdoing, and asking God for mercy.
I hear it also as a call to avoid falling into numbness in our existence and in the ways we live, to embrace the possibility of new learning – big and small. A call to show up for forgiveness, to show up without running away, to show up without being indifferent to the world around us. Showing up, even when it is hard or painful. Showing up for the new year with all that we bring to it. Showing up to hope.
While this piyut is a call to avoid becoming numb or indifferent to pain, it is also about finding ways to be awake in our world with purpose and hope. Between the threats to democracy at home, the ongoing war in Israel, the hostages still in captivity, and the suffering of Palestinians from devastation and famine, our coping mechanisms can push us to ignore what is happening around us. And that is understandable. We are tired of hearing about war, acts of violence, mass shootings, antisemitism, racism, and rights being stripped away. We are tired of hearing about natural disasters, climate change, disease, and more. Some of us may just want to “turn it off.” And yes, that is sometimes necessary.
The opposite is also challenging – when we never stop. Shabbat, we are reminded, is an incredible mechanism of healthy “turning off” while still being awake: Shabbat invites us to step back from our doing and acting in the world, with the aspiration to return to the weekdays inspired by a day’s sabbatical rest and ready to show up in the world and for the world.
What is the call, then, to be awake? How can we wake up in ways that are purposeful, intentional, and that allow for growth and possibility? And how do we make sure not to become indifferent, numb to pain and suffering?
In this week’s Torah portion, Parshat Ki Tetze, we have beautiful teachings that may guide us on these questions.
We read about returning an ox or a sheep back to its owner. Deuteronomy 22:1-4 reads:
לֹא־תִרְאֶה אֶת־שׁוֹר אָחִיךָ אוֹ אֶת־שֵׂיוֹ נִדָּחִים וְהִתְעַלַּמְתָּ מֵהֶם הָשֵׁב תְּשִׁיבֵם לְאָחִיךָ
If you see your fellow Israelite’s ox or sheep gone astray, do not ignore it; you must take it back to your peer.
וְאִם־לֹא קָרוֹב אָחִיךָ אֵלֶיךָ וְלֹא יְדַעְתּוֹ וַאֲסַפְתּוֹ אֶל־תּוֹךְ בֵּיתֶךָ וְהָיָה עִמְּךָ עַד דְּרֹשׁ אָחִיךָ אֹתוֹ וַהֲשֵׁבֹתוֹ לוֹ
If your fellow Israelite does not live near you or you do not know who [the owner] is, you shall bring it home and it shall remain with you until your peer claims it; then you shall give it back.
וְכֵן תַּעֲשֶׂה לַחֲמֹרוֹ וְכֵן תַּעֲשֶׂה לְשִׂמְלָתוֹ וְכֵן תַּעֲשֶׂה לְכָל־אֲבֵדַת אָחִיךָ אֲשֶׁר־תֹּאבַד מִמֶּנּוּ וּמְצָאתָהּ לֹא תוּכַל לְהִתְעַלֵּם
You shall do the same with that person’s ass; you shall do the same with that person’s garment; and so too shall you do with anything that your fellow Israelite loses and you find: you must not remain indifferent.
לֹא־תִרְאֶה אֶת־חֲמוֹר אָחִיךָ אוֹ שׁוֹרוֹ נֹפְלִים בַּדֶּרֶךְ וְהִתְעַלַּמְתָּ מֵהֶם הָקֵם תָּקִים עִמּוֹ
If you see your fellow Israelite’s ass or ox fallen on the road, do not ignore it; you must raise it together.
The text is clear: if you see something lost, something gone astray, you cannot ignore it – you must return it. And this does not just apply to an animal, but to anything. We could call this the mitzvah (commandment) of lost and found. But the wording is so powerful: the word lehit’alem (to ignore) points to our human weakness to look away from what is around us, especially when it feels distant or disconnected.
Rashi explains the word “ignore” in the first verse as:
והתעלמת. כּוֹבֵשׁ עַיִן כְּאִלּוּ אֵינוֹ רוֹאֵהוּ
Closes his eyes tight as though one does not see it.
This image resonates deeply. Sometimes it feels there is no other way, because we are tired, because it is painful, because it is too much. But Torah and our tradition remind us that this is not the way we live. We do not live alone; we live as part of society. Our responsibility is to wake up, to respond, to return, to give back, and to connect – even when it is difficult. Especially when it is difficult.
Elul reminds us to wake up!
It is ok to close our eyes sometimes, to pause, to breathe. But then our eyes must open and our souls must awaken to fulfill our obligation to bring back that which is lost. We must wake up to bring back hope, humanity, kindness, and joy.
At this time I want to share a prayer I offered at the Cambridge stop on the march, which captures this call:
Ribbono Shel Olam – Master of the Universe,
God of workers and dreamers, of prophets and resisters,
God who heard the cry of the slaves in Egypt, and who hears the cry of the oppressed still today–
We turn to You because we must.
Because the threats are too real, the silence too dangerous, the soul of democracy too fragile.
Torah commands:
לֹא־תַעֲשֹׁק שָׂכִיר עָנִי וְאֶבְיוֹ
“You shall not oppress a laborer who is poor and needy” (Deuteronomy 24:14).
La Torá nos recuerda: no oprimirás al trabajador pobre y necesitado.
On this Labor Day, we remember those whose sweat and labor built this nation: immigrants, enslaved people, women and men who organized, who marched for fair wages, safe workplaces, and dignity. We honor them not with parades of weapons, not with the sight of soldiers in our streets, but with the cry for justice, with the demand for freedom.
I stand here not only as a rabbi, but as a child of Chile who grew up under dictatorship. I know what it means when leaders dream of becoming tyrants, when power is enforced by fear, when the military presence is meant to intimidate instead of protect. And yet, even in those dark days, I witnessed people of faith, arm in arm, standing up to dictatorship.
And so, here I am again, standing with my brothers and sisters of faith, to stand up for the values of justice, democracy, compassion, and love.
Yo crecí en dictadura y sé del miedo de una sociedad que vive en opresión. Pero también sé de la esperanza que uno no pierde cuando está en comunidad, caminando con hermanos de fe.
True faith means showing up – for the detained, for the deported, for the disappeared, for the immigrant, for the undocumented, for every human being, all of us created in God’s image.
God, we ask You:
Strengthen our hearts.
Let our marching feet echo louder than the boots of intimidation.
Let our vision of liberty outshine the shadow of tyranny.
Let our faith become courage,
our prayer become action,
our solidarity become the seed of redemption.
Que nuestra fe nos sostenga.
Que nuestra compasión nos guíe.
Que nunca tengamos miedo de luchar por la justicia y la democracia.
Amen.
May we have the courage to keep fighting and believing that human beings can do better; that the world can be better for every human being.
May we stay awake, walk together, pray together, and bring the change that is so urgently needed.
May we not give in to the forces that try to make us numb and ignore the pain of those who suffer.
May we be bold enough to comfort others.
May we allow ourselves to receive comfort, too.
May this Shabbat bring moments of stillness, clarity, and connection.
May we reach for one another gently, lovingly.
May all who are in pain or danger find safety and comfort.
May the remaining hostages in Gaza come home.
May no one, anywhere, lack food or water – the most basic essentials of life.
May people in our country not live in fear of being taken away.
May those working for peace be granted strength and courage.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rav Claudia