<![CDATA[Congregation Shir Ami

<![CDATA[Congregation Shir Ami - Blog]]>Sat, 06 Jun 2026 17:17:30 -0400Weebly<![CDATA[Rabbi's Corner: June 2026 – The Spirituality of Now and Then]]>Mon, 01 Jun 2026 04:00:00 GMThttps://www.congregationshirami.org/blog/rabbis-corner-june-2026-the-spirituality-of-now-and-then

June brings summer and peak light (even if the weather has been finicky). For Shir Ami and many congregations, June is a "last hurrah" before summer break.

This year, because the High Holy Days come a bit "early," June also begins a "split screen" of focus on the Now of summer light and the Then of what's next.

There's a deep spirituality to fully living both Now and Then.

By Rabbi David

Happy summer, Shir Ami!

As I write these words, there's still an oddly March-April nip in the air. The weather of spring 2026 hasn't exactly been normal, though I wonder what "normal" weather means anymore in the throes of accelerating climate change.

But sun angle doesn't lie. We're approaching peak light and longest days. I hope that you get out and enjoy them.

On the Jewish calendar, rabbinic minds already turn to the High Holy Days. I know, I know – too early, right? But this year's High Holy Day runway course begins in late July because Rosh Hashanah comes in early September.

It's become Shir Ami's tradition to come together in June with a "last hurrah" feel before a summer break. We'll do so again this year with this "all together" spirit – a special Shabbat on June 5 (see below) and Beach Shabbat on June 26 – and then go on "summer break."

Meanwhile, behind the scenes, community leaders and I will be planning the High Holy Days, and retooling some 2026-27 Shabbat services for the kinds of engagement we discussed at our Annual Meeting.

Then, always before we feel ready (because there is no "ready"), we'll begin stirring toward the Season of Meaning. The High Holy Day runway series... Yizkor deadline... High Holy Day registration... sunsets becoming noticeably earlier. You know that feeling.

This time of year (usually July, but this year June) always feels a bit "split screen." Always there's an important forward-leaning element to spiritual community: what's next? And always there's an important present-immersing element: what's now? In both my rabbinic life and my personal life, I navigate the dynamic balance between Now and Then.

I bet you do, too. And that's the spirituality of this season – in truth, the spirituality of every season, but especially so Now given the Jewish calendar.

In that spirit, may each of us immerse profoundly in the season of Now, the meaning of this moment, the fullness of life exactly Now. And may each of us also feel in our lives a lovingly productive tug toward Then, the call to be our best and fullest selves because time does not stand still.

I won't say shanah tovah just yet: that's Then, not Now. For Now, I send blessings from my heart to yours – and Now, off to enjoy the bright light of this day.

June Highlights @Shir Ami

Saturdays 10:00am – SoulSpa (zoom). This month our SoulSpa Torah journey continues into the Book of Numbers. Each week, 15-25 caring and supportive souls gather online for a Shabbat experience of depth and spirit. This year's theme is uplifting women's voices. Open to all, no experience required. Click here for our link and past recordings.
Friday, June 5, 7:00pm – Shabbat of Healing and Light. We'll gather at the home of Lydia Rouzeau & Andrew Cohen (**not FPC**) for a special Shabbat dedicated to the healing and light attributes of this week's Torah portion. Shabbat words by Barry Stein. Oneg sponsored by Abby & Howard Ross. Please click here to register.
Saturday, June 13, 8:30am-1:00pm – Interfaith Blood Drive. Don't miss our annual blood drive co-sponsored with FPC. Snacks and puppies sponsored by the American Red Cross. Gratitudes to Barbara Salop for this initiative.
Friday, June 26, 6:00pm - 8:00pm – Beach Shabbat. It's our Brightest Light end-of-year outdoor Shabbat at Tod's Point. BYO beach chairs and dinner (6:00pm), and we'll move into a modified Shabbat celebration at 7:00pm. No zoom option.

]]><![CDATA["Let All God's People Be Prophets" (P. Beha'alotekha)]]>Sun, 31 May 2026 11:00:00 GMThttps://www.congregationshirami.org/blog/let-all-gods-people-be-prophets-p-behaalotekha

Maybe we imagine that the ideal of Jewish spirituality turns most on a spiritual leader.

Throughout history, rank-and-file Jews often deferred to spiritual leaders – from Moses to modern professional rabbis. Often they imagined that heightened spiritual connectivity was the special calling and province of the few.

This week's Torah portion underscores that this pattern was wrong from the start.

By Rabbi David Evan Markus
Beha'alotekha 5786 (2026)

The teacher of my teachers, R. Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, often spoke of his 1960s Ph.D. studies at Temple University, particularly a seminar with theologian Rev. Dr. Howard Thurman. At the time, R. Zalman was a Chabad hasid (a perspective he'd soon set aside) and struggled theologically and halakhically to sit in Dr. Thurman's class with a crucifix on the wall.

Before long, R. Zalman went to Dr. Thurman to discuss his struggle. Dr. Thurman attentively listened to R. Zalman, went quiet for a moment, then asked R. Zalman in perfect Hebrew, "Don't you trust the holy spirit?"

R. Zalman understood, and it transformed him. Dr. Thurman didn't mean the "holy spirit" of Catholic trinitarianism, or Christianity, or any particular dogma. Rather, he meant a spirit that transcends every dogma because every dogma inherently is limited. Religions are important because they offer pathways that encode wisdom, but paths aren't destinations. "Theology," R. Zalman later summarized, "is a mere afterthought of the believer, a puny attempt to describe the infinite."

So why would we imagine that God (spirit, holiness, ultimate meaning) inherently empowers or is available to spiritual leaders more than everyone else?

From the start, Jews tended to get this wrong – and not just Jews. It's a human phenomenon across religions and cultures to defer to spiritual leaders and leave most spiritual driving and intensity to them. Maybe because spirituality can challenge us, many people instinctively pull back and defer.

So it was at the Ten Commandments. The Voice at Sinai spoke to everyone, but the people pulled back. "You speak to us," they said to Moses, "and we will obey. But do not let God speak to us [directly], lest we die" (Exodus 20:16-17). Moses tried to convince them otherwise, but the people wouldn't hear. They sent Moses as their emissary.

So too in this week's Torah portion. Nearly a year after Sinai, God was speaking to Moses, with 70 elders nearby, and then (Num. 11:25-29):

וַיָּאצֶל מִן־הָרוּחַ אֲשֶׁר עָלָיו וַיִּתֵּן עַל־שִׁבְעִים אִישׁ הַזְּקֵנִים וַיְהִי כְּנוֹחַ עֲלֵיהֶם הָרוּחַ וַיִּתְנַבְּאוּ וְלֹא יָסָפוּ׃ וַיִּשָּׁאֲרוּ שְׁנֵי־אֲנָשִׁים בַּמַּחֲנֶה שֵׁם הָאֶחָד אֶלְדָּד וְשֵׁם הַשֵּׁנִי מֵידָד וַתָּנַח עֲלֵהֶם הָרוּחַ ... וַיִּתְנַבְּאוּ בַּמַּחֲנֶה׃ וַיָּרָץ הַנַּעַר וַיַּגֵּד לְמֹשֶׁה וַיֹּאמַר אֶלְדָּד וּמֵידָד מִתְנַבְּאִים בַּמַּחֲנֶה׃ וַיַּעַן יְהוֹשֻׁעַ בִּן־נוּן מְשָׁרֵת מֹשֶׁה מִבְּחֻרָיו וַיֹּאמַר אֲדֹנִי מֹשֶׁה כְּלָאֵם׃ וַיֹּאמֶר לוֹ מֹשֶׁה הַמְקַנֵּא אַתָּה לִי וּמִי יִתֵּן כָּל־עַם יהו''ה נְבִיאִים כִּי־יִתֵּן יהו''ה אֶת־רוּחוֹ עֲלֵיהֶם׃

[God] drew from the spirit on [Moses] and put it on the 70 elders; when the spirit rested on them, they prophesied without end. Two other men, the first named Eldad and the second named Meidad, remained in camp – yet the spirit also rested on them… and they prophesied in the camp. A boy ran to tell Moses, "Eldad and Meidad are prophesying in the camp!” Joshua son of Nun, Moses’ attendant since youth, answered, “Moses, my master, restrain them!” Moses said to him, “Are you jealous on my account? Let all YHVH's people be prophets, that YHVH should put divine spirit on them!”

It should only be, Moses urged Joshua, that each person should be prophetic, experiencing a profound connection to the sacred. It should only be, Moses urged, that he be a teacher but not the sole spiritual authority much less anyone's intermediary.

So too for every rabbi. After all, Jews historically don't abide intermediaries to the sacred, and "rabbi" merely means "teacher." I like to think that I have what to offer based on my learning, experience, decades of deep (and ongoing) self-reflection and refinement, and covenantal job and joy to love my congregants. Even so, at best I'm only a pointer.

The point is each person's own covenantal relationship with the sacred – their own Godspark, their own experience of holy spirit – refined by learning, experience, deep (and ongoing) self-reflection and refinement, and covenantal immersion in community.

My real job, and greatest joy, is to help point each person spiritually in that authentic direction as together we might seek it. We best do this spiritual seeking as a community (to balance excesses enfolded in community) and in deep dialogue with tradition (for its wisdom, ballast, and continuity).

Ultimately there is no outsourcing spirituality – not to me or any rabbi, and not to anyone. Heightened spiritual connectivity, engagement, learning and experience are not the callings or special province of some chosen or self-selected few.

They are exactly for you – and for all who choose to lean forward.

]]><![CDATA[On Spiritual Discipline (P. Nasso)]]>Sun, 24 May 2026 15:17:10 GMThttps://www.congregationshirami.org/blog/on-spiritual-discipline-p-nasso

One of many things I appreciate about Judaism is that she offers many paths toward meaning, holiness and self-refinement.

It makes sense that there isn't just one way. After all, people are wired, raised and educated differently. So it stands to reason that Judaism would offer multiple paths befitting our diversity of perspective and life trajectory.

It's telling that our tradition's greatest paths to spiritual meaning and holiness – the discipline of long-term wise choice – comes forward in Torah precisely now, just after Shavuot.

By Rabbi David Evan Markus
Nasso 5786 (2026)

Think about times that you took on a discipline in your life. What did it teach you?

For all of Judaism's spiritual allusions to light, love and transcendence, Judaism also is a very earthy religion. One way that Judaism calls us toward spirituality in through the here and now – this moment, this place, this food, this person, this community.

Almost anything can be a springboard to the spiritual, an opportunity for blessing and gratitude. As we say in the Amidah from Isaiah 6:3, "The whole earth is full of [God's] glory."

That's one reason that Jews traditionally haven't been ascetics. Our ancestors who believed in afterlife accountability wrote 2,000 years ago, "On the future judgment day, a person will need to give account for all that they saw but did not eat" (J.T. Kiddushin 4:12.3) – meaning, all that we might have enjoyed in this life but did not. Jewish spirituality includes enjoying our lives – not as mere hedonists, but in wise balance with the flow of spirit.

So when our spiritual ancestors did take up the discipline of self-denial, it was a very big deal. Yom Kippur is one example. This week's Torah portion about the nazir is another.

A nazirite voluntarily vowed to give up certain physical pleasures as a discipline to become holy (Num. 6:1-21). Abstaining from liquor, cutting hair (concern for appearance), bodily pleasure and public mourning rituals, the nazirite temporarily set themselves apart from the physical to focus on the metaphysical.

The prophet Samuel, and the ancient judge Samson, both were Nazirites. Both undertook times of discipline to refine themselves spiritually.

The nazirite vow was open to anyone – male or female, from any background, of any age. In this way, it was profoundly democratic. Its duration was whatever the nazirite undertook as a personal commitment (the default was 30 days), and thus was about personal choice and discipline. Anyone undertaking it was honored as a role model, respected for choosing spirituality and inner discipline to control life's excesses.

I wonder if there are modern equivalents to the nazirite vow – intense times of personally chosen discipline, turning away from routine and toward the spiritual. I know from my own life the power of such chosen times, and what they can teach us about ourselves and the power of chosen spirituality. Perhaps you do, too.

It's telling that Torah records the nazirite vow precisely now, immediately after Shavuot. It reminds that our next major holiday is Rosh Hashanah. Perhaps the nazirite vow comes now to remind that each of us has choices to make about how to live, and that soon enough we will face those choices in community.

The journey ahead will ask discipline. We'll need discipline to face those parts of ourselves we know must change, the hurts we caused, the opportunities we missed. And we'll need discipline to navigate how we feel about them, and how others feel about them, so that raw emotion can galvanize us without dissuading us.

Day by day during these long days of maximum light, each of us has personal opportunities to begin the long, slow turn inward. What discipline might you take up in the weeks and months ahead to raise up spiritual meaning and inner refinement, to prepare us for the journey ahead?

Our High Holy Day "runway" series will begin 7:00pm July 28 for seven Tuesdays.

Erev Rosh Hashanah will begin 6:30pm on Friday, September 11.

]]><![CDATA[Every Day, A Voice Comes Forth (Shavuot)]]>Sun, 17 May 2026 04:00:00 GMThttps://www.congregationshirami.org/blog/every-day-a-voice-comes-forth-shavuot

Where does our "belly barometer" come from? How do we know what is just and right?

This week, the Torah cycle suspends for Shavuot, our festival anniversary of the revelation at Sinai, and our collective communion with the One we call God.

Though our community opted not to schedule a Shavuot celebration this year due to Memorial Day weekend (we'll have a mini-Yizkor online), it's still an important important chance to consider our source of revelation, justice and rightness.

By Rabbi David Evan Markus
Shavuot 5786 (2026)

How do we know what is just and right?

Our human gyroscope draws its stabilizing spin from family, teachers, community, culture and law. All of these shape our "belly barometer" – our conscience, our Jiminy Cricket to Pinocchio. And there's something more that exceeds the sum of its parts, something beyond us.

Tradition holds that the Mount Sinai revelation of the Ten Commandments (Exodus 20:1-14) was a singular event. The earth shook. The mountain smoked and glowed. Yet even amidst tremble and fire, there was total silence: not even a bird moved.

From this piercing silence emerged the Voice. Infinity spoke. Silence became speech. Speech became ethics. Senses scrambled: "They saw the thunder" (Exodus 20:15).

Never again would humanity tune only to outer senses to tell us what is right, just and real.

Shavuot is our anniversary of that singular event.  Western civilization's most enduring code of morality and law is one reason why Shavuot is a festival equal to Passover and Sukkot on the Jewish calendar.

Yet many liberal Jews – myself included – grew up without Shavuot. Maybe we never heard of it, or we imagine that Shavuot is for the Orthodox only, or we associate(d) Shavuot mainly with cheesecake (for the "milk and honey" of the kind of learning that most transforms us).

Across the breadth of Judaism, Shavuot stands for our people's unity, when we all stood together at Sinai and together heard the Voice, one Voice, the One. (This "all of us" is one reason we honor Yizkor at Shavuot.  Our congregational Yizkor will be online at 7:30pm on Saturday, May 23.)

And Shavuot stands for something more. Shavuot stands for the Voice itself. Some say that while the Revelation at Mount Sinai was a singular event, even so the Voice continues to sound. Midrash holds that every day the Voice calls out. A bat kol (angelic voice) comes forth from Sinai with continuing resonance and continuing revelation.

Perhaps this bat kol is what powers our conscience, belly barometer, our Jiminy Cricket, our sense of rightness in the world. Sometimes it sounds loudly, sometimes more faintly.

Tune in, and happy Shavuot. See you at Sinai.

Shavuot will begin at sundown on Thursday, May 21. Our congregational Yizkor (online) will begin at 7:30pm on Saturday, May 23.  Please click here to register. You may wish to have a Yizkor candle, wine or juice, and photos of beloveds.

]]><![CDATA[Redeeming Life's Wilderness (P. Bamidbar)]]>Sun, 10 May 2026 11:00:00 GMThttps://www.congregationshirami.org/blog/redeeming-lifes-wilderness-p-bamidbar

I intend my weekly Torah writings to be about more than the Torah portion. I tend to see in nearly every portion both the flow of spirit and community far more than myself, and universal values that transcend any particular time, place and context.

But right now, for personal reasons I see Torah reflecting back at me my own situation. – and in particular my own personal wilderness, what I might learn there, and how I might redeem it.

Even so, I sense that my present experience isn't much different than most everyone's at one time or another. As for me, perhaps also for you.

By Rabbi David Evan Markus
Bamidbar 5786 (2026)

Torah's fourth book, Numbers, opens this week with the "numbers" of a national census. (That was my subject last year at this time: "Who Counts?")

Meanwhile we're also on the runway for Shavuot (this year, May 21-23), our Festival of Gifting Torah, which always aligns with our entry into the Book of Numbers that begins "in the wilderness of Sinai" (Num. 1:1). We always receive Torah "in the wilderness" (literally Bamidbar, our portion's name). Torah comes "in the wilderness" precisely where nothing is owned or limited by human means – where we face profound truths of what we cannot control. (That was my subject two years ago at this time: "How to Receive Torah.")

This year, in the wilderness I can't see past my own present experience.

My mom is unwell, perhaps very unwell: we'll know more in the coming weeks. Her situation is the first thing I see in the morning, the last I see at night, and seemingly the only thing I fully see most days in between. Most everything else feels out of focus, a blur. Anyone who's cared for a beloved knows this experience.

This is my wilderness. If I'm deeply honest, I count a census of days until the next medical visit, hours until the next medication, and minutes until I can hold her hand, share a laugh or cry, or watch her sleep. Lately I find myself counting sands of time as they spill from life's hourglass, keenly aware of its flow grain by grain, unsure how much might be left.

This is my wilderness right now. Surely you've had your own. We all do.

However any of us are from time to time – whatever our circumstances and attitudes, wants and needs, loves and losses, hopes and dreams, fears and aspirations – these are the inward landscape in which Torah is given to each of us, no less than a literal wilderness like Sinai.

There is no other way, I imagine. That's part of what it means for Jewish spirituality to happen in real time, in reality-based reality.

Life uses life to teach us. Our spiritual curriculum takes a form that looks just like us. Life's preciousness and fragility, the absurdity of some of the stories we tell ourselves, the fallacy that we really can (or, ultimately, need to) protect our hearts from feeling, our penchant to distance love or wait until tomorrow or think we're all that when ultimately we all go – these are part of everyone's learning at one time or another if we pay attention.

After all, how else to truly learn how to love "with all our hearts, with all our souls, and with all we've got" except at risk of loss? How else to learn generosity except when giving seems most difficult? How else to learn gratitude except when blessings seem small, fleeting or distant? How else to learn to shine except in the dark?

We redeem the wilderness not by evading it or by pretending it away, or by trying to tame it. We redeem the wilderness by opening to its full reality and letting it teach us what only the wilderness can. Maybe that's why Torah records that our ancestors were freed from Egyptian bondage to wander the wilderness, why Torah was given there, and why most of Torah happens there.

Maybe in the wilderness is the most profound way of all to learn of the One we call God.

Shavuot will begin at sundown on Thursday, May 21. Our congregational Yizkor (online) will begin at 7:30pm on Saturday, May 23. Please click here to register. You may wish to have a Yizkor candle, wine or juice, and photos of beloveds.

]]><![CDATA[Rabbi's Corner: May 2026 – On Receiving Torah & May Highlights]]>Sun, 03 May 2026 11:15:00 GMThttps://www.congregationshirami.org/blog/rabbis-corner-may-2026-on-receiving-torah-may-highlights

Fittingly for this month that leads into Shavuot, our festival of receiving Torah, I write these words on the evening after Nancy Heller's bat mitzvah.

I write these words about how we receive Torah and what it means for a spiritual community to put Torah at our center –

– the physical scroll, of course, and far more.

By Rabbi David

After Nancy Heller inspired our community with her beautiful chanting and teachings about belonging and social justice, I shared a few words of Talmud that felt written just for me.

What do we mean, Talmud asked, that Torah "is a tree of life to all who grasp her" (Proverbs 3:18)? One answer: all who grasp her become part of the tree of life that is Torah. So I said to Nancy what Talmud's R. Hanina said (Ta'anit 7a), "I have learned much from my teachers and even more from my colleagues, but from my students I learned most of all."

In Torah, Nancy became to me student, colleague, and teacher all in one. Radical equality, complete belonging, and love – a living tree. As Nancy taught us, so is Torah.

Torah is ours. She is not especially mine just because I'm a rabbi. Torah is equally and totally yours. Of course, Torah is not ours only by inheritance (Pirkei Avot 2:12). As we all know, Nancy efforted to learn Torah. As Nancy told us, sometimes she wrestled Torah – as sometimes we must wrestle our complex and imperfect world.

How we do that is everything. The heart of Torah isn't actually about learning Hebrew, liturgy, philosophy and trope (important as they are).

Soon after the Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed in 70 CE, our ancestors asked how one can "acquire" Torah. Pirkei Avot 6:6 records their answers, as profound today as 2,000 years ago:

By study, By attentive listening, By right speech, By an understanding heart, By an intelligent heart, By awe, By fear, By humility, By joy, By attending to the wise, By rightness with friends, By argumentation with students, By clear thinking... By a minimum of chatter... By patience, By generosity, By faith in the wise, By receiving suffering.

In knowing one's place, In rejoicing in our portion, In making a fence around one's words, In taking no credit for oneself.

By loving, by loving God, by loving others, by loving righteousness, by loving correction, by loving uprightness, by keeping oneself far from honors, by not letting one's heart swell by one's learning...

By sharing another's burden, by judging others from the side of merit, by standing others in truth, by standing others in peace, by discipline in study, by asking and answering, by listening and then adding....

Notice how few of these are about study itself. Yes, they're about what we bring to learning, the qualities of heart and mind that help Torah flow. Even more, they're about how we live. At heart, they're about making our lives into Torah.

Rightly understood, we can acquire Torah each and every day by how we live.

At our next Shabbat together (June 5), Barry Stein will share about how Shir Ami acquired our Torah scroll from Poland. Last Shabbat, Nancy gifted us a beautiful example of how to acquire Torah.

May we grow from strength to strength together.

If you or someone you know might be interested in an adult b-mitzvah journey (even if you/they had a b-mitzvah experience long ago, please be in touch. Torah belongs to you!

May 2026 Highlights at Shir Ami...

Saturdays 10:00am. This month our SoulSpa Torah journey closes the Book of Leviticus and opens the Book of Numbers. Each week, 15-25 caring and supporting souls gather for a Shabbat of depth and spirit. This year's theme is uplifting women's voices. Open to all, no experience required. Click here for our link or to view past recordings.
Sunday, May 17, 11:00am, is Shir Ami's Mitzvah Day at Greenwich JFS (67 Holly Hill Lane). Deep thanks to Ronny Kaplan and Barbara Salop for leading us. Please RSVP to Ronny (ronnykaplan@snet.net or 203.249.0602).

Wednesday, May 20, 7:00pm is our annual meeting at First Presbyterian. Aside from the usual annual congregational business matters, there are some plans and changes we’d like to share with you. Please click here to register.
Thursday, May 21, sunset begins Shavuot, our festival of Torah. The community opted not to commemorate Shavuot ritually because of Memorial Day weekend. That said...
Saturday, May 23, 7:30pm we'll gather online for the Yizkor of Shavuot (online). Please have wine/juice, a Yizkor candle, and photos of loved ones. Please click here to register.

]]><![CDATA[Our Greatest Interests of All (P. Behar-Behukotai)]]>Sun, 03 May 2026 11:00:00 GMThttps://www.congregationshirami.org/blog/our-greatest-interests-of-all-p-behar-behukotai

Money can be a sensitive subject, which is one reason Torah bans charging interest among our people. (The Qur'an does the same for Muslims.)

Torah and Qur'an are aiming at far more than money: after all, most of us don't lend money.

This mitzvah is really about relationships and right use of power, which spiritually are far more important than money. This mitzvah aims at the heart of our greatest interest of all.

By Rabbi David Evan Markus
Behar-Behukotai 5786 (2026)

Money can be a sensitive subject, because money can warp relationships. "Neither a borrower nor a lender be," wrote Shakespeare in Hamlet.

In similar spirit, Torah outright bans charging interest on loans among us. But this mitzvah is really about much more than economics. It's about our relationships and our use of power.

This week's double Torah portion teaches (Leviticus 25:35-38):

וְכִֽי־יָמ֣וּךְ אָחִ֔יךָ וּמָ֥טָה יָד֖וֹ עִמָּ֑ךְ וְהֶֽחֱזַ֣קְתָּ בּ֔וֹ גֵּ֧ר ... אַל־תִּקַּ֤ח מֵֽאִתּוֹ֙ נֶ֣שֶׁךְ וְתַרְבִּ֔ית וְיָרֵ֖אתָ מֵֽאֱלֹהֶ֑יךָ וְחֵ֥י אָחִ֖יךָ עִמָּֽךְ׃ אֶ֨ת־כַּסְפְּךָ֔ לֹֽא־תִתֵּ֥ן ל֖וֹ בְּנֶ֑שֶׁךְ וּבְמַרְבִּ֖ית לֹא־תִתֵּ֥ן אָכְלֶֽךָ׃ אֲנִ֗י יהו׳׳ה֙ אֱלֹ֣הֵיכֶ֔ם אֲשֶׁר־הוֹצֵ֥אתִי אֶתְכֶ֖ם מֵאֶ֣רֶץ מִצְרָ֑יִם ... לִהְי֥וֹת לָכֶ֖ם לֵאלֹהִֽים׃

If your brother comes under your [economic power], let him live beside you: do not take from him interest in advance or for later repayment. Have awe of your God [so] your brother can live beside you. Do not lend your money at advance interest or give food at accrued interest. I am YHVH your God, who took you out of the land of Egypt ... to be your God.

The Qur'an taught much the same thing: "O believers! Be mindful of Allah and do not charge interest" (Qur'an, Al-Baqarah 278). Our cousin peoples both were onto something.

But what exactly? And why? And so what, if we don't lend money? Why should we care?

Long ago, Jews and Muslims regarded fellow religionists as family, literally siblings. Just as it was unthinkable to charge a blood sibling interest, tradition extended this same grace to the broader "family" in the spirit of everything sacred.

Immediately we see that embedded here is a key teaching about our sacred connectedness.

Yet even thousands of years ago, Jewish tradition understood economics. Without interest, many wouldn't lend, there couldn't be investment, and the poor would stay poor however hard they worked. So Jewish and Islamic traditions both held that reasonable interest was not unethical, if done the right way. Instead of interest, lender and borrower became business partners in collateral. (If you're interested, read about the heter iska.)

But to this day, Hebrew Free Loan Societies (click for Stamford's version) provide no-interest loans for worthy causes such as emergent home or car repairs, medical expenses, funeral costs, camp tuition, vocational or technical education, and immersive Jewish experiences. Our Torah quote is the reason why HFLS loans are "free."

A no-interest loan, Maimonides taught, is one of life's great acts. Why? To help, of course, but even more to not hold power over another. Money and economics can shift relationships from equals (living "beside" each other) to subservients (living "under" each other). We who are the descendants of slaves must never, ever, try to wield power wrongly over others.

Even if we don't lend money, we can "hold over" others other things. We might hold over others past favors we've done, or a threat of betraying a confidence, or exert another kind of power. We might "keep score" in relationships (especially ones closest to us). We might even wield our hurts and sensitivities to exert power over others rather than try to heal them.

All of these non-money things can wrongly wield power over another. Torah is urging us that our spiritual ideal is radical equality in shared dignity and grace. As the descendants of freed slaves, our purpose must be not to control but to liberate, not to put others down but to lift them up.

These, my friends, are our greatest interests of all.

]]><![CDATA[Counting Our Days for Spiritual Healing (P. Emor)]]>Sun, 26 Apr 2026 15:28:16 GMThttps://www.congregationshirami.org/blog/counting-our-days-for-spiritual-healing-p-emor

On Torah's sacred calendar, most every holiday begins either at the new moon or the full moon. Our calendar is in the sky, shining down on us every day.

There are two exceptions to this new moon / full moon calendar. One is Yom Kippur, for which we count days since Rosh Hashanah. The other is the forthcoming Shavuot, for which we count days since Passover.

Now we have printed (and digital) calendars, but we still count our days – for an important reason.

By Rabbi David Evan Markus
Emor 5786 (2026)

This week's Torah portion lays out Judaism's original sacred calendar, which continues to flow through Jews worldwide year after year: Shabbat, Passover, Shavuot (at first an agricultural festival), Rosh Hashanah (Day of Remembrance), Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement), Sukkot, Shemini Atzeret / Simhat Torah (reboot of the year) (Lev. 23-24).

After Judaism's first 1,500 years, this calendar expanded to enfold Hanukkah and Purim, Tisha b'Av (after the Temple's destruction), and most recently the peoplehood commemorations of Yom HaShoah (Holocaust Remembrance Day), Yom HaZikaron (Israeli Memorial Day) and Yom Ha'Atzmaut (Israeli Independence Day). To this day, Torah's original holidays still anchor Judaism's sacred calendar exactly when Torah first laid them out 3,500 years ago.

Shabbat is a class of her own – each week, a sacred time for rest, spirituality and re-ensouling. Each of the others is a מוֹעֵד (mo'eid), an annual sacred gathering on which each of us is an עֵד (eid), a witness to the sacred moving through time in the particular way of that mo'eid.

Each mo'eid, with two exceptions, begins either at the new moon or the full moon. Our calendar is in the sky, shining down on us. The two exceptions are Yom Kippur, for which we count days since Rosh Hashanah, and the forthcoming festival of Shavuot, for which we count days since Passover.

At first blush, Yom Kippur and Shavuot seem to have nothing in common. After all, the Day of Atonement enfolds solemnity, while Shavuot is a celebration of Torah and abundance. What unites them is that both holidays are culminations dedicated to a spiritual alchemy of self-improvement.

Yom Kippur culminates the Days of Awe (a.k.a. Days of Repentance) that began at Rosh Hashanah, itself following a 49-day process of introspection and teshuvah that began at Tisha b'Av. (That's why each year I teach a seven-week High Holy Day prep series: it's a process.) As for Shavuot, this week's Torah portion reads (Lev. 23:15-16):

וּסְפַרְתֶּ֤ם לָכֶם֙ מִמָּחֳרַ֣ת הַשַּׁבָּ֔ת מִיּוֹם֙ הֲבִ֣יאֲכֶ֔ם אֶת־עֹ֖מֶר הַתְּנוּפָ֑ה שֶׁ֥בַע שַׁבָּת֖וֹת תְּמִימֹ֥ת תִּהְיֶֽינָה׃ עַ֣ד מִֽמָּחֳרַ֤ת הַשַּׁבָּת֙ הַשְּׁבִיעִ֔ת תִּסְפְּר֖וּ חֲמִשִּׁ֣ים י֑וֹם וְהִקְרַבְתֶּ֛ם מִנְחָ֥ה חֲדָשָׁ֖ה ליהו׳׳ה׃

Count for yourselves, from the day after [Passover] until the day you bring your Omer [gratitude offering of the season], seven Shabbatot [of weeks]: they must be complete. Until the day after that seventh [week], count 50 days, and then bring a new offering to YHVH.

We began this 49-day Omer count after the first day of Passover, and the 50th day will be Shavuot. Torah herself doesn't tell us what to do with this count. Then again, Torah didn't tell us what to do with the days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, either.

Medieval Judaism (1400-1600) imbued both times with the character-building focus now is core to Jewish life. The Omer count became a mid/late-spring reflection of the late-summer ramp-up to the High Holy Days – a time of introspection, clearing and preparation.

Both counts correspond to the sefirot, 10 energetic and spiritual valences linking divine infinity (Ein Sof, what my teachers called the "long-distance call") to divine presence (Malkhut / Shekhinah, metaphorically the "local call," as close as our breath). Some link the 10 days of Rosh Hashanah to Yom Kippur with these 10 sefirot to reboot creation.

Judaism does likewise with the Omer count, assigning the seven Passover-to-Shavuot weeks to a progression of the "lower" seven sefirot and a character trait linked to each. Each week, we open our hearts to one of this rainbow of character traits as preparation to receive Torah anew at Shavuot. We count our days to slow us down and concentrate our inner focus. In Torah's words, we literally "count for [our]selves": we invest in ourselves, better our character, and thereby improve our lives and the lives of our loved ones.

This week's portion overlaps the "count" of Omer week 4 (netzah = Resilience) and week 5 (hod = Beauty of Gratitude). Take a bit of time to consider the health of your Resilience, your ability to move through challenge with a healthy balance of grace and discipline. Take the time to train your awareness on Beauty and your Gratitude for blessings big and small. (The weeks ahead bring the solidity of our Foundation and our capacity to be fully Present.)

For more about counting Omer, here's a day-by-day list of suggested intentions. For instance, "In the middle of something hard you are currently enduring, pause and find three things about the situation, however small, for which you can genuinely be grateful." "Begin your day by listing five gifts in your life you did not earn. Then let that list be the direct motivation for a generous act before the day is over."

With a bit of focus, we not only count our days: we can make our days count. We can stretch our souls, heal them, and open them to the continuing Revelation of our best lives that together we symbolize in receiving Torah anew.

]]><![CDATA[Learning The Love That Matters Most (P. Aharei Mot-Kedoshim)]]>Sun, 19 Apr 2026 04:00:00 GMThttps://www.congregationshirami.org/blog/the-love-that-matters-p-aharei-mot-kedoshim

There are things we learn from our parents.

There are things we learn from first encounters with the sacred.

There are things we learn only by going out into the world.

There are things we learn by walking a mile in others' shoes.

There are things we learn by overcoming the impulses of retribution and hatred.

Truly loving our neighbor as ourselves is the spiritual culmination of them all, the gift that only rough-and-tumble life experience can grant.

By Rabbi David Evan Markus
Aharei Mot-Kedoshim 5786 (2026)

The Holiness Code that we read on Yom Kippur comes to us first in this week's Torah portion. Its core words, "Love your neighbor as yourself: I am YHVH" (Lev. 19:18), are the very middle of Torah. They're Torah's beating heart that gets revealed when we live that way (and at Simhat Torah as we read Torah's last letter (ל/L) into Torah's first letter (ב/V) to spell the word לֵב/heart).

Our ancestors plumbed the depths of these words. What does it mean to love a neighbor as ourselves? Is this love a feeling or an action? (Jewish love is both.) Is this akin to the Golden Rule? (R. Akiva's answer is "sort of.") What if our neighbor doesn't love us back? (R. Shai Held teaches in Judaism is About Love that our mitzvah is to love, not to be loved.) What if our neighbor wishes us harm? (Jewish love doesn't mean pacifism or self-destruction.)

I ask a different question – not what this love is or what it asks of us, but how we learn it. How do we learn to love our neighbor as ourselves? How do we learn this kind of love at all.

Judaism's classical answer is that we learn to love others by learning to love God "with all our hearts, with all our souls, with all our might" (from the V'ahavta of Deut. 6:5). As philosopher Franz Rosenzweig put it, "Love for God must be externalized in love for the neighbor." Even more, if we really get it – if we really love God, whose divine image we bear – then we naturally will love our neighbors who equally bear that same divine image.

Sure, and some don't believe in a God that can be loved – much less love us back.

Whatever our beliefs or none at all, history and modernity place this teaching duty on parents and parent figures, schools, clergy and spiritual communities. They are to teach morality and ethics, including the spiritual ethics of love. Synagogues, churches and mosques absolutely should put spiritual ethics and love first, especially when it might be difficult.

Yes, and when I read this week's Torah portion again, I came to see in its words the deep truth about the most powerful teacher of all: life experience in both how to be and how not to be.

The mitzvah to love doesn't come first in the Holiness Code. This mitzvah is the culmination of many mitzvot.  Here they are in order: see if you notice an evolution (Leviticus 19:1-18):

Have awe of mother and father (Lev. 19:3).
Keep Shabbat (Lev. 19:3).
Do not turn to idols or make metal 'gods' (Lev. 19:4).
Follow ritual rules (Lev. 19:5-8).
Leave gleanings of the field for the poor and different (Lev. 19:9-10).
Do not steal or deal deceitfully or falsely (Lev. 19:11).
Do not swear falsely to take YHVH's Name iin vain (Lev. 19:12).
Do not defraud or rob, or keep another's wages (Lev. 19:13).
Do not insult the deaf or put a stumbling block before the blind (Lev. 19:14).
Do not judge unfairly, favor the poor or show deference to the rich (Lev. 19:15).
Do not deal basely, or profit from another's suffering (Lev. 19:16).
Do not hate: reproach wrongdoing but not more sharply than needed (Lev. 19:17).
Do not take vengeance or bear a grudge (Lev. 19:18).

– and then "love your neighbor as yourself."

I see in this list of mitzvot a progression about life stages.

We learn first from our birth parents (#1). In Torah's ideal, parents teach first encounters with spirituality, including Shabbat (#2), not revering things (#3), and the role of ritual (#4). As we mature and enter the world of work and self-sufficiency, self-interest needs external rules to teach us to act with care (#5) and honesty (#6, #7). We are required not to defraud, rob, or delay giving others what is rightly theirs (#8). As we see more of the world, even and especially as life might land us with disabilities and misfortunes, hopefully we learn not to take advantage of the disabilities and misfortunes of others (#9). If we accrue social authority to decide the fate of others, we must judge fairly and impartially (#10), and never corruptly or to profit from others' suffering (#11).

Put another way, these mitzvot track us from young childhood, through adolescence to young adulthood, to self-sufficiency, to elderhood.

It is only as elders – with the benefit of life experience and the long view of things – that we can look back on our lives and become our truly best selves. If we do, then we do not hate: we correct others but not more sharply than needed (#12). We let go of vengeance and grudges (#13). Only then can we love others as ourselves.

Think back on your life. What taught you to love? What didn't? Can you titrate one from the other? Can we treat our sacred community as an incubator of that spiritual love that is the true heart of Torah?

]]><![CDATA[Third Spaces: Safe to Be, Safe to Become (P. Tazria-Metzora)]]>Sun, 12 Apr 2026 04:00:00 GMThttps://www.congregationshirami.org/blog/third-spaces-safe-to-be-safe-to-become-p-tazria-metzora

Spiritual community is a vital Third Place – not home or work, nor totally public – that can help anchor, comfort and shape us. Like the Boston pub in "Cheers," spiritual community ideally is "where everybody knows your name / And they're always glad you came."

We might say likewise of secular clubs, volunteer groups and hangouts becoming less common in the digital society. But spiritual community is unique in how it calls us to be authentically and fully ourselves, warts and all – and then evolve.

By Rabbi David Evan Markus
Tazria-Metzora 5786 (2026)

Long before social media and artificial intelligence swept through society, one of my Harvard teachers saw that digital life would challenge our Third Places and with them, our happiness.

What are Third Places? They're societal spaces that aren't private like homes, or mandatory like work or school, or entirely public like Central Park. Third Places include clubs, local coffee houses and pubs ("Cheers"), salons, barber shops and senior centers. They're community spaces where people tend to most readily "be themselves in public" – that is, a "public" scaled down to a manageable size and scope.

What makes Third Places so valuable is that they tend to be open and inviting, comfortable and informal, convenient and unpretentious, talkative and often light-hearted. That's why some spiritual communities are among the most potent and important Third Places.

Recent decades taught what Jewish life has known for millennia. Third Places are essential to happiness, civic engagement and societal health. Spiritual communities are especially valuable because they're about values, calling us to be our most authentic selves and then our best selves – which means being vulnerable.

As sociologist Brené Brown reminds in her famous TED talk about vulnerability, it is our ability and willingness to be vulnerable that is the linchpin of relationship, happiness, healing, and transformation. No coincidence that these are spirituality's ultimate concerns.

This week's Torah portion reflects this spiritual truth in the ancient experience and rituals of tzora'at. a spiritual illness that could manifest physically on the body and on house walls. Think of tzora'at like an otherworldly cousin to leprosy mixed with toxic mold. Tzora'at was imagined to follow lashon ha-ra (wrong speech) and certain other character flaws. A person afflicted with tzora'at became particularly vulnerable: lesions looked ugly, they were treated as if contagious, and for a time they became utterly dependent.

What does tzora'at have to do with authenticity, change and Third Spaces?

When someone appeared to have tzora'at, it had to be inspected and declared so aloud. And then the person having tzora'at needed to say so publicly – also aloud. Only then could they begin the transformation to heal from tzora'at and the inner sickness deep within.

Drawing attention to something off-putting about oneself might seem intimidating and even humiliating to modern eyes. Today's success-oriented public culture is keen to keep up appearances both literally and figuratively. It's a far from ancient Jewish society that made it safe(r) to be authentic amidst vulnerability. Back then, there was no shame in calling things what they were – even our own imperfections spiritually projected onto our appearance.

Today we need our Third Spaces, and especially spiritual communities, for being fully and authentically ourselves, flaws and all, and then evolving and healing. The Jewish path is very much about this Third Space – not total privacy or total publicity, but a vibrant middle.

To let ourselves be truly known, warts and all, is a spiritual act of courage and vulnerability. To make a community in which all can be truly known, and then transform toward their best self, is the North Star of Jewish spiritual life.

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