This special Shabbat is named Shabbat Shira, the Sabbath of song, because tomorrow our Torah reading describes the mythic parting of the sea that allows the Israelites to pass through and escape their pursuers. This is recounted in a poetic passage called Shirat haYam, the Song of the Sea. The haftarah, the prophetic reading tomorrow is from the Shirat Devorah, Song of Deborah found in the Book of Judges. Both Biblical songs are odes of triumph, similar in style and content to poetry of ancient Mesopotamia and the Ugarit culture that flourished in what is now western Syria. Both songs include violent images of ancient warfare. Scholars tell us these songs are possibly some of the oldest material of the Hebrew Bible, dating perhaps to the 10th century Before the Common Era, 3,000 years ago.

We come to this special Shabbat at a tragic time following the death of Father Eric Freed. I had the good fortune to become friends with Father Eric through several years of collaboration on the faculty of the Religious Studies Department at Humboldt State University. According to Jewish custom, we mourn intensely for seven days after burial, and our mourning draws to a close after a month, as we read in the Torah: The Children of Israel bewailed Moses in the plains of Moab for thirty days; then the days of tearful mourning for Moses came to an end.” (Dev. 34:8) Though we are encouraged to grieve long and deeply, Jewish custom also dictates that mourning is suspended on Shabbat, the Sabbath, which is given to us as a day of renewal and joy. And so on Shabbat we reign in our sorrow, but we are permitted to weep tears of tenderness and love. On Shabbat we also refrain from offering eulogies, extensive praise for the departed. Therefore tonight you won’t hear me speak about what an exceptional person Father Eric. I will not expound on how greatly he enriched the lives of those who knew him as teacher, colleague, priest or friend. Nor will I elaborate on his sparkling intellect, his humble, affable demeanor, his passionate nature, and his compassionate heart.

But I am permitted to mention causes that Father Eric held dear: protecting the rights of the marginalized, freeing the oppressed, and establishing the foundations of a peaceful society. In his memory may we all work to strengthen our social institutions, and to support those members of our community who devote their lives to urgent issues of public health, those who strive to improve the lives of the impoverished and the homeless, and those who daily risk their lives for the sake of peace.

This Shabbat Shira also falls at a critical juncture as Israeli and Palestinian negotiators have returned to work. In Father Eric’s memory let us help create what Secretary of State John Kerry has called “the great constituency of peace,” the up-swelling of opinion and commitment, especially here in the United States, that is essential to bring about a lasting peace in the Middle East. When all of humanity has made a safe journey out of oppression to freedom, then we will write new songs that will resonate across the universe.
Shabbat shalom.

After a summer of simchas and a festive fall, we move into the deep, darkness of winter and Chanukah nights.  I’m writing this note at my brother’s home in southern Vermont where I’ve been communing with my childhood chickadees, birch and maples, watching the season turn in a blaze of red, orange and yellow foliage.  Now the days are chilly and the trees are shedding their leaves. My brother and his family live quite close to the local synagogue – a two-story Colonial-style house, converted – so to speak – into a charming, very haimishe (homelike) shul.  The congregation is called Shir HeHarim (Song of the Mountains), and I can sense the heavy hand of the glaciers that sculpted these rolling hills.This community feels like an East Coast cousin to our own in Eureka, people drawn here by the beauty of the landscape.  I think I feel a closer kinship to these folks than I do to our friends in Berkeley and San Francisco; I have much in common with those who identify as Jewish and rural.  Of course Boston is only two hours away; it feels like a ball from Fenway Park could land in our backyard!  As I write, the Red Sox are traveling home for the final two games in the World Series.  Watching the games with my brother I’ve been waxing nostalgic for the San Francisco Giants (Nefilim), and the Temple Beth El softball Meshugenas and Machers.More

At the close of the Passover seder we declare, “L’shanah ha’ba-ah bi-rushalyim!”  “In the coming year, in Jerusalem!”

Some of us have had the pleasure of celebrating Passover in Jerusalem.  Some of us long to do so.  Some of us would prefer to celebrate in the comfort of home with family and friends.  Some of us observe Passover in our community seder.  What does it mean to us to say, “Next year in Jerusalem?”

In Hebrew we pronounce Jerusalem as Yirushalayim, and we can translate it as “City of Peace.”More

As the sun slips lower on the horizon and the moon fades away, we approach the festival of Chanukah. The rabbis of the Talmud placed our holiday during the waning of the moon close to the winter solstice. Here in Humboldt County we really feel that darkness as the days are so short and the nights so long. There are beautiful teachings from the Jewish mystical tradition about the hidden, inner light of Creation – the Or Ganuz – which is available to us during the Chanukah festival.More