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April 12, 2024 - 4 Nisan 5784 Parashat Tazria - Hope: The Possible vs. The Probable
Dear Friends, I hope you had a good week and that all is well with you. We invite you to join us this Saturday morning for Shabbat services, which will take place in our beautiful and newly renovated sanctuary starting at 10:00 am. As always, we encourage you to stay after the services for our festive Kiddush! In the meantime, we trust that your Pesach preparations are coming along well. The synagogue has shared information regarding Mechirat Chametz (the selling of Chametz), our virtual Seder on the first night (offered by David Isaac and Beth Gerson), our in-person Second Seder, and, of course, our hectic Passover prayer-service schedule. Please, if you have specific questions, or inquiries regarding the koshering of your kitchen, please feel free to reach out to me as soon as possible. No question is too small or too big and I always love to hear from you! Last week, Ibram, a representative of the Turkish American Religious Foundation and the president of the Diyanet Mosque of Bergen, which is located in Cliffside Park, swung by CBIOTP to extend to me, as your Rabbi, an invitation to join their community’s Iftar breaking of the fast on Sunday night. Ibram not only came to the synagogue, but brought an official invitation letter as well. The correspondence read, “This event not only celebrates the spirit of Ramadan but also serves as an opportunity to foster unity, understanding, and friendship within our community. We would be honored to have your presence among us. Your participation would not only grace the occasion but also contribute to the sense of inclusivity and harmony that we strive to cultivate within our diverse community.” Friends, on Sunday, I was already scheduled to the brink. I was to officiate at a wedding, teach a class, engage in some Passover preparation of my own, so trust me, the last thing I wanted to do, was place additional commitments on my personal calendar. Reflectively, I almost immediately recalled that after October 7th, when I invited co-clergy to support our Stand With Israel Shabbat, I was met with an overwhelming silence. How could I now respond in a dispassionate manner, instead of accepting the invitation with the goal of learning about others, entering into conversation, and embracing a vision of peace and harmony? A few minutes before the start of the function, Rachel and I arrived at the mosque, the prayer location duly surrounded by private security and a strong local police presence. With Kippah and Tzitzit proudly adorning my attire, we cautiously approached the mass of Muslim congregants gathered outside the building. Instead of being met by a cluster of intimidation, the crowd swiftly parted, and a hand of welcome was extended by our hosts, Ibrahim & Aiesha. During the evening, we learned that Ibrahim & Aiesha were born and educated in Turkey and functioned in exactly the same fashion as Shluchim (Chabad emissaries). Their “yeshiva headquarters” had originally dispatched them to Australia, and now after seven years, they have been reassigned to Cliffside Park. Together, like a rebbe and rebbetzin, they conduct services, teach classes, organize events, and build community. The evening involved greetings from a variety of dignitaries, a modest meal (of which they served 400 each day during Ramadan!), and an evening service. When leaving, we were honorably presented with an array of parting gifts: a tray of Turkish baklava; Turkish cotton hand towels; and patterned socks (a pre-requisite for entering the mosque). The group could not have been more hospitable. While pondering the world’s precarious plight, after having enjoyed a pleasant evening, I asked myself a macrocosmic question: Can our collective hope and optimism for a possibility of trust and peace be maintained while facing a probability of instability and violence? The 13th century philosopher, physician, and commentator, Maimonides taught: Hope is belief in the plausibility of the possible, as opposed to the necessity of the probable. So, even with things feeling as grim as they may be in the post October 7th world, we as Jews still, and always, have hope. We come by it honestly. In the Tanach (the Jewish bible), after Ezekiel receives word of the impending destruction of Jerusalem, he exclusively begins to share messages of hope and restoration. He shares visions of the reunification of his people and the rebuilding of his land. According to biblical scholar Jean-Pierre Isbouts, Ezekiel’s prophetic vision arguably gave rise to a Jewish identity that extended beyond geographical and political borders, shaping us into an eternal optimistic nation. Ezekiel witnessed the exile of his people, the fall of Jerusalem, and the destruction of the Temple, yet maintained confidence in Geula (redemption). Millenia ago, The Hebrew nation was shocked and in a spiritual crisis, but when catastrophe befell Hashem’s chosen people, Ezekiel presented them with the possible, despite the probable. He gave them hope. Later in the Tanach, The Psalmist cries out to God, “Do not cast me out of Your presence, or take Your holy spirit away from me. Let me again rejoice in Your help; let a generous spirit sustain me.” In spite of the world around us, we, as Jews, have to maintain our ability to be caring souls, convinced that the world can be repaired. The Mussar tradition of Jewish practice, a movement developed in the 19th century, calls us to be sensitive to others, as well as kind and caring to ourselves. Our goal, according to Mussar scholar Alan Moranis, is to maintain and nurture a Ruach N’divah (a generous spirit) so as to embrace the possible, despite the probable. As we enter Shabbat and prepare for the Pesach season, may we focus not on the probability of ongoing war and bloodshed, inevitable death & injury, but rather on the possibility of peace, the return of the hostages to loving family hugs, the healing of the wounded, the feeding of the hungry, and the tranquility of Hashem’s vision of Shabbat, as a taste of the World To Come. עוֹד לֹא אָבְדָה תִּקְוָתֵנוּ: We have not yet lost HOPE. And we never will. Shabbat Shalom, Rabbi Eric L. Wasser, EdD, Hon.DM
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