Just a few of the highlights (for me) of this parasha:

• Has one of the most quoted lines in modern day social justice spaces: tzedek tzedek tirdof — “justice, justice, shall you pursue” (Deut. 16:20)
• Lays out (a) guidelines for establishing a judicial system, (b) rules for appointing kings, (c) guidelines for priests and levi’im.
• Defines the role of prophets.
• Contains laws around specific concerns, such as the need to create cities of refuge, and taking collective responsibility for unsolved murders.
• Encourages capital punishment and mob violence (Deut. 17: 5-7)
• Argues that we have a responsibility to protect the environment (Deut. 20:19-20) 

What are some of the highlights for you?

Some of the questions floating around in my head this week:

What can we learn from the instruction to create cities of refuge as we work to support immigrants needing protection from ICE? Can we infer that we have a responsibility to do so?

Can the injunction to take collective responsibility for unsolved murders help us understand demands for reparations for black descendants of chattel slavery in our country? Do we have a responsibility to support these demands?

How should we behave when our (secular) elected leaders and appointed judges take actions and enact policies that contradict the ways that the Torah teaches us to live? Is it kosher to break unjust laws? Is it kosher to respect unjust laws?

August 30, 2025 – 6 Elul 5785

Flaurie S. Imberman

Parasha Vayakhel – March 9, 2024 – 29 Adar I 5784

Shabbat shalom, I have always loved visiting different shuls, and today has been no different. Thank you so much, Temple Beth Sholom members and clergy, for this welcome. I am especially grateful to Executive Director Beth for helping with so many logistics, and to Cantor Linda for taking time to coach me as I prepared my Torah reading. And of course, to Rabbi Josh for your enthusiasm!

For the last few weeks, the Torah portions have been about the building of the mishkan, the tabernacle. The mishkan, known by several different names in Hebrew, was the temporary, portable sanctuary used by the Jewish  people when they wandered in the desert for 40 years.

Nova Simone, this parshah holds so much meaning on this day of your naming, for more than one reason. Let me share a few thoughts.

First of all, it took the whole community to build the mishkan. Everyone was asked to contribute time and money and physical labor. As Rabbi Josh said earlier, it takes a village….

Just by being born, Nova, you have joined a community. Right now, your community is relatively small:Your mommy and daddy, and your big sister Risa.

You also are loved by me and your other grandparents, Yvonne, Gil, David, Gigi, as well as your aunts and uncles, Regina, Courtlyn, Misha and Kenny.  And let’s not forget about your cousins Zion, Mack, Hattie and Louie, as well as Malka, David, Avinoam and Sara. Your family is your first community, and many of us are here to celebrate with you today.

As you grow and develop, my prayers for you include hopes that you will be an active member of many communities. Our Jewish tribe is small but strong, and you can start right here at TBS.

Nova, you will come to understand that you have a part in the big world out there. You are connected, in one way or another, to every human and every living thing, and indeed, to our planet itself.

That belonging comes with responsibilities, and I know that our family and our Torah will guide you. You will learn how to treat people with respect and loving kindness, how to welcome the stranger, how to stand up for justice. This is the Judaism I love so much and wish for you.

On a more personal note related to the building of the mishkan, I am thinking about your English name. Nova Simone, you are named for my beloved mama, Nanny Sandy, may her memory be for a blessing,. Nanny Sandy served two terms as Sisterhood President of my childhood shul, and her biggest contribution was to fundraise for the construction of a new building! Kind of a mishkan, but more permanent. You get the idea…

Indeed, you come from a long line of people who have given and continue to give their money and energy and time in order to build community. Jama, your grandmother Yvonne, volunteers weekly to distribute food and basic items to people in need in her neighborhood. Your Uncle Richard Valle, of blessed memory, served in many roles as a civic leader in Union City and most recently, as a Supervisor for Alameda County.

You come from a long line of people who have struggled for and continue to struggle for social justice. Lolo, your grandfather David, and I first met on a picket line to oppose the draft and the US war in Central America in the early 1980s.  Lolo’s grandfather Harry and my grandfather Izzy were both founding members of unions in New York City.

So Nova Simone, Shalhevet bat Noemi bat Tziporah bat Sara bat Feigl, I hope I’ve given you a lot to think about, and don’t worry if you don’t remember it all. We can talk about these topics again and again and again.  Shabbat shalom!

Shabbat Shalom!  Thank you, Rabbi Graff, for giving me this opportunity. And thank you, Jeff, for the inspiring conversations about this amazing double parasha. 

Sometimes during our Torah readings, I find myself hooked on the story, imagining the people in a play. I mean, who doesn’t love listening to a good story? 

More often than not, though, I seek to make connections between the world depicted in our Torah and the world we inhabit today. I did some research to prepare for today’s, and  acknowledge Rabbis Jill Jacobs and Rachel Greengrass of T’ruah, Rabbi Jonathan Sacks of blessed memory, and The Sentencing Project and American Jewish World Service. The commentary in our own chumash was also illuminating.

In Behar we hear of the need for a sabbatical for the land. We can appreciate the parallel between G-d resting after 6  days of creation, workers  resting after 6 days of labor, and now, the land resting after 6 years of being worked.  Might this early connection between people and the land inform our responsibilities today? Is it a reminder of how, even if I do not work the land myself, I have a responsibility to respect and protect it? Can we understand this as a plea to deal with climate change? 

Additionally, regarding the land…G-d warns, “The land is Mine; you are but gerim, migrants” (Leviticus 25:23). We do not own the land, G-d does. The Torah provides  details about our responsibilities … as temporary visitors to G-d’s land.   Rabbi Greengrass  suggests that at least  “36 times we are told to love and protect … the stranger, the immigrant. Often we hear, “because you were strangers  in the land of Egypt.” Yes, as Jews we know the heart of the immigrant, because we were immigrants, … throughout history.“ How can this guide us today in the wake of the lifting of Title 42, as our southern border is swelling with people desperately seeking to escape poverty and repression? Does reading this parasha help us redouble our compassion, generosity, and solidarity with immigrants?

The passages about the need for a jubilee year could also be understood in today’s world.  Consider this, written by the folks at The Sentencing Project:   “Fifty years ago, the United States embarked on a path of mass incarceration that has led to a staggering increase in the prison population. Today, almost 2 million individuals – disproportionately Black Americans – are incarcerated in our nation’s prisons and jails. The prison population has grown 500% since 1973 …”    No doubt some of you are also alarmed by the growing mass incarceration in our country.  So, might we proclaim 2023 a Jubilee year for incarcerated people? Our local Bend the Arc chapter is working to pass legislation  for resentencing of  older people serving Life Without Parole, people who have been locked up for more than 20 years already.  I invite you to ponder this as we read about the Jubilee year soon.

Finally, in writing about this parasha more than 10 years ago, Rabbi Sacks of blessed memory asserted that “ Judaism is the religion of a people born in slavery and longing for redemption; and the great assault of slavery against human dignity is that it deprives me of the ownership of the wealth I create. …  The ideal society envisaged by the prophets is one in which each person is able to sit underneath his own vine and fig tree”  Is Rabbi Sacks encouraging a more equitable distribution of wealth? If he were alive today, what might he say about the California  proposal to offer reparations to descendants of enslaved Africans?

Undoubtedly, other parts of this rich parasha will invite your attention and reflection. I’d love to hear your ideas.  Shabbat shalom.

Flaurie S. Imberman. 13 May 2023     22 Iyar 5783

In honor of my granddaughter Hattie, whose upcoming 5th birthday we celebrated today

Vayeilech   Shabbat Shuvah  September 11, 2021    5 Tishrei 5782

Shabbat shalom.   How wonderful to look up and see each of you here, and to know that many more friends are with us via Zoom. A special welcome to extended and chosen family members who are in our new home for the first time.

I am grateful to Rabbis Booth and Graff for all they do to hold our community together, through our years without a home, during (hopefully) the worst of the pandemic, and now as we navigate uncertain waters. Our Board of Directors and Staff work so hard to keep us safe and comfortable. Jeff and I are especially grateful to Pepe Sanchez and his staff for providing us with a delicious lunch, and keeping our spiritual home so beautiful. Also, a special shout out to Rabbi Graff and Chava Roy for stepping up so quickly to lead services when Rabbi Eilberg could not.

I would be terribly remiss if I failed to acknowledge today’s 20^th anniversary of the horrific attack on the Twin Towers, an attack that killed nearly 3,000 people, injured twice as many, and ignited terror and grief in the rest of us.  Let us take a moment of silence to remember the victims, and pray for their families.

As a Latin Americanist by passion as well as academic training, I would be untrue to myself if I did not also mention the other September 11, when, in 1973, the Chilean military overthrew democratically elected President Salvador Allende, with the support of the CIA. May we also remember those murdered during the coup and the years that followed.

And then of course, it is the 53^rd anniversary of my Bat Mitzvah, when I stood at the bima at Congregation Bnai Israel, in Staten Island, on a Friday night, to read the Haftarah.  Thanks to my beloved parents, Sandy and Marvin, of blessed memory, I was allowed to be counted as an adult among the Jewish people.

So today I am a fountain pen.  Oops, wrong decade…..if you don’t know what I am referring to, ask someone my age or older during the kiddush luncheon.

I’ve been thinking a lot about counting, being counted, recounting (as in telling), accountability.  As a language teacher who also loves math, I thought this would be easy for me to talk about. Many of you know that I love to write and that standing in front of you is always a pleasure, but this one has been challenging.

We always seem to be counting something.  Maybe that’s why so many of us love baseball:  He’s ahead in the count…..What’s his slugging percentage?  How many home runs has Pete Alonso hit this month?  How many games ahead of the Dodgers are the Giants?  What’s the magic number for the As to clinch a playoff berth this year?  How many games behind Atlanta have the Mets fallen?

But I digress.  Back to Torah.

This week’s parasha, Vayelech,  opens with:

וַיֵּ֖לֶךְ מֹשֶׁ֑ה וַיְדַבֵּ֛ר אֶת־הַדְּבָרִ֥ים הָאֵ֖לֶּה אֶל־כׇּל־יִשְׂרָאֵֽל׃

These words recount how Moses’s days are numbered, and what is going to happen.  Isn’t the entire Torah the recounting of our people’s earliest  history, (or at least the men’s history) as well as a counting of one thing or another? Finally, doesn’t the Torah teach us how to live, so that we can be accountable?

In my criminal justice reform work with Bend the Arc, we talk plenty about accountability. Most recently, I have been reminded that accountability is very different from punishment.  For those of us working for restorative justice for prisoners, practicing the four steps of accountability is compelling:  self-reflection, apology, repair, and changed behavior.

To my mind, this is very much a Jewish way of thinking about criminal justice.  Judaism teaches us that by performing meaningful teshuvah, we all can be forgiven. Restorative justice, like teshuvah, is very hard work. Being accountable allows us to grow and transform. I believe that this is true for individuals as well as for communities and perhaps the entire country.  But we have to be willing and able to enumerate our transgressions, recount them to ourselves and others, apologize, make restitution, and then we can begin to be accountable.

This is the time of year when being accountable seems to count more than ever.  How have I hurt my loved ones and have I worked to make things right between us?  Have I invited my loved ones to rebuke me when I have strayed from my best self, or at least listened attentively when they have offered a rebuke?

How have I hurt my relationship with my community, and with G-d, and how can I make repair?  Which commandments will I work harder to honor in 5782?  Which middot will be front and center in my curriculum?

 I believe that healing my fractured relationship with G-d includes Tikkun Olam.  Right here at Kol Emeth, we can address local food insecurity by supporting the current food drive led by Natalie Telis and Jeff.   Did I give as generously as I could this year? Can I dig deeper and give again tomorrow? This is part of me being accountable.

I want my community and my country to be more accountable.  There are organizations calling for reparations to the descendants of Africans who were kidnapped and brought to this country to work as slaves. A few months ago, our California legislature formed a powerhouse committee to study this and make a recommendation. A similar initiative is in the works in the US Congress. There is much more to say and discuss about how this relates to teshuvah; maybe we can find another time to do so.

Next week, we will read Ha’azinu, Moses’s final words, a poem to the Jewish people.  Today, I would like to close with excerpts (slightly edited for synagogue reading) from a poem by my favorite poet, Marge Piercy. It is from her latest collection, On the way out, turn off the light, and it is called “Praise in spite of it all.”

I thank the cool night that let me sleep.

I thank the bright morning that wakes me.

I thank the birds who peep and carol

celebrating the return of daylight.

I do not thank the spiny black gypsy

moths eating my trees to death.

Who rain stuff all sticky on my roof

I thought at first were drops of rain.

 I thank cookbooks out of whose stained

 pages fine meals are born. I thank

 poetry that speaks right into me, music

 moving through me, tales that engulf.

I do not praise greedy idiots who poison

 the sea, the air, food, bees and us. I do

 not praise those who stand on the bodies

 of those they consider less human.

I thank what I can as I age toward

the end. So much is beautiful, friends

are kind, I have loved many, and

some even have loved me. Amein.

As we enter a new year, let’s redouble our prayers for good health, and renew our commitments to create a more just world for all. Thank you, Jeff, for being my chevrutah and my compañero on this journey, for teaching me and for learning with me.  Everything is sweeter because of you.

Wishing each of you a Shabbat shalom.

May we all be inscribed in the Book of Life.

G’mar Chatima Tova

Early in February I launched this blog with hopes of exploring some key questions for myself. I wanted to thoughtfully look back at my life, and reclaim meaningful parts of my past, so that I could intentionally reflect on my present and dream about my future.

Writing (somewhat) regularly has helped rekindle my interest in the world around me, motivating me to again become more active in our local Bend the Arc chapter, standing shoulder to shoulder with others to face down that “I-won’t-say-his-name” Presidential candidate and let the world know that we’ve seen this before and won’t take it.

A commitment to writing has strengthened my practice of critical thinking about cultural phenomena, current events, and social justice struggles. As a white ally, I continue to educate myself about the racism in this country, and I restate my willingness to interrupt it and say, “¡Basta ya!” As a straight ally, I celebrate the progress made by GLBTQ folk and am mindful that the work is not finished.

The depth of reflection and breadth of experience that good writing demands, at least for this would-be author, have also reminded me how much I love to travel. Early in 2017, I plan to be on a plane to Australia to visit an old friend and explore that magical land as well as New Zealand. There are many aspects of this upcoming trip that will be radically different for me, and I am embracing the possibilities as well as the challenges.

Starting a new decade has given me much cause for joy and celebration. I am constantly reminded of how much I don’t know, and have also been taking stock of some things I have learned and now believe with all my heart. My writing this year has helped me articulate, clarify, and reassert some core beliefs:

• Doing the right thing is more important than being right
• Almost everything is negotiable
• Brilliance is enviable but wisdom is more valuable
• Change is a crucial precursor to growth
• Crawling into a box is tempting but thinking outside the box is richer
• Black and white thinking offers only two options; living in the grey means endless possibilities
• Rituals and practices are way better than habits
• Good intentions are important but not nearly enough
• Being a pretty girl can be fun but it is oh so overrated
• Being honest and being authentic are not the same
• Love is a choice, and a verb, and it needs to be exercised like a muscle

Thank you for reading my blog.

 

 

 

 

Years ago, I dreaded the approach of Yom Kippur, for I childishly understood it as a sad holiday. Going without food for a day, sitting in services with utter solemnity, and missing a day of school with my (mostly) non-Jewish friends — all of this gave me little reason to embrace the Day of Atonement.

Since I joined Congregation Kol Emeth eighteen years ago, my understanding of and appreciation for Yom Kippur, and the entire period leading up to it, have both broadened and deepened.

The month of Elul has arrived and I have begun my work.

First and foremost, now is a time for repair, and I don ‘t mean the kitchen drawer that doesn’t close properly. I’m talking about repairing relationships, especially the ones that matter the most to me.

I generally read up on apologies during Elul, but this year, I am finding myself mostly pondering the latest season of Orange is the New Black, which is, to my thinking, first and foremost a season about (frequently attempted) repair and (sometimes successful) forgiveness. It is about relationship building, against all of the odds that the women imprisoned in Litchfield Correctional Facility face on a daily basis. I am thinking mostly about Piper and Alex, about Sophia and Gloria, about Nicky and everyone around her, and of course, about Doggett and Charlie. (More of my reflections inspired by these last two in a future post.)

Common wisdom has it that we hurt and are most deeply hurt by the people about whom we care the most. I know this to be true, and so the need to seek forgiveness from family and friends looms large on my mind and in my heart. I’m still learning how to offer meaningful apologies, and am guided by the R words: expressing regret, taking responsibility, sharing feelings of repentance, offering repair, and requesting forgiveness.

I know that when I do this well, I am filled with feelings of renewal, which is largely what I look forward to from now until Yom Kippur, and hopefully beyond.

 

For as long as I can remember, the first of September always jumps up and greets me like the beginning of no other month, Gregorian or Hebrew or otherwise.

When I was a child, it signaled to me that my birthday was rapidly approaching, as was the beginning of the school year (in New York we never began before Labor Day). If Rosh Hashanah fell on the early side in a given year, it was like winning a Triple Crown, and my excitement multiplied. At the same time, I occasionally felt cheated as my new Rosh Hashanah clothes became my birthday presents which became my school clothes.

I began to observe the tradition of making “rabbit, rabbit” my first spoken words on the first of each month long ago, when my daughter, Iliana, initiated this ritual and encouraged me to join her. I have continued, even though my feelings and beliefs about being lucky (or not) have changed.

Really, what has changed is the way in which I look at my life, and my awareness of what affects how I move in the world. As I have grown closer to my faith, and have deepened my learning and religious practices, being aware of the blessings I enjoy seems to make much more sense than being grateful for being “lucky.”

Back in March, during the Hebrew month of Adar, I wrote on this blog about reciting and receiving blessings, and being a blessing. Now, almost six months later, I return to those thoughts, and reaffirm my commitment to being a blessing through my actions.

Come October 1, I will again say “rabbit rabbit,” as I did this morning, if for no other reason than to connect with Iliana.

 

 

 

 

Misha and I have a new, annual ritual of me accompanying him to his softball game on a Sunday afternoon every summer. (We’ve done it twice; is it a ritual yet? A ritual-in-training?)

The only blue-eyed redhead on a team of Chinese Americans playing in a league founded by their church, Misha brings his usual good cheer and smattering of Yiddish expressions, as well as a powerful bat and fine, defensive acumen to the game.

When Misha was born, my dad (zichrono livracha) arrived to the hospital within hours, proffering a mink teddy bear (dad was a furrier) with one hand and a miniature glove and bat with the other. “I’m going to make him a pitcher,” dad proudly proclaimed to his best friend and anyone else who would listen, and sure enough, during my parents’ frequent visits to the Golden State, he spent hours with Misha in the backyard, calling curve balls, sliders, and fastballs.

Twenty minutes into Sunday’s softball game I was reminded that this was not an MLB match-up, although the defensive errors reminded me, sadly, of some Mets games I’d rather forget.

For starters, you pitch to your own team in this league, as a way of keeping the game fun and less competitive. As Misha explained to me, “the goal is to give each batter a chance to hit, instead of focusing on strikeouts.” Another key difference is that females are encouraged to play; all of the teams are co-ed. There are 4 outfielders, and base stealing is not permitted.

As in Little League, and perhaps some bleacher sections in the majors, everyone in the stands is a self-appointed coach. But the real entertainment is to watch (and hear) every player (except the current batter) yelling instructions and encouragement to everyone on the field. If a player running the bases actually listens, she may even take in contradicting advice! Joking aside, though, as I watched the game progress, it became clear that these teams are 100% engaged, and the lack of instant replay forced me to really keep my eyes on the field.

From the opening ceremony, during which everyone on the field—including umpires (volunteers from teams not playing that Sunday), coaches, and all team members—forms a circle to introduce themselves, to the postgame fellowship meeting, the Chinese Christian Union Sports League makes sure that its members have a holistic, healthy, and fun experience. And I have the pleasure of witnessing this, as frequently as I want to attend and cheer on my son.

 

It’s come to my attention that people have been making up stories about me.

I’ve been using a chair for handicapped people to get in and out of the deep-water pool I’ve been enjoying this summer. I’d avoided the ladders on the way in because I was afraid I’d slip, and also when I was finished, because my arms weren’t strong enough to pull myself out.

I frequent this pool almost daily, and I’ve never seen anyone else use any of the three chairs. The ride is very slow, which gives other swimmers plenty of time to watch me as they come up for a breath or change strokes. I sometimes pretend I am on an amusement park ride, and I wave warmly whenever I catch someone’s eye.

Additionally, I use a float belt so that I can “jog” back and forth like I do in a shallower pool (without a belt). As far as I can tell, I am the only person at this pool to use such a device.

One day two weeks ago, after a particularly long and vigorous workout, I shivered as the chair lifted me out of the pool. I thought ahead to autumn and winter, when the days would truly be cooler and I would feel even more chilled atop the chair in my wet bathing suit. Using the ladder would be much quicker; could I manage it?

Imagine my thrill when I discovered I could!

And now, imagine my bewilderment when, day after day, for the next two weeks, various people approached me to ask how I had cured my back trouble, or my leg trouble, or…fill in the blank. Thank G-d, I do not suffer from back trouble, or leg trouble. I am currently the healthiest I have been in my entire adult life.

It seems that the spectators had made up stories in their heads to explain why I was using the ladder. And more stories about the belt. I readily understood that none of this was malicious, or hurtful.

We humans want so badly to comprehend everything, to avoid confusion, that we often invent stories so we can make sense of what we see and hear. The next time I catch myself doing this, though, I will do my best to check my assumptions and get closer to the truth.