Shabbat Shekalim and Giving



Since Ron proposed to me on May 8, 2016, Shabbat Shekalim will never be the same to me again. Tonight we usher in a special Shabbat, Shabbat Shekalim, as we read in the book of Exodus that every adult (male in the Torah) was to give a half shekel to sustain the religious life of the community. The Torah specifies that “the rich shall not pay more and the poor shall not pay less” (Exodus 30:15)- each person was to give the same half shekel. This portion is read every year on the Shabbat prior to Rosh Chodesh Adar, the beginning of the month of Adar, the month of Purim. Adar begins next Thursday night and Friday, and the rabbis say that when Adar enters, happiness increases- may it be so in each of our lives.

In essence, Shabbat Shekalim serves as a reminder that taxes will be due soon, yet its meaning is so much deeper. Here is a half shekel. (show coin)   Ron and I had hiked to the top of a hill in the mountain preserve, and we sat for a while enjoying the view. Out of nowhere and totally by surprise, he slid down onto one knee, pulled this coin out of his pocket, and began talking about how he had brought the half shekel home from a trip to Israel, in hopes of finding his other half. I was so shocked that I didn’t grasp what he was saying, but eventually it became clear that he was asking for my hand in marriage. I said yes, of course, and here we are.

The half shekel is a reminder of how much we all need each other, how much we need to be in community, and how each of us has something to offer, whoever we are, rich or poor. None of us is complete on our own, we are all imperfect, yet, with each of our contributions, the community is complete. We are all on the receiving end and the giving end at different times in our lives, we are each half a shekel and together we become whole.

Recognizing our interconnection, we understand the need to give. The half shekel represents sharing our physical resources. Generosity is a fundamental middah, a soul-trait, and it is one that we cultivate through our generous giving. Personally, I can have a tendency to be less than generous, and I know that I struggle with fear of scarcity, concern that if I give to individuals or to organizations that I support, that I will not have enough for my own needs. Our tradition assures us that no one will go broke from giving tzedakah. Maimonides encourages us that we acquire the quality of being generous through repeated acts of giving, that the person who gives 100 coins to 100 people will become more generous than the person who gives 100 coins all at once. We need to constantly reinforce the quality of generosity. So, when we were coming home from NY on Wednesday, I held my tongue when Ron gave the driver $50. for a $38. drive to the airport. I know I need to practice generosity at every opportunity! As Jews, I think we need to be especially sensitive to stereotypes that portray Jewish people as less than generous. We can counter these stereotypes by our gracious giving.

We can give of ourselves beyond tzedakah. When we rejoice at a wedding or sit with the bereaved, we are giving generously of our time. When we share our wisdom and experience we are giving generously to support the growth of others. All of these are acts of generosity.

The story is told of[Rabbi Elijah (Elya) Chaim Meisel of Lodz, who, during an exceptionally cold winter, went to a rich citizen to ask for funds for firewood to heat the homes of the poor. The rabbi knocked, and the wealthy man came to the door in his evening jacket. Honored by the appearance of the distinguished rabbi, he invited him into the house. Rabbi Elya Chaim responded that since he would be staying just a minute there was no need to go inside. He then engaged the man in conversation, asking in great detail about each family member. Out of respect for the rabbi, the man answered all his questions, but by now his teeth were chattering. Still the rabbi refused to enter. Finally, the man said, “Rabbi, why did you come here? What is it that you want?”

“I need money to buy wood for the poor. They are suffering greatly from the cold.” The shivering man promised to give a hundred rubles, a huge sum, whereupon the rabbi entered his house and sat down in the living room in front of a warm fireplace. The man brought the rabbi a glass of tea and they sat and spoke. Finally, unable to restrain himself, the man said to Rabbi Elya Chaim: “Why didn’t you just come in right away, and ask for the donation? You know I wouldn’t refuse you.”

The rabbi answered: “Standing outside in the cold, you started to shiver, and when I told you how cold the poor were, you felt in your own bones the truth of my words. That’s why you gave a hundred rubles. But had you and I sat together in comfortable chairs in front of a warm fireplace, drinking hot tea, and I had spoken to you of the sufferings of the poor, you wouldn’t have felt it in the same way, and would have contented yourself with a ten-ruble contribution.

Generosity begins when we recognize that we are all connected; it begins with the half-shekel.


Flip Phones and Parshat Bo

Were you as shocked as I was to read that flip phones, aka dumb phones, are making a comeback? Social commentators suggest that it’s about a retro cool factor, or, driven by the increasing cost of smart phones, or, perhaps, concerns for greater security. But I wonder if it may be something subtler and deeper? I wonder if there is an emerging rebellion against our technology dependent, technology addicted, lifestyle? Look around any restaurant, anywhere where people gather. Everyone is looking down at their phones. If they are interacting with each other at all, it is to show each other texts and images on those phones. Incredibly and counter-intuitively, smart phone sales are stalling while flip phone sales are gaining, yet on some level comprehensible.

“. . . a flip phone may be a new sign of cool. James Gardner, with digital experience agency Connective DX in Boston, said there’s a phenomenon he called “reverse status signaling.” In conventional status signaling we flaunt our wealth via brands like Louis Vuitton and BMW. But in reverse status signaling we “turn this on its ear. It typically but not always happens in once-prestigious categories that have lost their exclusivity and gone mainstream,” (says) Gardner.

“Smartphones were once scarce and accessible only to the elite,” Gardner notes. “Now, they’re mainstream and have become, not a signal of power, but instead a sign that you’re a corporate drone who’s tethered to their job and email 24×7. Reverting to a flip phone—or NO phone at all—subtly tells the world that you report to nobody. You are the boss.”[1]

You are the boss. In this week’s parsha, the Israelites escape from slavery in Egypt after 430 years. The essence of slavery is that someone else controls our time. The essence of freedom is that we get to decide how we choose to spend our time. The first thing the Israelites do in Exodus 13 is to establish the holiday of Passover, a reminder of what it means to be a slave, what it means to be free, and a reminder that we are in control of our own calendar. For many of us, we are voluntarily accepting a new kind of servitude, servitude to the pinging sound of another email, another text message, another Instagram or Facebook notification. Ping! Ping! Ping!

When even Facebook CEO Mark Zuckerberg acknowledges the dark side of social media, when he is quoted as saying that his personal challenge for 2018 is to fix Facebook, “. . .protecting our community from abuse and hate. . . making sure that time spent on Facebook is time well spent,”[2] we know that we can hope that we are on the cutting edge of a renewed sense of reflection on how we spend the precious time with which we are blessed. Will we be subservient to the incessant and insistent demand of our phones, or will we take control of when and how we engage with social media?

Last week Ron was driving and looking at his phone. Doing a mitzvah- studying his GPS to find directions to a shivah minyan. A noble cause. Ron acknowledges that he was distracted and swerving a bit. At the next light, a car pulled up to him and the driver, firmly but without hostility, asked him to please put the phone away. He proceeded to explain that he had lost his beloved wife in a car accident caused by a driver who was driving and texting. Now, the other driver has made it his mission in life to discourage this dangerous practice at every opportunity. Ron really took it to heart and felt that this man saved his life. Ron has now adopted as his cause to share this story in hopes that others will embrace this radical notion that it can wait; it can all wait.

We all spend too much time tethered to our phones. As we read this week of the Exodus from slavery to freedom, perhaps we can look within and reflect on how enslaved we are to social media and technology. Do you think you can get through the rest of this service without looking at your phone? What about the rest of this evening? What about the rest of Shabbat? Or, perhaps, maybe what you really need is just a good, old-fashioned flip phone?????



























5 Ways to Hack Your Jewish Life



Do you remember when a hack was the term for a taxi or other vehicle available for hire? Or when you could or couldn’t hack a challenging situation? Or when someone with no obvious talent who was somehow successful might be called a hack? Or when a cough might be described as hacking?

Then hack somehow morphed into a facility for breaking into computer systems. And now- hack-a noun- is used to describe a super-cool shortcut to achieve a desired end. As in- exercise hack: take the stairs, park further away in the parking lot. As in- love hacks: rejoice in your partner’s successes, touch them affectionately, a lot. Here’s a great life hack I picked up- Do you have a collection of plastic grocery bags? Is the collection out of control? Not sure where I picked up this hack, but how about using an empty tissue box as a dispenser for those bags? Pretty cool, eh?

So, as we enter 2018 and we are all super-busy, I thought I might modestly offer you some tips on 5 ways to hack your Jewish life. Here goes:

  1. Light Shabbat Candles– Your Jewish calendar tells you what time candle lighting SHOULD be each week. Forget it. Candle lighting should be whenever you get home on Friday night, even if it’s super late and you’re tired. There’s a reason that Shabbat is the only ritual in the 10 commandments and why Ahad Ha-Am said, “More than Israel has kept the Sabbath, the Sabbath has kept Israel.” Take a moment to remind yourself that you are not just a human “doing,” you are a human “being.” Take a moment to connect with the holiness of Shabbat by lighting Shabbat candles.
  2. Resolve to read ONE Jewish book this year. Just one! Here are a few suggestions:

Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl- you should read this book because every person on the planet should read his inspiring reflection on the triumph of the human spirit amidst the most harsh conditions of a concentration camp.

As A Driven Leaf by Milton Steinberg- not just because it is written by a rabbi. It is a highly readable novel set in the time of the Talmud. When Cantor Wolman and I recently discussed important Jewish books, and, guess what- this was the first book that came to both of our minds! That should be an intriguing enough reason to pick it up.

Seven Prayers That Can Change Your Life by Leonard Felder- Perhaps you think the title is overselling? Wrong! Felder offers wildly creative translations of prayers that you already know and re-imagines them in ways that bring depth to our daily lives.

Everyday Holiness by Alan Morinis- I gave this book to a friend recently and she reported that just thinking about the title was an elevating experience. Mussar study, learning about our own individual soul curricula, is increasingly popular, and Morinis’ book is the primary text for studying how we can become finer people by applying Jewish wisdom to the refinement of our own character traits.

  1. Learn about and observe a new holiday. Chanukkah is over and it’s a long time until Passover. Consider joining us for the Jewish Arbor day, Tu B’Shevat, on Feb. 3? You may be surprised and even proud to know that before there was an Earth Day or an ecological movement, YOUR Jewish tradition recognized and celebrated the holiness of the natural world. The Tu B’Shevat seder is an outrgrowth of the Jewish mystical tradition and involves eating lots of yummy fruits and nuts, while sharing texts on Judaism and nature, all in a fun seder format.
  2. Sign up for an online parshah column and/or A Taste of Mussar. One of the benefits of technology is that inspiration is no further away than your computer screen. There are so many online resources that you can subscribe to. The Union for Reform Judaism publishes “Ten Minutes of Torah” ( and there is no cost for this service. A Taste of Mussar is a self-paced introduction to Jewish wisdom on humility, gratitude, patience, and the other middot, soul traits, which are fundamental to mussar study. ( You don’t even to need to leave home and you can enhance your Jewish consciousness.
  3. Finally, say a blessing. I timed myself saying HaMotzi and it can be done in less than 3 seconds. Perhaps not the deepest spiritual expression, yet, surely better than no blessing? Take two and a half seconds to appreciate the fact that you have food to eat, that nature and human effort combined to bring about the meal you are about to enjoy. Once you become accustomed to saying HaMotzi, there are lots of other blessings you can learn- for seeing a beautiful flower, the clothing on your back, for the healthy functioning of your body. But start with HaMotzi- you have to eat anyway, so why not make it a religious experience?

This is New Year’s weekend and many of you may be thinking about New Year’s resolutions. Forget it! Think, instead, about hacking your Jewish life with Shabbat candles, a good book, a new holiday, an online resource, or a blessing. And, as we say on Rosh HaShanah, I wish you a good year, a healthy year, a sweet year, and also a year filled with many meaningful Jewish moments!

Sukkot and Hurricanes

Sukkot and Hurricanes

Rabbi Bonnie Koppell


The year my friend Toby was dying of lung cancer, she told me that she did not want to say the Unetaneh Tokef prayer.  She said that she was living every day that message of Who shall live and who shall die?  Who in their time and who before their time? She just didn’t think she needed to pray those words. I totally understood where she was coming from and gave her my rabbinic authorization, for whatever that was worth, to be excused from Unetaneh Tokef.  Toby did not make it to the next high holidays.

I kind of feel that way this year about Sukkot in certain parts of the world.  For most of us, Sukkot is a fun time to be outdoors, to huddle in our very fragile, transient, temporary shelters and experience, for just a moment, what it might be like to simplify our lives and live in the most basic of shelters.  After Harvey, Irma, Jose, Maria, homelessness is all too real for all too many.  For too many people, their home has become their sukkah.  It feels ridiculous, almost sacrilegious, to imagine a sukkah sitting outside a home that has been devastated by hurricane storms.  Not that they’ve asked me, but I’m giving a pass on Sukkot to the Jewish communities in Houston, Miami, Puerto Rico, the Caribbean, Cuba, and everywhere else that has been impacted.  Who by water, indeed. . . Unetaneh tokef is always powerful; this year it is entirely too real.

We read in Leviticus 23:42-43, “You shall dwell in booths seven days; all members of Israel shall dwell in booths; So that you may know that I made the children of Israel to dwell in booths, when I brought them out of the land of Egypt:  I am Adonai your God.”

The Menorat HaMaor teaches us that,  “The Sukkah is designed to warn us that we ought not to put our trust in the size or strength or beauty of our homes, though they be filled with all precious things. . . but, rather, we should put our trust in God who called the universe into being.”  Through our observance of Sukkot we get a taste of what it would be like not to have a home. Whether we are hot or cold in the sukkah is not the issue.  The point is that we are not in a climate controlled physical setting where we are disconnected from the weather outside.

Just as our Sukkot are open to the world, so must we not return to our homes, closed off from the needs of others.  We must continue to be open to others.  “If I am not for myself, who will be for me?  If I am only for myself, what am I?  And if not now, when?”

May we be inspired through our symbolic homelessness to renew our commitment to work for a time when no one will be compelled to live outdoors for lack of a home. We at Temple Chai have the opportunity to participate in supporting Family Promise as we open the doors of our synagogue to homeless families.  And we are especially proud of those who will journey to Houston with Cantor Wolman to be our hands and our hearts, voices of love and caring to those who are rebuilding after the devastation.

Sukkot is a holiday of universalism- in ancient ritual we offered prayers for each of the 70 nations of the world.   It is not enough to pray for peace for ourselves alone. Our celebration is incomplete if we do not include prayers for peace for our troubled world.  Rabbi Mordecai Kaplan wrote of,  “The sukkah as the symbol of protest against the injustices and inequities of current civilization, and the need for upholding standards of righteousness which our civilization should seek to achieve.”

As the holiday of Sukkot draws to a close, we will offer public prayers for rain. We implore God- Hoshanna- Save us!  Don’t hold back the life-giving waters.  This year, these prayers take on new meaning.  “For blessing and not for curse; for life and not for death; for plenty and not for scarcity.”

I’ll conclude with the beautiful prayer “For Rain” written by Alden Solovy- you can find it in your Shabbat bulletin.

For Rain- Alden Solovy

Source of life and blessings,

The rains come in their season

To feed the land, the crops, the gardens.

The earth abundant, food plentiful, gardens lush.

Sweet, clean water, feeding rivers, filling the sea.

Sometimes too much,

Sometimes too little,

Sometimes not at all.


Fountain of blessing,

Remember us with life,

With beauty,

With prosperity and bounty.

Remember us with the gift of rain,

The gifts of earth and sky,

Blessings upon the land,

Each in its time,

Each in its season,

Each in its proper measure.



Mountain Biking and Humility

On Humility

Rabbi Bonnie Koppell

Erev Rosh HaShanah 2017


My husband Ron has introduced me to the joy of mountain biking.  We have a beautiful, regular route at Brown’s Ranch, just challenging enough and still fun.  Except, that is, for the first 90 seconds.  You’ve barely had time to process the fact that you’re off road, on a bike, adjusting to pedaling and shifting, and suddenly there’s a turn.  A narrow turn.  Between two rocks.  Going uphill.

I’ve probably attempted this climb 50 times.  I have successfully transited this spot and remained on the bike about 5 times.  Let me tell you, mountain biking is a humbling experience.

As we enter into this High Holiday season, humility is at the forefront of our spiritual agenda.  Our culture is plagued with examples of extreme arrogance.  Our own spiritual accounting and humble consideration of our own shortcomings is the antidote to the pervasive temptation of arrogance.  Jewish teaching emphasizes humility as the foundation of character.  As we assess the ways in which we would hope to grow, humility is really the only appropriate response.

One of the great things about this particular mountain bike trail is that it is less rocky than others.  But that doesn’t mean that there are no rocks.  There is no such thing as a path through the mountains, or through life, for that matter, that does not contain rocks.  The only question each of us faces is how we will traverse the rocks we encounter.  If we’re lucky, we can glide over them, experience a little bumpiness, and keep going.  As we look within and set goals for our own character development, it is inevitable that the path will not be completely smooth.  And that’s okay.

Sometimes there are so many rocks that you just can’t get over them.  If you’re an experienced rider like Ron, you might be comfortable continuing to ride.  If you’re a novice as I am, it is a sign of both wisdom and humility to dismount and walk until I reach smoother ground.  Knowing what you CAN do and what you CAN’T do, knowing what you know and admitting what you don’t know, this is what it means to be humble.

It has been humbling for me to be in the role of a rank beginner.  Most of my life is spent in an arena where I am the teacher and others are the students, where I am the subject matter expert.  Humility requires taking a step back so that I can listen and learn.  And, it requires Ron to step forward and be in that leadership role- which he does, by the way, with kindness and expertise.  It is not arrogance for a leader to lead.

Listening to others is a vital part of humility.  The sages say that Hillel’s opinions prevailed over those of his rival, Shammai, because Hillel and his students were willing to humbly study points of view with which they disagreed.  “Who is wise?,” ask the sages.  “The person who learns from everyone.”  Perhaps as an exercise during these Aseret Y’May Teshuvah, these 10 Days of Repentance, you can make it a practice to identify one positive trait you see in each person that you encounter, one area in which their level exceeds yours.  This will not only inculcate humility, it will inspire you to grow spiritually.

Mountain biking has brought new meaning to the expression- don’t get in a rut.  I always thought that a rut meant the boredom of a tedious routine. After some serious rain, I encountered serious ruts on the trail.   I discovered that trying to ride in a rut is frightening.  The narrow confines of that rut are a harrowing place.  The High Holidays are a good time to reflect on our lives and where we may find ourselves in a rut.  Getting out of a rut may not be easy, yet, surprisingly, it may also lead us to a smoother ride.

We are blessed to live among glorious mountains.  When we reach the summit, the views uplift our souls.  However, there is only one way to reach those heights, and that is to climb.  Ascending from the base of a steep incline requires fortitude, perseverance, strength, and, the right gear.  When we reflect on the year that is drawing to a close and contemplate the inevitable challenges of the year ahead, we want to engage all the support we can, from family, from community, from our own innate gifts, so that we can make it up the hill and revel in the view.

The mountain biker who is traveling up the hill has the unspoken right of way.   We recognize that going uphill is not easy, so we yield to support them in their climb.  We humbly recognize that we can’t do it alone- we need each other.  I am so grateful when another rider sees me struggling up a hill, and they politely and patiently wait at the top for me to pass, sometimes even adding a word of encouragement.

When I was first  learning the art of mountain biking, I crossed paths with a woman on the trail who said, “We all start somewhere.”  Humbling and touching and a beautiful reminder of the tremendous impact we can have just by reaching out to each other with a kind word.

Passing other riders on the trail is a unique challenge.  Mussar, the study of Jewish ethics of character development defines humility as occupying, “No more than my place, no less than my space.”  Mussar is a centuries’ old practice of introspection that focuses on the individual soul curriculum as it relates to various traits such as gratitude, patience, equanimity, generosity, trust, and others.  If you are intrigued by Mussar, by the way, consider registering for our fall class, “Seeking Everyday Holiness.”

As I understand humility from a Mussar perspective, humility means that we should be sensitive to those around us and make sure that each person receives the appropriate measure of attention and focus in a group situation.   Do you know someone who seems to take over a room when they enter? Who dominates the conversation?  Who can’t seem to listen to others and who always has a personal anecdote in every situation?   That is not the way of humility, of anavah.  When a mountain biker passes me at breakneck speed, in my mind they are taking up more than their place.  Arrogance, not humility.

No less than my space.  Humility does not equal low self-esteem.  It is important to be conscious of our own strengths.  We will need them in order to overcome our weaknesses!  Lack of awareness of our capabilities leads to inaction and missed opportunities.  We each have something to contribute to the common good, we each have the capability of growing. That’s what these High Holy Days are all about.

Humility DOES mean recognizing that our talents are gifts from God.  As Alan Morinis,founding director of the Mussar Institute, expresses it, “. . .being humble doesn’t mean being a nobody, it just means being no more of a somebody than you ought to be.”

Humility means seeing our gifts as blessings and using them in service to others.  Moses was known as the most humble man who ever lived.  How can that be?  The man we know as the greatest leader and prophet of all time?  Moses closeness to God ensured that he was constantly aware of his own limitations, as we should be, especially at this High Holiday season.  We read in the Orchot Tzaddikim, The Ways of the Righteous, that “All of the good things I do are but a drop in the ocean in comparison to what I ought to do.”

Humility means recognizing others for their strengths and talents.  Bachya ibn Pakuda famously taught that he never met a person in whom he didn’t find at least one quality in which that person was superior. “If he was wiser that I was, I would say, ‘Because of his superior wisdom, he must revere God more than I do.’ And if he was inferior to me in wisdom, I would say, ‘On the Day of Judgment, he will be held less accountable than I will, because my transgressions were committed with knowledge and intent, while his were committed unwittingly.’ If he was older than I was, I would say, ‘His merits must exceed mine, since he came into the world before me.’ If he was younger, I would say, ‘His demerits are fewer than mine.’”

Take a moment now to think about any negative feelings about others that you might be about to carry into the new year.  Imagine that individual standing in front of you?  Pirke Avot teaches us that the wise person is the one who learns from everyone.  What can you learn from this person, as challenging as they may be?

Rabbi Joseph Telushkin quotes the question of an 18th century rabbi, who wonders—if humility is so important, why isn’t it one of the 613 commandments?  Good question, right?  Well- try to imagine someone saying a blessing along the lines of, “Behold, I am about to fulfill the mitzvah of being humble.”  It’s like a catch 22.  Rabbi Telushkin’s grandfather was a rabbi who observed a prominent person in the congregation who would intentionally take a humble seat in the rear of the synagogue and then furtively look around to see if others noticed his humility.  Rabbi Telushkin the grandfather approached this prominent person as follows, “It would be better for you to sit in the front of the synagogue and think you should be sitting in the back, than to sit in the back of the synagogue and think you should be sitting in the front.”

Humility is especially important for those in leadership roles.  Thus, the cantor entered this evening’s service with the Hineni prayer, confessing his unworthiness and asking God’s help as he prepares to lead the congregation. “Here I am. So poor in deeds I tremble in fear, overwhelmed and apprehensive. . . Although unworthy, I rise to pray and seek Your favor for Your people Israel.”[1]

So many obstacles on the mountain biking trail- deep sand that causes our wheels to sink in place, impeding any forward movement.  Precarious turns where we think we are moving in one direction and suddenly have to shift.  Will I have enough water and what if there is a mechanical problem?  Can I let go and trust the equipment to carry me safely home?  Sometimes the only thing to do is come to a complete halt- like when there is a rattlesnake lounging across the path in front of you.  Perhaps the High Holidays are the time when we come to a complete halt and give ourselves the luxury of a period of time to contemplate where we are and where we are going.

And then, there are the glorious moments!  The weather is perfect, the trail is smooth and glides over rolling hills, the views are spectacular and the desert is alive in all its glory.  As we enter the  year 5778, I wish you all of these blessings, and the humility to keep pedaling even when life is less than perfect.  May those times be few and far between.


[1] Mishkan Hanefesh, NY:  CCAR Press, 2015, p. 17

Justice For All

Liberty and Justice For All- Rabbi Bonnie Koppell

It’s okay, in the eyes of Jewish tradition, to tell a lie. A little white lie for the sake of shalom- to maintain harmony in our relationships. “Look what I bought today- I got such a great price!” So what if you don’t love it- say something nice. “It’s lovely!” How do I know when it’s okay to say less than the truth? Dr. David Nyberg offers the perfect guidance- “Be untruthful to others as you would have others be untruthful to you.”

When is it NEVER okay to lie? In court. “Do not bear false witness” made it into the 10 commandments- it’s number 9. Why might that be? Because the administration of justice is a fundamental aspect of a functioning society. Being part of a community requires sacrifice on the part of the individual. Each of us gives up a little bit of our own autonomy to support the greater good. People who do not feel that their community operates on standards of justice and fairness become unwilling to sacrifice as the price of citizenship. Corruption in government is one of the first signs of a failing state. If there is not confidence that the law will be enforced in a just and equitable manner, people rapidly lose confidence and chaos can ensue.

Last week’s Torah portion began with the commandment, “Shoftim v’shotrim titen l’cha b’chol sh’a’recha- you must have judges and law enforcement everywhere that you dwell. . . and they must judge the people according to mishpat tzedek- the standard of righteousness, by a just law.” The text continues with the admonition not to judge unfairly and to be completely impartial, and concludes with the ringing cry, “Justice, justice shall you pursue- tzedek, tzedek tirdof.” (Deuteronomy 16:18- 20) Why is the word tzedek- justice- repeated? Some suggest- justice in the means, justice in the ends.

Or, it could refer to the fundamental importance of liberty and justice for all. The one mitzvah repeated more than any other in the Torah is the mandate for one law for the native and the stranger. Thirty-six times the Torah demands that equal justice for every member of society is non-negotiable. There can be no discrimination in how the law is applied. Every single person is formed in the image of God and Perhaps the word justice is repeated to emphasize its importance? Perhaps it is simply to encourage us to know that it is possible and a worthy goal?

Judaism is founded and sustained on a passion for justice. In the book of Genesis, chapter 12, God reaches out to appoint Avram, calling on him to be a blessing in the world. Six chapters later, Avram demonstrates how to be a blessing, crying out to God, “Shall not the judge of all the world deal justly?” Because of our history, we as Jews are especially sensitive to what it means to be the outsider and the vital call to be the voice of the disenfranchised. Shimon Peres famously suggested that the greatest gift of the Jewish people to the world was “dissatisfaction.” Our tradition demands that we recognize injustice, that we name it, that we work to bring about solutions when we become aware of injustice.

The prophet Micah asks, “What is it that God desires from us? To do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with our God.”- (Micah 6:8) To do justice is God’s very first requirement.

The Yamim Noraim, the Days of Awe, are upon us. The holiest day of the year is Yom Kippur, also known as Yom ha-Din, the Day of Judgment, of accountability. As we imagine ourselves standing before the heavenly court, we are reminded of the fundamental importance of courts of law and standards of justice that are applied equally and impartially to every single member of our community. At this holy season and on this Yom ha-Din especially, we pray, in the words of the prophet Amos, that “Justice roll on like an ever flowing river, and righteousness like a mighty stream.” (Amos 5:24)

On the Reality and Power of Evil

On the Reality and Power of Evil- Rabbi Bonnie Koppell

In her novel The Wonder Worker, Susan Howatch warns us of a fact of life which we would all much rather ignore, as she writes, “Evil exists. Those who forget that fact or ignore it or reject it are at best taking a big risk and at worst conniving at their own destruction.” We as a society are collectively taking this risk and consequently experiencing the breakdown of our standards and norms. The High Holidays are the antidote for this denial of the reality of evil. Once a year, we set aside a time on which we not only acknowledge but dwell with our own yetzer ha-ra, our inclination towards evil. This period culminates with Yom Kippur. On 364 days of the year we may pretend that we’re basically good people and that that’s all that matters. On this one day we admit the enormity of the temptation to do wrong in our lives and our weakness to resist. The tendency of the human heart, we read in Genesis, is towards evil from our youth. While we do not believe in original sin, we also do not believe in original goodness.   Speaking of the yetzer ha-ra, the inclination towards evil, the Hassidic master, Rabbi Levi Yitzkhak of Berditschev taught, “Make peace with your yetzer ha-ra and put it to use for the good of the world.”

Not only is the self-flagellation of Yom Kippur not an unhealthy thing, it is precisely the prescription we need to raise ourselves up to live lives of holiness and humility in the year ahead. The first step in the process of teshuva is acknowledging that we have done wrong.

The Prophet Isaiah once made this dramatic statement (45:7): ‘Thus said Adonai. . .I am the shaper of light and the creator of darkness; the maker of peace and the creator of evil.’ God as the author of evil? That last clause disturbed the Rabbis as much as it disturbs us. So much so that the Sages changed it when they quoted it in the morning blessing: ‘Blessed are You, Adonai, Ruler of the universe, shaper of light and creator of darkness; maker of peace and creator of all.’ “Evil” in the original text becomes “all” in the rabbinic version.

The Zoroastrians of old conceived a dualistic world in which there were two separate powers which co-existed- a God of light and a God of darkness. They had no problem explaining the existence of evil in the universe- it is simply the result of the struggle between these two forces. Our monotheistic tradition resolved the conflict in a way we moderns find terribly difficult to comprehend- God is, indeed, the source of both light and darkness. It is for this reason that the rabbis wisely created a blessing for hearing bad news, acknowledging the reality that suffering, too, has its source in God’s design- it is built into the universe as a result of our physical being and our freedom of choice.

We speak of God as Elohim- the God of nature, and as Adonai- the source of morality. And we acknowledge that God is One, that the Holy One combines these two aspects of being. We who are formed in the image of God must also wrestle with these two tendencies within our own souls.

Acknowledging the force of the yetzer ha-ra, the rabbis understand it as a potentially useful phenomenon. This is also difficult to understand. Wouldn’t we be better off if we were programmed to do only good? If there were no possibility of evil and no suffering due to the choices people make? No, they claim, for, were it not for the yetzer ha-ra, people would not build homes, marry, bear children or engage in business. Pure and beautiful things, we learn, can be created even from motives which are less than honorable, and so we are urged to worship God with our yetzer ha-ra, our evil inclination, as much as with our yetzer ha-tov, our good inclination. . “If everything comes from God”, taught Rabbi Yehuda, “then everything contains a spark of goodness- even the yetzer ha-ra.”[1]

So, in its wisdom, the tradition does not pray for the extinction of the yetzer ha-ra, but for its sublimation in the service of the holy. The Talmud depicts the evil inclination as a young, fiery lion emerging from the Holy of Holies. It is seized and imprisoned by the sages for three days. But, during this time, they looked unsuccessfully throughout the country for one fresh egg, and couldn’t find it.[2] They reluctantly acknowledged that the libido, the life force, was necessary for civilization. They prayed, then, for “half mercy”. “Let the libido of the evil temptation be preserved, but let it be limited to lawful acts. Let lust exist, but let it be limited to one’s spouse. Let competition prevail, but let it be limited to legitimate businesses.”[3] This prayer, too, went unanswered- we must take responsibility for our own choices in this world, applauding noble and worthy actions and descrying wrong and evil decisions. Would it be better if humanity were programmed to only do good? If the consequences of our material nature were only positive? Perhaps. But that’s not the way it is, and some have even suggested that God ought to have a Divine Day of Atonement to ask us for our forgiveness for setting the world up in this way.

In his article on “Contemplating the Reality of Evil”, William Strongin suggests that evil does not stem merely from ignorance or want, that it is a vital power within every human, without which we could not exist. Yes, it is a violent force that seeks to destroy yes, yet it is simultaneously the power that causes us to grow and change and evolve.[4]

In other words, it is out there, it is real, and it is, increasingly, coming to a neighborhood near you! While the power of the yetzer ha-ra can be harnessed for good, without a sense of discipline and values, it can and does cause phenomenal destruction and pain. One need only turn on the news or pick up a newspaper to see tragic examples of the yetzer ha-ra untamed.

We need to confront this terrible truth without flinching.   The place to begin is within our own hearts and the time is now. As we chant the Viddui and the Al Kheyt in the coming days, we must recognize on the deepest level the wrongs of which we are all too capable. It’s not about ignorance out there. It’s not about social forces, economic circumstances, parents, schools, the media, violence, racism. It’s about the potential within each of us for which we must take responsibility.

Leonard Cohen wrote a powerful poem, “All There Is To Know About Adolph Eichmann” in which he graphically portrays what Hannah Arendt dubbed, “the banality of evil”.

All There Is To Know About Adolph Eichmann

EYES:. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Medium

HAIR:. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Medium

WEIGHT:. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Medium

HEIGHT:. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Medium

DISTINGUISHING FEATURES:. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . None
NUMBER OF FINGERS:. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Ten

NUMBER OF TOES:. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . Ten

INTELLIGENCE. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Medium


What did you expect?


Oversize incisors?

Green saliva?



We would like the Adolph Eichmanns of the world to have talons, oversize incisors, green saliva. How comforting it would be to be able to recognize evil clearly and definitively, and to see it as something different and apart from our own lives. The fact that evil doers are indistinguishable is infinitely more threatening.

The story of civilization consists of our strategies for subduing the expression of evil. The way of Torah and mitzvot is our Jewish way to tame the beast within. From a Jewish perspective, writes Rabbi Jeffrey Salkin, “the struggle for virtue is itself a virtue.”[5] “Proper upbringing causes us to internalize these strategies, making them nearly instantaneous and automatic. We thus have so many ongoing successes in this redemption of natural Evil that we are prone to forget that every moment we are fighting the good fight. To forget is dangerous. Evil is relentless. It is of primary importance that we remember that every act of virtue is a triumph over Evil, and that Evil seeks to find the one act we cannot redeem. Being wary at least prevents the attack from being an ambush.”[6] “Those who flee temptation”, it has wryly been noted, “generally leave a forwarding address.”[7]

And how long must we struggle with our own yetzer ha-ra. Forever. The good news is that the more we choose to do good, the more it becomes part of our fundamental character. As we build our physical muscles through exercise, so we can build our yetzer ha-tov, our inclination towards good, our moral nature, through our acts of righteousness.

Charlotte Bronte’s powerful depiction of this struggle bears repeating, as she writes in Jane Eyre, “Laws and principles are not for times when there is no temptation: they are for such moments as this, when body and soul rise in mutiny against their rigor; stringent are they; inviolate they shall be. If at my individual conscience I might break them, what would be their worth? They have a worth- so I have always believed; and if I cannot believe it now, it is because I am insane- quite insane, with my veins running fire and my heart beating faster than I can count its throbs. Preconceived opinions, foregone determinations, are all I have at this hour to stand by; there I plant my foot.”[8]

What she refers to as preconceived opinions and foregone determinations, we understand as the path of mitzvot and the moral legacy of our tradition. We must learn and embrace and reinforce these teachings on a daily basis, if we are to have the fortitude to withstand the temptation of evil. When the moment comes to make the most difficult decision, we may not have time to debate the options. We will need to rely on the strong virtuous instinct we have worked to develop.

“We are commanded not merely to refrain from evil acts, but to hate Evil. To hate it. Many would like to flinch, to obscure the meaning of this commandment and whitewash the term ‘hate.’ But it is our destiny to be empowered by Evil, which we must hate. Does this mean we must hate our innermost selves? Of course not. It means that we must violently grab our own life-force and twist it into a godly direction.”[9]

“Ohavei Adonai sinu ra”- what does it mean to love God, the Psalmist asks? It means to hate evil. In the final parshiot of Deuteronomy, we see many times repeated the phrase, “u-viarta ha-ra- mi-kirbekha- you should remove, you should burn out the evil from within your midst.” Evil must become intolerable to each of us as individuals and to all of us as a community.

When we say that we are created in the image of God, it does not mean that we are innately good; it means that the essence of what it is to be human is to understand the distinction between good and evil. It means that we are blessed and cursed with the ability to know right from wrong, and ennobled by the challenge to choose the right. The most important battle we must each fight is the battle with our own nature. The Yamim Noraim, these Days of Awe, are the time we are held accountable for how well we are doing.

Our biggest problem in life is overcoming our natural tendency toward evil. It is not a new problem. “Surely, if you do right,” God tells Cain in the Garden of Eden, “There is uplift. But if you do not do right, sin crouches at the door; its urge is toward you, yet you can be its master.” (Genesis 4:7)

Let us use these Aseret Y’may Teshuva, these Ten Days of Repentance, to confront our own evil and acknowledge the wrong we’ve done. George Eliot wrote that “we prepare ourselves for sudden deeds by the reiterated choice of good or evil that gradually determines character.”[10] We must examine the choices we are making, and humbly atone for the wrong that we have done. We commit ourselves to the notion that there are eternal values, there is good and there is evil and we are called upon to embrace the highest moral standards. No, it is not easy. It is an immense challenge, and it is a challenge to us every single day throughout our lives. May the time we spend in the synagogue at this holiest season of the year, and the strength and support of our congregation, inspire us and give us courage to choose the right as individuals and as a community in the year ahead.





[1] Quoted in Salkin, Jeffrey, “How Can We Take the Evil Within and Make of It a Ladder That Can Uplift Us?”, Reform Judaism, Summer 1999, p. 22

[2] BT Yoma 69b

[3] Schulweis, Harold, For Those Who Can’t Believe, NY: HarperCollins Publishers, 1994, p. 122

[4] Strongin, William, “Contemplating the Nature of Evil”, Reconstructionism Today, Vol. 6, No. 3, p. 9

[5] Salkin, op. cit., p. 21

  1. Strongin, op. cit.., p. 10

[7] Lane Olinghouse

[8] Bronte, Charlotte, Jane Eyre

[9] ibid.

[10] Eliot, George, Romola, p. 231

My Grandson, The Angel

Every grandparent thinks that their grandchild is an angel. My new grandson, Michael David, who is 10 days and 30 minutes old, actually IS an angel.  Or, at least, he is named for one!  People are sometimes surprised to learn that there ARE angels in Jewish tradition.  The Torah speaks of “malachim”- messengers- and you can probably think of a number of stories where they appear.  Michael is named for Tim’s beloved father who died when Tim was only 21- may his memory be for blessing.

Tradition tells us that it was the angel Michael, who informed Abraham that his nephew Lot has been taken captive.  It was the angel Michael who protected Sarah when she was taken into the harem of Avimelech.  It was the angel Michael who stayed Abraham’s hand when he was about to sacrifice Isaac, who prevented Lavan from harming Jacob, who wrestled with the patriarch[1], and it was Michael who told Abraham of the impending birth of his longed for son, Isaac.  What an angel!

In Jewish literature, Michael is actually the commander-in-chief of the entire angelic host.  He is one of the archangels! A leader!  Michael is one of only two messengers named in the Tanach, in the Hebrew Bible.  The other is the angel Gabriel.  Both are mentioned in the Book of Daniel.  Gabriel, as his name implies, gibbor- strong- is associated with the sense of justice, and is often tasked with administering punishment on God’s behalf.  Michael translates at “Me-cha-el,”- who is like God, or, God-like.  Okay, I’ll say that my grandson is an angel, I won’t go so far as to say that he is a demi-god himself!  The angel Michael plays the role as an emissary of God’s kindness and compassion.

Michael is depicted as standing to the right of God’s holy throne.  Note that the mezuzah is placed on the right side of the doorpost, and there is a custom to hold the Kiddush cup in our right hands.  Various rituals in the Torah call for anointing the right earlobe, thumb, and toe.  Eliezer places his hand on Abraham’s right thigh when he swears and oath, and traditional Jews will put on their right shoe before their left, and light a candle on the right side prior to the left.  Standing at the right hand of God is a key position.

Rabbi David Cooper suggests that when we think about Michael, we might reflect on times when we felt unusually open-hearted, on moments of exceptional generosity, sharing, caring, and being available to others.[2] Me-cha-el- who is like God?  One who expresses these God-like qualities.

Michael is the one who collects our prayers and brings them to God.  We, as Jews, don’t believe in intermediaries in our relationship with the Holy One; Michael is simply the Divine postman!  Michael can be tough when he needs to be.  The Book of Enoch, a pseudepigraphal- that is extra-Biblical text- describes Michael as one of those who will participate in bringing punishment to the angels of corruption and destruction.[3]

Writing in the definitive work, A Gathering of Angels, Rabbi Morris Margolies teaches that rebellious angels leave God’s Presence and descend to earth to tempt us to do evil.  We can counter these negative forces by “harnessing the angelic forces for good that are always there for those who choose them.”[4]  In other words, we are surrounded by angels and opportunities for good, opportunities to engage those qualities of kindness and compassion which Michael represents.

Kabbalah, Jewish mysticism, goes further, suggesting that with every good that we perform, we populate the universe with good angels- a powerful motivation and beautiful image of the potential impact of our every action.

May Michael be blessed with all of these qualities of his angelic namesake-  first of all, may he emulate all of the Godly qualities of caring, kindness, and compassion, may he grow to be a leader in our community and may he muster the strength to stand for justice when necessary.

Michael’s middle name, David, honors the memory of Sarah’s father and my beloved husband, zecher tzaddik livracha.  I know that the angel David is watching over his beautiful grandson with love and pride.

May we all be reminded of the angels we create every moment. May we be blessed with awareness of the angels who surround us on all sides. May God bless every one of us with the strength and wisdom to choose the good, and, indeed, the holy path.

[1] other sources suggest that that was Gabriel

[2] Cooper, Rabbi David, “The Archangel Michael,”


[3] Margolies, Morris B., A Gathering of Angels, NY:  Ballantine Books, 1994, p. 84

[4] ibid., p. 85

Guadalupe Garcia de Rayos and Rabbah bar Chana

By now we are all familiar with the story of Guadalupe Garcia de Rayos, the Mesa mom who came to the U.S. from Mexico at the age of 14, and who was recently deported in an initiative to enforce the strictest standard of law. In 2008 she was convicted for using a false social security number to gain employment.  Our tradition has the deepest respect for the law, as we read in Deuteronomy 16:20, “Justice, justice, shall you pursue.”  There is no doubt that she did something illegal.  Yet, as we shall see, our tradition also suggests that sometimes the path of justice must detour around the law in the direction of kindness. Sadly, she had no legal path to citizenship and no way to earn a livelihood in order to support her family.

The Talmud relates the story of Rabbah bar Chana, who hired porters to move a barrel of wine. In the process, the porters broke the barrel, and Rabbah bar Chana seized their cloaks as compensation for his loss.  The porters complained to Rav, who ruled that Rabbah bar Chana had to return the cloaks.  He asked, “Is that the law?” Clearly, Rabbah was within his legal rights to NOT pay the workers and to keep their garments in order to cover the cost of the wine. Rav responded that it was the law that he return the cloaks, based on the text in Proverbs (2:20), “Walk on the path of the good.”  After their garments were returned, the porters complained that, as poor men, they were hungry and needed their wages for the day in order to buy food.  Rav ordered Rabbah to pay them.  Again, Rabbah questioned, “Is that the law?”  Yes- as the verse concludes, “Keep to the paths of the just.”[1]

This ruling is based on a principle known as, “lifnim m’shurat ha-din,” beyond the letter of the law. Paradoxically, the tradition suggests that the requirement of the law is sometimes to ignore the law and err on the side of kindness.  My heart aches for Guadalupe Garcia de Rayos and I can’t help but wonder how Rav would have ruled in her case?

Nachmanides comments on Deuteronomy 6:18, where we read, “Do the right and good thing in the eyes of God.” The rabbis cannot adjudicate every possible situation in which we find ourselves.  So they direct us to a guiding principles.   “God,” writes Ramban, “desires that which is good and right.  This refers to compromise, finding more leniently than the strict letter of the law.”[2]  It is tempting to rationalize our behavior and to assess our own standards and our own desires as the good and the right.  Finding the balance between justice and kindness is a challenging paradox.  While respecting the law, we honor the principle of compassion.

The law, for example, requires that mamzerim, children born of forbidden relationships, should never be allowed to marry into the community.  The midrash boldly counters that anyone who would enforce such a law is oppressive.[3]  Aren’t we a society of laws?  Won’t there be chaos if laws are not respected and enforced?  Yes.  And no.  The Talmud teaches that Jews are, “Compassionate ones, the children of the compassionate,” going so far as to suggest that if we see a Jew who does not act with rachamim, with mercy, that we should suspect that person’s lineage![4]  This is a dramatic statement and a dramatic argument for compassion lifnim m’shurat ha-din, above and beyond the letter of the law.  I am haunted by Guadalupe Garcia de Rayos.  Would that our judicial system had been informed by the Jewish value of erring on the side of mercy.

We need both justice and mercy. The midrash suggests that God contemplated the role of each quality in creating the world, and compares this to pouring water into clay vessels.  If we pour either hot or cold water exclusively, the vessels will shatter.  With a mixture of the two, the vessel will survive.  Thus, God is depicted as saying, “If I create the world on the basis of mercy alone, its sins will be oppressive; on the basis of judgment alone, how would the world be able to exist?. I will create it with justice and mercy together and then, maybe, it will be able to stand!”[5]  May we be blessed with deeply felt connections to both justice and kindness, and the wisdom to know when to apply each one.


[1] BT Baba Metzia 83a

[2] Ramban on Deuteronomy 6:18

[3] Leviticus Rabbah 32:8

[4] BT Beitzah 32b

2 Genesis Rabbah – 12:15


Conversation Project Shabbat

On July 14, 2014, my husband David and I sat down with our children to disseminate and discuss our healthcare advanced directives as a family. It was David’s 69th birthday; he died about 2 months before his 70th. David had endured several years of ill health, culminating in the removal of a kidney. In June, the month prior, we received the news that the cancer had metastasized to his bones. As a couple, we wanted to make sure that all of the children understood our desires for end of life care. We were incredibly grateful that we had had the foresight to discuss a broad variety of medical treatment options dispassionately, years before there was any urgent medical necessity. Suddenly those decisions became radically more real.

During the next 10 months, David endured 2 different rounds of chemotherapy, neither of which had the desired effect of stopping the cancer which was destroying his bones and causing pain that would be unbearable to most normal human beings. I recall more than once remarking that I didn’t know how he could bear the agony of trying to move while his bones were crumbling. Radiation impacted his ability to swallow and to enjoy food, which became a non-option anyway once he had a feeding tube inserted at the end of the summer. We watched him fight and waste away, fight and waste away, yet always with the hope that one more treatment would be successful where others had failed.

We had talked about nutrition and hydration at the end of life, about ventilators and surgical intervention in the face of terminal illness, but we had not addressed the fundamental question that The Conversation Project urges us to consider- “What matters to you most at the end of life?” Dr. Atul Gawande, author of Being Mortal and a leading thinker about the role of the medical profession in caring for patients whose time is limited, reminds us that people have a broad variety of concerns besides prolonging their lives.

Doctors are trained to view death as the enemy and to battle on until the end. Yet, at some point, the battle was lost. Much as we respected David’s oncologist, among David’s final words were, “Why didn’t he tell me it was so bad?” Why indeed. David died on Tuesday May 19th; on Monday, just the day before his death, he had been scheduled for an appointment to talk about an experimental treatment. He never made it to that appointment. Instead, we called hospice, we called the family, and he died, per his request, at home, in his own bed.

Gawande quotes an essay by Stephen Jay Gould who expresses reservations regarding the “trendiness” of accepting death. Gould contends, in the face of his own terminal illness, that there is nothing wrong with “raging against the dying of the light.” Gawande counters that, while there is nothing wrong with sustaining hope, it is problematic if it prevents us from preparing for the more likely outcome. He writes, “We’ve created a multimillion-dollar edifice for dispensing the medical equivalent of lottery tickets- and have only the rudiments of a system to prepare patients for the near-certainty that those tickets will not win. Hope is not a plan, but hope is our plan.”

The Conversation Project is an important first step in considering what we each might value most if we have the luxury of knowing that our time is limited. What would be a good enough day to want to go on, and what is the tipping point where we would be ready to let go? The answer will be different for each of us, and we must have the conversation now. Pam Ruzi, a pediatric social worker with Hospice of the Valley, and a member of Temple Chai and our think-tank for tonight’s event, put it starkly- “Everybody is afraid. The doctor and the patient.”

I think about what might have been different in David’s life and the life of our family had we understood how close his end was. I regret that we didn’t have the opportunity to talk about that, to look each other in the eye and open our hearts and just consider- what will make today the best day possible? I believe we might have made different decisions and not chased cures that were the medical equivalent of that winning lottery ticket.

I know that David felt loved until the very end, that he enjoyed the best possible support from friends, family, and community. And, I wish that we had had more time to lay down our swords, to cease the raging battle, and to have quietly enjoyed more the time with which we were blessed.

I am thankful that our culture is changing and growing and learning. I am thankful for the incredible think tank here at Temple Chai that, under the leadership of Dr. Ron Fischler, has brought this conversation to our community. And I am thankful to each of you who will join us following the service tonight to hold each other’s hands as we begin The Conversation.

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