I’m feeling very serious this week.

That, in spite of the festivities around the total eclipse we witnessed across parts of North America this week.

Yes, it was very festive, with people gathering in large numbers for this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

(Woohoo!)

More than one person made the clever joke of singing, “Total Eclipse of the Heart.”

Opportunities abounded for cool social media posts.

And for opportunists looking to make money.

(I bet those special eyeglasses made millions.)

And the earthquake we had last week?

Very exciting, too, and more than a little scary, though not damaging at all.

Right away a t-shirt came out: “I Survived the 2024 NYC Earthquake.”

Opportunities also abound for political action these days.

Walking around New York City, it’s easy to see people wearing kafias, the traditional Palestinian scarf.

The kafia has once again become a central symbol for liberation since the war on Gaza began (it’s hard to say it’s “on Hamas,” the way things look from the outside).

I think, in light of the destruction, starvation, and death happening there, such solidarity is warranted--and before you jump to conclusions about my message, please read to the end. 

Yes, I always wish I could be the Jew, or especially the rabbi, who stops to talk to those kafia-wearing people and let them know this is painful for me to watch as well.

I want people to know that not all Jews think alike.

And that there are those who care just as much for Palestinian life as Jewish life.

I, as much as anyone, don’t want that blemish, the scar of murder, on the name of Judaism.

When Israel first began its bombing of Gaza, I had a beautiful moment with a young, Muslim woman, a tourist, in the park.

She was afraid of a squirrel who just wanted her muffin, and I stopped to reassure her.

Then we talked about Gaza.

She was so touched to hear that I was Jewish, and a rabbi no less, and that I cared so deeply about people other than my own.

We hugged and cried together (and she immediately put it on social media—of course).

On my way home from the park just this past Sunday, I passed a group of musicians.

They were a large group, many strumming on ukuleles, all singing in unison.

From various Latin American countries, they were dancing and playing music of the “working man.”

Songs of liberation sung by an elite group of educated Latinos.

One of them was wearing a kafia, and it occurred to me for the first time, how curious.

Yes, I hate that Israel is carrying out a collective punishment so brutal that we see shocking images of starving children as horrifying as any.

For Jews, and especially as a rabbi, I feel a special responsibility to speak out against such injustice.

But just as horrifying is the denial that rape and death were wrought upon innocent people in Israel by Hamas.

And the rise of hatred against Jews.

Hamas is anything but an innocent group of people simply fighting for the liberation of their people.

True: at this point, more than 33,000 Palestinians have been killed.

Meanwhile, by comparison, “only” something in the ballpark of 1,000 Israelis were killed in the initial attack by Hamas.

But we should not allow one horror to totally eclipse another.

And I wonder at how the Palestinian cause has become so central to the cause for liberation in general around the world.

Once again, it feels like "Jews don’t count" as a people in need of defense and protection--because we've "made it" in the world.

Once again, we are collectively guilty—as a people—in the eyes of the world.

What’s more, here are Latinos seemingly more concerned, more outspoken, for Palestinian liberation than for their ownpeople.

Are they initiating, or participating in, demonstrations for the hundreds dying in the Sonoran Desert of Mexico every year—perhaps the very least of the suffering wrought by U.S. immigration policies?

Our own government has done nothing of substance to change the ills that plague our city and our country.

What about all the mentally ill, drug-addicted people—

—abandoned people who have no other recourse than to sleep in the streets—or treated like criminals for sleeping in the subway among rats?

And treated with disgust and disdain by passersby.

Twenty six million Americans have no health insurance at all and can’t afford to go to the doctor.

Meanwhile, many who are insured are left with insurmountable medical debt.

A friend pointed out that it almost seems easier to fight for something happening on the other side of the world than for what’s happening right here in our very own city and country.

In schools and universities, or in malls and movie theaters all around the country, people have to face the possibility of mass shootings daily.

And, have we given up the fight around green house gases and global warming?

Temperatures on the East Coast are more normal for June than for April, and it’s pretty horrifying.

And don’t even get me started on abortion.

Or police brutality and racism. 

But the thing that might cause Trump to win the upcoming presidential elections will be Biden’s Israel policies.

Yes, his Israel policies are a blemish on his presidency.

But is this just the latest in the hot spot until we move on to the next horrifying thing and forget about all the rest?

Okay, okay, enough of my ranting (sorry if I’m boring you with things you already know).

Let’s move on to Torah (unless this is where you stop reading—hahaha!).

This week in Torah we hear all about different manifestations of tzara’at.

Tzara’at is mostly incorrectly translated as leprosy; its symptoms simply do not align.

Tzara’at could manifest in various ways, such as a rash, a sore, a patch of white skin, or even on the walls of a house.

It is presumed to be infectious; blemishes that form scabs and leave scars once they are healed.

Various sacrifices are to be made in the Temple, clothes to be washed, isolation “outside the camp,” walls to be scrubbed, until examined and pronounced “clean” by the priest.

The ancient rabbis saw tzara’at as a physical manifestation of a type of spiritual malaise.

It was seen as a sign that those infected needed to mend their ways, make changes to the way they were living.

Well, we certainly know we have many “ways” we need to mend.

We know we must find a new way of living.

Next week, many of us will be cleaning our houses as we get ready for Passover, removing chametz, which is any leavened food products, down to the crumbs.

Chametz represented a kind of “puffing up” of our egos to the ancient rabbis.

Passover is not only a time for cleaning out, but also a time for renewal—as the springtime brings new life forth onto the Earth.



It's a sign of hope. 


So here's my blessing for the week: 

Let us participate in this renewal by “cleaning” our inner thoughts and attitudes as well.

Let us let go of our puffed egos of self-righteousness.

Because we, too, are “unclean” when we spew hatred in the name of love.

We are “unclean” when we desire or dream of revenge.

Worse, our attitudes and ways of thinking are themselves infectious.

What exists now, in all camps, is a way of thinking that blames an entire people.

Whether it is, yet again, “The Jews,” this time for a government’s criminal actions.

Or “The Arabs” or “The Muslims” or “The Palestinians,” for a representative organization’s criminal actions.

So I beseech you—I beseech us all.

Let our hearts not be eclipsed by one type of suffering over another.

Let us cleanse ourselves of “unclean thoughts” that include blame and hatred as we get ready for Passover.

Let us not, individually and collectively, add to the suffering in the world in a way that will leave scars that can never be healed.

And let us say Amen.