It All Begins With God: An Erev Rosh Hashanah Sermon

Posted October 4, 2016 by Rabbi Henry Jay Karp
Categories: American Jews, Antisemitism, Change, Childhood Memories, Classical Reform Judaism, Connecting to God, Contemporary Jewish Identity Challenges, Existence of the Soul, God, Helene Karp my mother, High Holy Days, Jewish Ethnic Identity, Jewish Identity, Jewish religious identity, Jewish Theology, Love of God, Martin Buber, Middot, Mitzvah / Mitzvot, Mussar, Prayer, Raising Jewish Religious Awareness, Rosh Hashanah, Samuel Karp my father, Shabbat, Soul, Soul comes from God, Spirituality, The Soul as Energy, Yom Kippur

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Every year we join our fellow Jews around the world in making our annual pilgrimage to the synagogue in observance of the High Holy Days.  But what is it that draws us to this place on this night?  On any given Shabbat, with the exception of special events, there are far, far more empty seats in this sanctuary than there are those that are occupied.  But tonight, the seats that are filled clearly outnumber the seats that are empty.  It is not that we are alone in this experience.  The same could be said of most houses of worship – Jewish and otherwise – across our land.  The non-Jews too have their special days on which their people flock to their sanctuaries in numbers far exceeding their Sabbath worship attendance.

But why is that?  I know that if I were to go around this sanctuary right now and ask each and every one of you individually, “Why did you come here tonight?  What is it about the High Holy Days that draws you to the synagogue” that I would receive an extensive and varied collection of responses.  While as diverse as those responses would be, I suspect that the majority of them would have something to do with connecting with one’s fellow Jews or somehow affirming one’s personal Jewish identity.  “I do it because I am a Jew and this is what Jews do.  They go to services on the High Holy Days.”

Now I am sure that there are those of you who feel that way; that there are those of you who feel truly, in your heart of hearts, that “I’m a Jew and this is what Jews do on the High Holy Days” is reason enough to be here tonight.  But is it really?  At one time, maybe it was, but is it now?

I can tell you, not only as a rabbi whose rabbinic career is drawing to a close, but more importantly, as a Jew who has spent his life in the synagogue – and not just any synagogue, but in the Reform synagogue – no longer is that answer enough.  At one time, observing the High Holy Days if, for no other reason than “I am a Jew and this is what Jews do,” meant truly observing them.  It meant, not just going to a service here or a service there and feeling satisfied that we have done our duty to our Jewish identity, but it meant truly setting aside these days for us and our families as Jewish days; as days on which we withdraw from our engagement with the rest of the world and maintain our focus on who we are as Jews.

As a child growing up in New York City in the ‘50‘s and the ‘60’s, it was utterly unthinkable for my Classical Reform Jewish father to attend the Rosh Hashanah Evening service and then go to work on Rosh Hashanah Day, or to go to work after the Rosh Hashanah Morning service, and you could count on the fact that on Yom Kippur my parents spent the entire day in our synagogue, and they were far from alone in that.  And so it was with us children as well.  There was no question in my house as to whether or not I was going to school on Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur, even for part of the day, for I was not.  If I had even broached the question with my parents – a highly unlikely scenario – they would have had none of it.  Like my parents, I was not alone in this.  For all of my religious school friends, it was the same.  We were in the synagogue for all of the services, sitting beside our parents.

Yet if my parents and most of their contemporaries were asked back then the question I asked you this evening – “What is it about the High Holy Days that draws you to the synagogue?” – many of them, including my parents – or at least my father – would have given the same answer “Because I am a Jew and this is what Jews do.”  But that was then and this is now.  For many of my parents’ generation grew up as Orthodox Jews who later discovered Reform Judaism.  My father’s grandfather had been a noted Orthodox educator back in Europe.  Theirs was the generation that experienced both the agony of the Holocaust and the ecstasy of the birth of Israel.  Their Jewish identity was indelibly impressed upon them by the forces of history and family tradition.  Therefore a more active observance of the High Holy Days was a natural expression of their Jewish identity and a product of their experiences and upbringing.

But we are not them, for our experiences and our upbringing are not theirs.  Today, the number of Jews who set these days aside and make it clear to the rest of the world that “You are just going to have to do without me on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur” is dwindling.  And it will continue to dwindle, especially as so many of our children are raised in households which choose to send then to school rather than to services on the High Holy Days.

It is not that we are bad people, or even bad Jews.  It is just that with the passage of time, the world has changed and for many Jews, being Jewish and going to the synagogue on the High Holy Days simply because that is what Jews do, is no longer enough of a reason to seriously dedicate more than perhaps a portion of these days to that part of us which is Jewish.

Of course I am certainly prejudiced on this matter, but I believe that the High Holy Days, and indeed Judaism and Jewish life itself, are too important, too precious, not only to us as Jews but to the world, to be allowed to dwindle away into nothingness.  There is a good reason why we have survived for 4,000 years in spite of the efforts of all those who have tried to destroy us.  There is a good reason why we – who have always been so few in numbers – have made such a significant impact upon not only the history of humanity but upon the culture of humanity.  And that reason is to be found enfolded into the very fabric of the Judaism we have come to this synagogue tonight to observe.  It is inherent in Judaism itself and it is both expressed and promoted in our observances and our values.  It is the Jewish perspective on what it means to be a part of humanity.  It is the Jewish call for building a better world on the foundations of compassion and right behavior.  It is the Jewish expectation that we constantly strive to make of ourselves better people.

It is vital for Jewish survival that we come to acknowledge that in the 21st century, doing Jewish things because this is what Jews do is no longer a compelling argument for us to continue to pursue a Jewish life.  There are just too many distractions and to be quite frank, many of them are simply more appealing.  They touch us in ways that are deeper than blindly following some traditions because our parents and grandparents did so.  So if we are to keep our Judaism alive, we need to seek out a deeper meaning in doing so.  Something that moves us.  Something that inspires us.  Something that touches our hearts and our souls, and fills us with a higher sense of purpose.

But where can that be found?  Where should our search begin?  Perhaps we need to go back in time, to a time before the reason Jews did Jewish things like observing the High Holy Days was just “because I’m a Jew and this is what Jews do?”  When the reason Jews lived a Jewish life was more substantive than just keeping certain traditions alive for the sake of tradition; when Jews were bound to their Jewish identity by more than just a thin thread stretching back into their past but rather they were bound by golden cords that not only stretched back into their past but also wove intimately through their present and then travelled forward into their future.

So maybe we need to go back in time and ask those Jews “What is it, not just about the High Holy Days, but about Judaism itself that drew them to the synagogue and inspired them to live Jewish lives?”  While some of them still might say, “Because I’m a Jew and this is what Jews do”, most of them would say something different. Most of them would talk about something that we today don’t spend enough time talking about, or even thinking about, for that matter.  They would talk about God and their relationship with God.  For them, God was a real player in their lives.  They felt connected to God in ways that we have somehow lost.

Of course one of the reasons that they felt more connected to God was because they felt more dependent on God.  There was so much in their world that they did not understand.  Why some people were struck down by dread diseases.  Why, at a moment’s notice, a storm could utterly destroy the livelihood and even the life of a family or an entire village.  So much seemed out of their control and therefore must be in the control of another, and that other was, in their minds, God.  So they feared God, or more precisely, they feared offending God.  They even called these High Holy Days the Yamim HaNora’im – the “Days of Awe” with the Hebrew word for “Awe” being the very same word as the Hebrew for “Fear.”  So prayer was very real to them.  It was a desperate attempt to communicate with a Divinity that was present in their daily lives, and by so doing hopefully change their future for the better.

We are most certainly not that people and the God whom they feared has little if any place in our lives.  Yet we would be sorely mistaken if we were to convince ourselves that the only God they believed in was the God to be feared. Quite the contrary, for their God was anything but one dimensional.  From the very beginning of Judaism, God was, and remains, a colorful and complex character.  As the High Holy Day prayer describes God, Avinu Malkeinu – “Our Parent, Our Sovereign.”  Powerful enough to be feared, like a king or a queen, but also loving and compassionate, like a caring mother or father.  Yes, these Jews feared God but they also loved God.  For God was not just the deliverer of punishments but also the giver of gifts. The gifts of life, of health, of food, of love, of beauty, of wisdom, of truth, of understanding, of knowledge, and of the abilities to learn and to create.  Indeed, they clearly understood that when it came to Judaism, it all begins with God.  From the moment of our people’s birth, when God first called to Abraham, Judaism was primarily about establishing a positive, healthy, and mutual relationship with God.  Without God, Judaism must fade away, for God is the foundation stone of everything that Judaism stands for.  Without God, Judaism becomes a meaningless and empty exercise, as empty and meaningless as the words in the prayer book when read by someone who chooses to watch the clock rather than search for a personal connection to God in the prayers.  For our Judaism – and for these High Holy Days – to have real meaning, we have to accept that it all begins with God.

Most Jews would agree that there is no more important a text in the Torah than the Ten Commandments.  The power of the Ten Commandments has not only touched the soul of the Jewish world but of the Christian world as well.  Our two faiths share the Ten Commandments, or so we think.  But believe it or not there are differences between the way the Christians read them and the way we Jews read them.  For the Christians, the first commandment states “I am the Eternal your God who led you out of the land of Egypt to be your God.  You shall have no other gods before Me,” while for us Jews, the first commandment is “I am the Eternal your God who led you out of the land of Egypt to be your God”, period.  For us, it is the second commandment that reads “You shall have no other gods before Me.”  The Christian version is obviously a commandment.  It instructs to action – “Have no other gods before Me.”  But what about the Jewish version?  It appears to be a declarative statement – “I am the Eternal your God…” rather than a commandment.  Where is its call to action?  Well its call to action is implied and it is essential for everything else which follows; for all the other commandments to have any meaning.  The implied commandment is simply this:  Take this statement to heart and accept it as the foundation for all that follows.  Accept that God exists and that we as Jews live in a sacred relationship with God, and that all the other commandments, all the other expectations of actions and values that are found in the Torah and grow out of it across the ages, are but functions of that relationship between us and God.  They are there to define our role in that relationship.  They feed that relationship and in so doing draw us personally closer to God.

Over the past several years, I have found it odd indeed that people are interested in talking about and seeking spirituality but not so interested in talking about and seeking God, as if the two were completely separate experiences.  But they are not.  Spirituality is far more than just a good feeling about ourselves.  It is about our reaching out for God and God touching our lives.  How so?  Our tradition teaches us that we human beings are not like any other creature living on the earth for we possess something very special; a soul.  The soul was implanted within us by God in order to enable us to connect with God.  It is our divine umbilical cord, if you will, for it enables spiritual energy to flow between us and God.  But that spiritual energy does not flow freely.  It flows at our choosing.  We control how much or how little we receive; how wide or how narrow that umbilical cord is.  If it were solely up to God, the flow would be constant and vast, but God gave us the gift of free will so that we could choose how much or how little we would let God into our lives.  There is a Hasidic saying that “there is no room for God in those who are too full of themselves.”[1]  Sadly, for too many, that is exactly what has happened.  They have turned their control valve and limited the spiritual flow to a trickle, if not closed it off completely, and in so doing, abandoned themselves to being guided primarily or solely by their base animal instincts.  They have starved their souls from the spiritual nutrients they need.

But this need not remain the case.  We can open that value, reach out to God, and feel God’s presence in our lives.  We can feed our souls and in so doing grow as more spiritual and better human beings.  How do we accomplish such a feat?  That is what a better part of our Judaism is about.  It is about how we can connect with God and let God into our lives in beautiful and meaningful ways.  Through the Torah and our sacred teachings, we have been given the owner’s manual to the soul.  We have been instructed on how to awaken and strengthen our souls so that we can come to live our lives in an ongoing relationship with God.  Not just on the High Holy Days and not even just on Shabbat, but rather on a day-to-day basis.  For whether we realize it or not, our day-to-day lives are lived in a relationship with God.  However it is up to us what the nature of that relationship will be.  We can choose to live our lives through behaviors and attitudes which strengthen the bonds between us and God or we can choose to live our lives through behaviors and attitudes which weaken those bonds.  It is up to us.

This past year, here at Temple Emanuel, I taught a series of mini-courses on what our tradition calls MussarMussar is the companion to Halachah.  As Halachah constitutes a body of Jewish laws which lead us to right actions, Mussar constitutes a body of Jewish virtues or ethical perspectives which liberate our souls and enable us to adopt sacred and healthy life attitudes.  While Halachah instructs us about what we should do while living in a sacred relationship with God, Mussar instructs us about how we can better mold our attitudes so that they ultimately instinctually guide us into right behaviors and therefore transform our lives into an active partnership with God.

While the building blocks of Halachah are mitzvot – sacred actions – the building blocks of Mussar are middot – sacred values, sacred attitudes.  I am dedicating the remainder of my High Holy Day sermons to exploring various middot in the hopes that we will begin to understand that if we choose to strengthen our souls by taking on sacred attitudes, then that can lead us to living lives filled with sacred actions, which in turn will connect us more strongly to God and help us to grow into the type of people we aspire to become.

Once we perceive of our lives as being lived in a sacred partnership with God, then we will find that there are far more inspiring reasons to come to the synagogue on the High Holy Days than merely because we are Jews and this is what Jews do.

[1] Buber, Martin, TEN RUNGS:  HASIDIC SAYINGS, p. 102.

When Silence Becomes Sinful

Posted May 22, 2016 by Rabbi Henry Jay Karp
Categories: A Statement Against the Rhetoric of Fear and Intolerance, America, Anti-Transgender Laws, Antisemitism, Being Different, Bystanders, Collaborators, Fear, Hate, Holocaust, Homosexuality, Immigration to America, Interfaith Relations, Intolerance, Islamophobia, Islamophobia, Jewish Sacred Texts, Kristallnacht, Perpetrators, Prejudice, Protecting the "Stranger", Remembering the Holocaust as key aspect of Jewish identity, Shared Faith Values, Social Justice, The Righteous Among the Nations, Tikkun Olam, Uncategorized, Victims, Xenophobia

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As a child, it was not uncommon for me to receive from my parents the counsel that “Silence is golden.” They were far from alone in their positive assessment of the virtues of silence. The Hebrew Scriptures are filled with tributes to it. The Psalmist said, “To You, O God, silence is praise.” In Proverbs we read, “Even a fool, when he holds is peace, is counted wise.” The prophet Habbakuk proclaimed, “Let all the earth keep silent before God.” Nor does it stop there in Jewish sacred literature. In Pirke Avot, the great Rabbi Akiba said that “Silence is a fence for wisdom.” In Tractate Yevamot of the Talmud it states “Your silence is better than your speech.” The philosopher Baruch Spinoza wrote “The world would be much happier if people were fully able to keep silence as they are able to speak.” Even such a non-Jewish luminary as Mother Teresa sang the praises of silence when she said “God is the friend of silence. See how nature – trees, flowers, grass – grows in silence; see the stars, the moon, and the sun, how they move in silence.” Everyone seems to agree with my parents about the virtue of silence; how great it is!

But truth be told, as history has taught us, there are times when silence isn’t golden but rather toxic; when silence doesn’t praise God but rather denies God; when silence isn’t wisdom but rather foolishness, fatal foolishness; when silence doesn’t make the world a happier place but rather a far more painful place in which to live; when God is not the friend of silence but rather it’s mourner; when silence isn’t a virtue but rather a sin.

Who should know this better than we, the Jewish people? Is our collective memory so short lived – so narrow – that we are so quick to forget the toxic silence of the Holocaust? As I teach my students at St. Ambrose University, if we retell the story of the Holocaust believing that there were just the good guys and the bad guys, the victims and the murderers, the rescuers and the collaborators, then we do that story a great disservice. For there were others who were present in that time and at that place and though they never lifted their hands against a Jew, they still were far from innocent. We call them the Bystanders. These were the millions of people who stood by, watching the Nazis cart off the Jews to gas chambers, crematoria, concentration camps, and who stood by in silence. They may not have lifted a finger to help the Nazis but neither did they even utter a word of protest to save the Jews. They stood by, and in their silence and in their inaction, they allowed it to happen. It haunts me, and it should haunt you as well, every time I look at any one of the many photos taken on Kristallnacht in which crowds of bystanders are passively looking on as synagogues are being burned or Jews are being humiliated. So many silently stood by as 6 million of our brothers and sisters, infants and elderly and all those in between, were turned into ash and were sent up to heaven in dark and dusky smoke. We know from the history of our people that silence can kill.

The philosopher Edmund Burke said, “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good people to do nothing.” And what is keeping silent if it is not choosing to do nothing? We have seen evil triumph, even if just for a while, aided and abetted by the silence of the multitude; by the inaction of the multitude. Now those who kept their silence may have been good people at heart, but they gazed upon the victims and said to themselves, “That’s not me nor is it my family, so it’s really not my problem.” But they were wrong. For it was their problem. For in their silence, they permitted it to happen unchallenged and unopposed, and for having so chosen, they bear their own portion of the burden of the guilt. In their silence and in their inaction, they became accomplices to the crime.

Now one could say, “That was then this is now.” Or is it? Perhaps with every passing day, “now” is becoming more and more like “then,” and we, who now live safely and securely in our own homes are finding ourselves in the role, not so much of the victim, but rather of the onlooker, the bystander. As such, with every passing day, we are being challenged – whether or not we acknowledge the challenge – we are being challenged as to whether or not we will say something; whether or not we will do something; whether or not we will keep silent and passive as we watch the world crumble around the lives of human beings other than ourselves.

Over the past few years, across our planet, we have experienced a frightening rebirth of the social acceptability of bigotry. And lately that disease has spread its infection within the very borders of our own homeland. No longer are expressions and actions born of prejudice restricted to the fringes of our society. Indeed there are those – some of whom are in high places – who encourage these expressions, these actions, and the attitudes that give birth to them, and wrap them in a so-called patriotic package they call protecting America and making America great again. But how can America be protected when certain Americans are openly attacked? How can the greatness of America grow when its seeds are sown in the soil of hatred and prejudice?

We American Jews have been lucky this time. Yes, there have been Jews who have been attacked on the streets of our cities and certainly, it is with fear and trepidation these days that we send our children off to college when antisemitism is definitely growing on the campuses of our colleges and universities. But all this is nothing compared to what is happening to the Jewish communities in Europe.  All that is nothing compared to what is happening to some other minorities in our own country.

Yes, there are others in our own land who are not so fortunate as we have been. They are today’s victims. Foremost among them probably is the Muslim community. Islamophobia has become a wildfire, blazing out of control. In my community, at a recent interfaith dialogue program entitled “The Toxicity of Fear,”two deeply disturbing stories were shared. One was caught on film outside of a Starbuck’s in the Washington D.C. area. A Muslim woman, in traditional garb, was sitting, checking her phone, bothering no one, when a Caucasian woman accosted her, screaming obscenities in her face. The Caucasian woman briefly walked away, soon to return in order to dump a cup of smelly liquid over the Muslim woman’s head. The other story struck even closer to home for it involved a well known member of our local Muslim community. One night, in the recent past, she was driving home from western Iowa, along Interstate 80, wearing her traditional head covering, when she found herself being followed very closely by a beat-up pickup truck. She sped up and so did her followers. So she pulled over and slowed down to let them pass. As they passed, they opened their window and shouted at her all sorts of obscenities and hate filled remarks about her being a Muslim. A little while later, they pulled off the road and waited for her. As she passed them, then threw beer cans and other garbage at her car. Incidents such as these are happening all over our country. How can we as Jews remain silent in the face of them?

Nor are they the only victims, as we witness a resurgence of homophobia, especially as it has been directed at those with a transgender sexual orientation. This prejudice has manifested itself both privately and publicly, in word, in deed, and even in law. How can we as Jews remain silent in the face of it?

Yes, there are times when silence is indeed golden and discretion is the better part of wisdom. But there are also times when silence becomes sinful and we, by our very silence, become greatly diminished as moral human beings and in the sight of God. Of all the people on the face of the earth, we Jews know how very lethal silence can be, for our kindred suffered and bled and died while others remained silent to their plight. If there is a commanding voice coming out of the Holocaust, then it is the same commanding voice that came out of our ancestors’ slavery in Egypt. For as the Torah demands of us again and again, “Do not wrong the stranger for remember that you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” We Jews have been victims of hatred, prejudice, bigotry, and sometimes we still are. Therefore we, of all people, must take up the cause of today’s victims. In the language of the Holocaust, God expects of us that we should become the Rescuers rather than the Perpetrators of even the Bystanders.

It was with all this in mind that a group of us who have a special interest in promoting Holocaust awareness – Jews and non-Jews alike – put together a statement entitled “A Statement Against the Rhetoric of Fear and Intolerance.”  We have been inviting those who share our concerns to add their names to our call for decency and the respect of human dignity.  As of this writing, we have collected over 200 names, but it is going to take far more than that to make enough of an impact to effectively get our message across.  I have posted that document on my blog, where you can find it immediately preceding this post.  I invite you to read it and if your agree with its message, add your name to it by simply stating your name in a “comment” to the blog.  Speaking out is the first step to putting an end to the toxic bigotry which is spreading across our country and around the world.

Against the Rhetoric of Fear and Intolerance

Posted April 26, 2016 by Rabbi Henry Jay Karp
Categories: Uncategorized

We the undersigned take seriously the lessons painfully learned from the Nazi Holocaust and because of those lessons, encourage resistance in our own time to circumstances like those which led to the Holocaust. Being people of many faiths and traditions, we affirm that our shared values call upon us to show compassion for the afflicted and appreciation for those of other religious and ethnic backgrounds or sexual orientation. It was the absence of these values in much of Europe and the United States during the 1930’s that led to the Holocaust in the first place – and to the senseless death of millions of innocent children, women, and men from 1933 to 1945.

Given these values, we vigorously condemn a growing attitude of intolerance and hatred aimed at those seeking refuge in the United States – often based primarily on the religion and/or ethnicity of those refugees. We find it disturbingly reminiscent of the attitudes in our country and in other nations which resulted in the slamming of the doors of escape to those attempting to flee the Nazis.

America is a nation of immigrants. We have grown and prospered over the last 240 years through the talents, experiences, as well as cultural, religious, and ethnic diversity of those, who – often at great personal peril – have come to our shores to make America what it is today.

To bar or substantially obstruct any group primarily on the basis of their ethnic background and/or religion is therefore hostile to the very idea of America. It likewise could sow the seeds of intolerance and fear that led to the terrible events in Europe 70 years ago.

Accordingly, we encourage our fellow Quad Citians to reject the rhetoric of fear, intolerance, and any stereotyping based on religion and/or ethnicity or sexual orientation. Instead, we encourage our fellow citizens to advocate principles of compassion, understanding, and courage that collectively make up what Abraham Lincoln referred to as “the better angels of our nature.”

Coordinating Committee

Dr. Marrietta Castle

Janina Ehrlich

Linda Golden

Rev. Richard Hendricks

Cantor Gail Posner Karp

Rabbi Henry Jay Karp

Lisa Killinger

Most Rev. Dr. Bruce D. LeBlanc

Rev. Richard Priggie

Rev. Dr. Mary N. Pugh

Dr. William Roba

Rowen Schussheim-Anderson

Mark Schwiebert

Kai Swanson

Rev. Jay Wolin

Supporters

Rev. Charles Adam

Christine Aden

Ferdaus Ahmad

Robin A. Anderson, PhD

Steve Anderson

Dr. Amir Arbisser

Dr. Lisa Arbisser

Stacy Astrove

Steven Bahls

Maureen M. Baldwin

Michael Beaderstadt

Allen Bertsche

John Bowman

Kathy Bowman

Elizabeth Brook

Rev. Elder Pat Bumgardner

Sheri Carnahan

Tom Carnahan

Jane Cassidy

Joe Chambers

Shelly Chambers

Linda Clewell

Richard A. Clewell

Rev. Dr. Matthew J.M. Coomber

Jeff Coussens

Judith Crompton

Michelle Crouch

Daniel Culver

Deborah Dakin

Rev. Becky David

Dr. Traci Davis

Kirsten Day

Carol DeVolder

Richard M. Dienesch

Sharon Dodd

Marcy Doyle

Brenda Drew-Peeples

Lucia Dryanski

Nora Dvorak

Dr. Dan R. Ebener

Dr. Janet Abbott Eckhart

Bill Estes

Jim Farber

Paul-Thomas Ferguson

Barry Ferm

Pastor Stacie Fidlar

Gale Francione

Marjorie Froeschle

Alan Garfield

Phyllis Garfield

Ann S. Garton

Richard E. Geiger

Samuel M. Gilman

Rita Oetkin Gustafson

Wilma Hauser

Cheryl Heimberger

Wendy Hilton-Morrow

Nancy Hines

Loxi Hopkins

Aaron Humble

Bea F. Jacobson, PhD

Paul K. Jacobson, PhD

Kathy Jakielski

Georgia Jecklin

Michael J. Jerin, PhD

Christopher M. Jones

Dr. Andrew Kaiser

Dr. Judy Correa Kaiser

Brian Katz

Linda C. Kelty

Richard N. Kennedy

Mary Kilbride

Peter Kivisto

Sydney Anderson Krispin

Emil Kramer

Elaine Kresse

Sam Kresse

Marion Lardner

Pareena Lawrence

Bob Lee

Rev. A. Parker Lewis III

Gina L. Livingston

Pamela Carlson Long

Patricia Madden

Rev. Mariah Marlin-Warfield

Henry F. Marquard

Eric Mathis

Denise Mattes

John Mattes

Kathryn McKnight

Craig Mekow

Juleann Miller, RN

Carol Mizeur

Dr. Julia Moffitt

Margaret Morse

Rev. Katherine Mulhern

Ann Ney

Long Nguyen

Sue Normoyle

Rev. Kristen Glass Perez

Woody Perkins

Clayton C. Peterson

Dan Portes

Rebecca A. Pracht

Megan Quinn

Rev. Kathy Remley

Margaret Ristau

Jennifer Robb

Beth Roberts

Lori Roderick

Jayne Rose

Barbara Roseman

Nimala S. Salgado

Bill Schmidt

Art Searle, MD

Dr. Rachel Serianz

Judy Shawver

Maynard Siegel

Jeffrey B. Simpson

Joyce Singh

Marsha Smith

Dr. Keith Soko

Deborah A. Soodhalter

Andrew Starenko

Steven Stickle

Chris Strunk

Vince Thomas

Paula Tigerman

Mary M. Todtz

Jeff Transou

Bill Tubbs

Sharon M. Varallo

Jeanneth Vázquez-Valarezo

Anne Wachal

Richard Weinstein

Rachel Weiss

Joyce Wiley

Rev. Dr. Randy Willers

Rev. Elder Nancy Wilson

Dr. Corinne Winter

Dr. Michael B. Wolf

Susan Wolf

Maggie Woods, NBCT

Peter T. Xiao

Michael Zemek

A STATEMENT AGAINST THE RHETORIC OF FEAR AND INTOLERANCE

Posted April 26, 2016 by Rabbi Henry Jay Karp
Categories: Uncategorized

We the undersigned take seriously the lessons painfully learned from the Nazi Holocaust and because of those lessons, encourage resistance in our own time to circumstances like those which led to the Holocaust. Being people of many faiths and traditions, we affirm that our shared values call upon us to show compassion for the afflicted and appreciation for those of other religious and ethnic backgrounds or sexual orientation. It was the absence of these values in much of Europe and the United States during the 1930’s that led to the Holocaust in the first place – and to the senseless death of millions of innocent children, women, and men from 1933 to 1945.

Given these values, we vigorously condemn a growing attitude of intolerance and hatred aimed at those seeking refuge in the United States – often based primarily on the religion and/or ethnicity of those refugees. We find it disturbingly reminiscent of the attitudes in our country and in other nations which resulted in the slamming of the doors of escape to those attempting to flee the Nazis.

America is a nation of immigrants. We have grown and prospered over the last 240 years through the talents, experiences, as well as cultural, religious, and ethnic diversity of those, who – often at great personal peril – have come to our shores to make America what it is today.

To bar or substantially obstruct any group primarily on the basis of their ethnic background and/or religion is therefore hostile to the very idea of America. It likewise could sow the seeds of intolerance and fear that led to the terrible events in Europe 70 years ago.

Accordingly, we encourage our fellow Quad Citians to reject the rhetoric of fear, intolerance, and any stereotyping based on religion and/or ethnicity or sexual orientation. Instead, we encourage our fellow citizens to advocate principles of compassion, understanding, and courage that collectively make up what Abraham Lincoln referred to as “the better angels of our nature.”

 

Coordinating Committee

Dr. Marrietta Castle                      Janina Ehrlich                                         Linda Golden

Rev. Richard Hendricks               Cantor Gail Posner Karp                        Rabbi Henry Jay Karp

Lisa Killinger                                Most Rev. Dr. Bruce D. LeBlanc          Rev. Richard Priggie

Rev. Dr. Mary N. Pugh                 Dr. William Roba                                   Rowen Schussheim-Anderson

Mark Schwiebert                           Kai Swanson                                          Rev. Jay Wolin

 

 

Supporters


Rev. Charles Adam                       Christine Aden                                       Ferdaus Ahmad

Robin A. Anderson, PhD             Steve Anderson                                     Dr. Amir Arbisser

Dr. Lisa Arbisser                           Stacy Astrove                                        Steven Bahls

Maureen M. Baldwin                    Michael Beaderstadt                              Allen Bertsche

John Bowman                               Kathy Bowman                                      Elizabeth Brook

Rev. Elder Pat Bumgardner          Sheri Carnahan                                       Tom Carnahan

Jane Cassidy                                 Joe Chambers                                         Shelly Chambers

Linda Clewell                               Richard A. Clewell                                Rev. Dr. Matthew J.M. Coomber

Jeff Coussens                                Judith Crompton                                    Michelle Crouch

Daniel Culver                                Deborah Dakin                                       Rev. Becky David

Dr. Traci Davis                              Kirsten Day                                            Carol DeVolder

Richard M. Dienesch                    Sharon Dodd                                         Marcy Doyle

Brenda Drew-Peeples                   Lucia Dryanski                                       Nora Dvorak

Dr. Dan R. Ebener                        Dr. Janet Abbott Eckhart                       Bill Estes

Jim Farber                                     Paul-Thomas Ferguson                           Barry Ferm

Pastor Stacie Fidlar                       Gale Francione                                       Marjorie Froeschle

Alan Garfield                                Phyllis Garfield                                      Ann S. Garton

Richard E. Geiger                         Samuel M. Gilman                                 Rita Oetkin Gustafson

Wilma Hauser                               Cheryl Heimberger                                 Wendy Hilton-Morrow

Nancy Hines                                 Loxi Hopkins                                         Aaron Humble

Bea F. Jacobson, PhD                   Paul K. Jacobson, PhD                          Kathy Jakielski

Georgia Jecklin                             Michael J. Jerin, PhD                             Christopher M. Jones

Dr. Andrew Kaiser                       Dr. Judy Correa Kaiser                          Brian Katz

Linda C. Kelty                              Richard N. Kennedy                              Mary Kilbride

Peter Kivisto                                 Sydney Anderson Krispin                     Emil Kramer

Elaine Kresse                                Sam Kresse                                            Marion Lardner

Pareena Lawrence                         Bob Lee                                                 Rev. A. Parker Lewis III

Gina L. Livingston                        Pamela Carlson Long                             Patricia Madden

Rev. Mariah Marlin-Warfield       Henry F. Marquard                                Eric Mathis

Denise Mattes                               John Mattes                                            Kathryn McKnight

Craig Mekow                                Juleann Miller, RN                                 Carol Mizeur

Dr. Julia Moffitt                            Margaret Morse                                      Rev. Katherine Mulhern

Ann Ney                                       Long Nguyen                                         Sue Normoyle

Rev. Kristen Glass Perez              Woody Perkins                                      Clayton C. Peterson

Dan Portes                                    Rebecca A. Pracht                                 Megan Quinn

Rev. Kathy Remley                      Margaret Ristau                                     Jennifer Robb

Beth Roberts                                 Lori Roderick                                         Jayne Rose

Barbara Roseman                          Nimala S. Salgado                                 Bill Schmidt

Art Searle, MD                             Dr. Rachel Serianz                                 Judy Shawver

Maynard Siegel                             Jeffrey B. Simpson                                Joyce Singh

Marsha Smith                                Dr. Keith Soko                                       Deborah A. Soodhalter

Andrew Starenko                          Steven Stickle                                        Chris Strunk

Vince Thomas                               Paula Tigerman                                      Mary M. Todtz

Jeff Transou                                  Bill Tubbs                                               Sharon M. Varallo

Jeanneth Vázquez-Valarezo          Anne Wachal                                         Richard Weinstein

Rachel Weiss                                 Joyce Wiley                                            Rev. Dr. Randy Willers

Rev. Elder Nancy Wilson             Dr. Corinne Winter                                Dr. Michael B. Wolf

Susan Wolf                                   Maggie Woods, NBCT                          Peter T. Xiao

Michael Zemek

 

 

Pre-Caucus Reflections

Posted January 30, 2016 by Rabbi Henry Jay Karp
Categories: America, American Politics, Iowa Caucuses, Partisan Politics, Political Campaign Rhetoric, Presidential Campaigning

As many of you know, the Cantor and I will be leaving tomorrow to attend the annual meeting of the Mid West Association of Reform Rabbis. This particular gathering is without question my favorite of all my professional meetings and that is not just because it takes me annually to sunny and warm Scottsdale, Arizona in the midst of our Mid West winters. However, as much as I enjoy this annual gathering, this year it also makes me sad. It makes me sad because it will be pulling the Cantor and I, as well as the other Iowa Reform rabbis, away from the Iowa Caucuses. The Cantor and I have lived in this community for over 30 years and this will be the first time that we will not be attending the caucuses, and I feel very bad about that.
The Iowa Caucus experience is one of those “You-Had-To-Have-Been-There” type of events. It is not something that you can fully explain to others; at least not so that they can truly appreciate it. Our congregation draws from both sides of the River and how I wish we could give our Illinois congregants guest passes to the Caucuses just so that they can have the experience and not just assume that it is a glorified primary, for it is not. Indeed, on a personal level, being a registered member of one of the political parties, still I have this fantasy of being a fly on the wall at a caucus meeting of the other party, if for no other reason, the entertainment value of it all.
When the Cantor and I first came to Iowa, no political process could have been more foreign to us than the Caucus process. Growing up as we did in big cities of big states – New York and Detroit – our exposure to the political process was always rather impersonal and mechanical. Only once in my 25 years of living in New York City did I ever get to even see a presidential candidate in the flesh. It was Lyndon Johnson, back in 1964. He made a stump speech on the corner of Fordham Road and the Grand Concourse in the Bronx. Thousands crowded the streets and from my vantage point, he looked about a 1/4 inch tall and there was no way I could even begin to make out his facial features. Since we have come to Iowa, we have not only experienced candidates in small groups but have enjoyed personal face-to-face conversations with several of them and even have had some of them, like John Kerry serve us food at a pancake breakfast. Now how many Americans can say that they have had the current Secretary of State plop a couple of pancakes on their plate?
But as exciting as all of that is – and you have to admit that it is very exciting to enjoy the exposure and the access that we have to these stars of the American political scene – in the end it does not even begin to compare with actually participating in the caucus itself. For attending and participating in a caucus is almost like stepping back in history, to a time when America was a more intimate place and the political process was really very personal; when not only your vote counted but also your voice.
I have to admit that at the first caucus we attended, we were pretty much thrown for a loop. We didn’t know what to expect and we surely did not expect the small group dynamics which is the heart and soul of the caucus event. There we were, with this mass of people in this site when we were told, “Those who are caucusing for this candidate meet in this corner and those who are caucusing for that candidate meet in that corner…” and so on. So, a bit disoriented, we walked to where the supporters of our candidate were gathering. Honestly, I cannot remember whether or not the Cantor and I were supporting the same candidate. A head count was taken and then we waited to find out whether our group was viable; whether we numbered enough to meet the minimum required percentage of the total population of our caucus site.
Well, we did, but other groups didn’t. So, somehow or other a leader of our group arose – I am not quite sure how – and he started tasking us on how to approach the members of the non-viable groups and convince them to join our ranks. So we went out to hock our wares; to convince these people to throw their support behind our candidate. Suddenly we found ourselves being not just voters but campaigners; advocates for our candidate, promoting the strengths of our candidate’s platform. In other words, we were called upon to be informed of the issues and where our candidate stood on them. We were called upon, not only to present to others where our candidate stood on the various issues but also why we personally felt that our candidate’s take on those issues were so important for the future of America.
Then there came the point where we had to gather with our new “converts”, take a new head count, report it to the officials so it could be submitted, and the rest was history.
There are those in other states who mock the Iowa Caucuses and shake their head in disbelief that such a small and unimportant state should have such a significant say in the future of our nation. I am sure that part of their mockery is pure jealousy, but most of it is pure ignorance; ignorance of what the caucus process is really like. Back in their states, they will vote on candidates without ever having set eyes on them except on television. Some of them will seriously explore and compare the platforms of the various candidates but most of them will depend upon those horrible, back biting, blood thirsty, campaign ads for the making of their decision. They may or may not ever engage in a conversation about the issues and which candidate holds what position on them. With little or no serious discussion, they will walk into a voting booth and cast their ballot.
But we, on the other hand, have received the greatest gift democracy can offer; the opportunity to become highly informed on the issues, to seriously grapple with the different stands of the candidates, and to participate in an electoral process which is not just isolated and solitary but is vibrant and interactive, and most of all, one that challenges us to be the most responsible voters we can possibly be.
This coming Monday I will surely miss participating in that process but if you are an Iowa resident, you need not miss it. I implore you not to miss it, no matter what party you identify with. In our democracy we say that our elections are the voice of the people. No where is that more true than in Iowa during the Caucuses. So make your voice heard! Don’t be one of those pathetic Americans who, after all is said and done, rants and rails about their bitterness, and complains that they did not have a say.

Standing On the Border of Tragedy and Hope

Posted December 9, 2015 by Rabbi Henry Jay Karp
Categories: America, Antisemitism, Appreciating the faith of others, Churches, Evangelical Christians, Giving of Our Time, Giving of Ourselves, Gun Violence in America, Hate, hope, hunger, Hunger, Interfaith Relations, Iowa, Kids Against Hunger, Prejudice, Quad Cities, Racism, Religious Diversity, Shared Faith Values, Social Action, Social Justice, Syria, Syrian Civil War, Syrian Refugee Camps, Syrian Refugee Crisis, terrorism, Volunteerism

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It was a remarkably beautiful day for December. The sun was shining and the temperatures were moderate. I arrived at the Waterfront Convention Center at just about 7:30 in the morning, looking ahead with both anticipation and anxiety about the day which was yet to unfold. Our own LINDA GOLDEN, LISA KILLINGER of the Islamic community, and I had been spearheading an effort to encourage Quad Citians to join in assembling meal packs to be sent to Jordan to feed the Syrian refugees in camps there. The actual assembling of these meal packs would be taking place for much of the day, with teams of 10 working in 1-hour shifts, from 8:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m. At any given time, we had set ups for up to 16 teams working at once. Going into the morning, we were thrilled by the numbers of Quad Citians who had already stepped forward to help in this humanitarian effort. We had slots for 1,600 people to assemble meal packs and we already had 1,550 people sign up to do so! As the day progressed many more volunteers walked through the door. We enlisted the organization, KIDS AGAINST HUNGER, to do their magic in setting up and administering the project. In the past, Linda, Lisa, and I had wonderful experiences working with them as they put on their program in our religious schools. We were fully confident that they would do a great job. However, they had never put together a program this large or complex. So, as confident as we were, we still prayed that it would all come together smoothly, and it did.

We publicized the event as an interfaith effort and it was shaping up to be true to that name. We had Catholics and Protestants, Evangelicals and Unitarians, Jews and Muslim, Hindus and Buddhists, people of all sorts of religions and people of no religious affiliation, all having signed up to do their part to feed starving Syrian refugees. It was wondrous to see these various faith groups working side-by-side. At one point I had to chuckle for there was a group from the Jewish community that was awaiting the group ahead of them to finish working at their assigned table. The group that kept them waiting were the Buddhists. How often do you see something like that?

At the end of each hour, as the shift was ending, the energy level of the people finishing their shift was high for the very act of helping others increased their energy and lifted their souls. Sitting as I was at the donation table, each shift ended with people crowding the table, wanted to extend their good feelings by giving cash or writing checks to further help the cause. So many of them were so grateful for our having provided them with the opportunity to do this act if kindness. So many of them commented on how bereft they felt in the wake of the violence of the attacks in Paris and San Bernadino; how hopeless they felt coming into the Convention Center, but how filled with hope they felt as they left.

Paris, San Bernadino, Colorado Springs, ISIS, Syria, terrorist violence around the world, including the knife intifada in Israel, all have served to cast the dark shadows of tragedy and hopelessness over our little planet. Yet for that one Saturday, at the Waterfront Convention Center in Bettendorf, Iowa it seemed that a bright light had pierced through that darkness and filled our space and our lives with brilliant rays of hope. How could it be otherwise when people of such diverse backgrounds, theologies, and ideologies come together in order to serve a greater good; in order to further the wellbeing of total strangers, people they may even disagree with on political issues? In a world filled with hatred and violence, pettiness and strife, even if just for a moment, there were all these people who gathered to live up to the best of human potential and to create an oasis of caring, respect, and fundamental human decency. There is hope for our future!

Holding On and Letting Go: Yizkor Sermon

Posted November 6, 2014 by Rabbi Henry Jay Karp
Categories: Change, Consolation, Creating Balance, Dealing With the Death of a Loved One, Eulogies, Family, Fear, Funeral, Giving Comfort, Grief, Hebrew Union College, Helene Karp my mother, Holding Onto Grief, Honoring the Memory of Loved Ones, Human Relations, Letting Go of Grief, Memory, mourners, Mourning, Moving On With Our Lives, Personal Experiences of Loss, Rabbinic Professional Training, Refusing to Confront Loss, Relationships, Remembering, Samuel Karp my father, Spiritual Recovery, Temple Emanuel of Davenport, Uncategorized, Wounds That Never Fully Heal, Yizkor

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When I was in seminary, rabbinic students were required to take only one course in what was then called “Human Relations.” Its purpose was to teach us that being a rabbi was not just about scholarly matters such as acquiring a command of Hebrew and becoming knowledgeable in Jewish laws and customs but it also was about developing our human interaction skills so that we could be better serve our congregants in both their times of need and also in the daily round of manifold synagogue activities; serve them with sensitivity, compassion, and understanding. Of course, folding all of that into only one course is a tall order, impossible to fill. Thankfully, today the rabbinic students at the Hebrew Union College receive far more training in this important field.
As I recall that course, it seemed that our professor invested a majority of our time discussing issues surrounding death and funerals such as the mechanics of writing a eulogy and the dynamics of the conversations that take place in the limousine during the ride from the funeral to the cemetery, which may not make much sense to us here in the Quad Cities but does have some relevance in a community like New York City, where such a drive can take a considerable amount of time.
After ordination, it did not take my classmates or me long to discover that there was very little relationship between the content of that course and the reality of the interpersonal dynamics – the Human Relations – which are to be found in synagogue life. Indeed, considering how much time we spent exploring the role of the rabbi within the grief and mourning process, it was remarkable how out of touch with reality our curriculum had been.
So I, like most of of my contemporaries, found that whatever skills in matters of grief and mourning I would require, I would have to acquire on the job, so to speak. Over the years, I would learn from a growing body of experiences attained by standing beside so many grieving families as I attempted to offer whatever comfort and consolation I could. Yet still it require my own personal experiences of loss to take me to the next level; to understand, not just with my mind and my heart, but with every essence of my being, what it truly meant to lose someone you love.
Having assisted and supported so many mourners as they have accompanied their loved ones to the grave, I have had the opportunity to make many observations about how people deal with their grief. Of course, no two people are exactly alike in anything, and that includes how we deal with grief. Still patterns emerge, some of them good and what I consider to be healthy, and some not so much so.
One of the most difficult challenges I have seen mourners struggling with – and by mourners here, I do not just mean those who have suffered a recent loss but also those of us who have suffered loss whether it be recently or in the distant past – is the challenge of finding a healthy balance between holding on and letting go; holding on to our love and attachment to the one who is now gone and letting go of that person, not entirely but yet enough to enable ourselves to move on with our lives.
In my experiences, I have encountered those who cling so dearly to their loss that years go by and their grief is as fresh and as painful for them as it was on the day of their loved one’s passing. As strong as is their love, the memory of the one they love remains mostly a source of tears and pain for them. Often they bemoan, “How can I go on? Life will just never be the same!” Such people never allow the memory of their loved one to evolve into the warming presence that can bring them smiles and maybe even some laughter as well as tears. It remains more like a knife cutting into them rather than a loving companion, invisibly accompanying them with wisdom and insight as they continue their life journey.
How could we not admire such a profound love? What a testament it is to the person now gone. How could anyone in good conscience counsel, “You need to love that person less”? Yet these people hold on so tightly to their beloved dead; so tightly that their grief winds up strangling them. Somewhere along the line, they seem to have forgotten that this is probably the last thing the departed ever would have wished upon them; that they live the remainder of their life enveloped in grief and misery because of their loss.
Such people are so determined to hold on to what they can of their loved ones that they cannot begin to conceive that it is also perfectly permissible to let go of them as well. Not to forget them – God forbid, not to forget them – but to let go of the intensity of their grief and to permit those feelings to evolve into something more livable.
There is a story about a man so stricken with grief at the passing of his wife that on her headstone he has inscribed the message, “The light has gone out of my life!” Time passes and as fate would have it, he meets another woman and they fall in love. He wants to remarry but is wracked with guilt over the thought of betraying his first wife, especially considering the inscription on her headstone. So he goes to his rabbi for counsel. He tells the rabbi of his feelings and of the inscription. The rabbi thinks for a moment and then suggests, “Why don’t you have an additional inscription added to the stone right below the first?” Puzzled, the man inquires, “An additional inscription? What should it say?” The rabbi responded, “It should say, ‘But I struck another match.’”
So it should be with those among us who hold on so tightly to the pain of our loss and struggle with the very thought of letting go, even if just a little. We, too, need to “strike another match.” We need to discover ways of letting go – not forgetting – but letting go enough so that we can bring some semblance of joy back into our lives. For this is not just what we need but it is what our loved ones would wholeheartedly want for us.
Just as there are those among us to who hold on too tightly to their loss and have trouble letting go, there also are those who are too quick to let go – too eager to let go – as if they are afraid to hold on to anything, perhaps because they fear that holding on will prove to be just too painful for them. I know that type of fear. Up until the day my mother died, there was nothing I feared more on this earth than the passing of my parents. There was a time when I and two friends were caught in a crossfire between the Israeli army and Hezbollah terrorists, and that did not frighten me nearly as much as the thought of losing my parents. I could not begin to imagine what the world would be like without those special people who had always been there for me throughout my life. Having felt the fear, I can understand how for some that fear becomes so overwhelming that the only way they feel they can deal with it is by refusing to confront their loss, making every effort to put it behind them as quickly as possible and get on with their life.
As a rabbi, too many have been the times when I have witnessed this type of reaction on the part of mourners. I cannot tell you how deeply saddened I am when someone from the congregation passes away and their children, living out of town, come to me with a request like, “Rabbi, our flight lands at 9:00 in the morning. Would it be possible for us to hold the service at 10:00 so that we can catch a 1:30 flight back home? I can’t afford the time away from the office and the children need to get back to school.” While there is a part of me which wants to scream at them, “Isn’t the memory of your mother / your father worth your spending at least one night in the Quad Cities? Can’t you leave a little time in your life for mourning?” still I want to believe that they truly are not so heartless, so uncaring as people that they view their parent’s passing as nothing more as a gross inconvenience in their lives. I want to believe that they love their parents and that their parent’s passing hurts them deeply; so deeply that they convince themselves that the only way they can deal with it is by not dealing with it; by getting the funeral over and done with as quickly as possible and returning to their normal routines, making believe nothing has changed. All they want to do is let go and move on, or so they think.
But in reality, when we lose a loved one, much has changed in our lives, whether or not we wish to admit it. Because of it, we cannot just let go and move on. We cannot attempt to bury our pain, along with our loved one, for our pain will not go away. We can strive to jam it into the background, but it will keep popping out – painfully popping out – whether we like it or not.
When our body is injured, we understand the need to create space in our lives for physical recovery. The same is true for our souls. The loss of a loved one is an injury – a deep wound – to our souls and our souls need time to recover. They need time to adjust to their changed condition, especially when you consider that the injury to soul inflicted by the death of one so dear will never completely heal. We will carry a part of it with us for the rest of our lives. Making believe that no wound exists is foolishness, for it does exist and we cannot simply wish it away. We must learn how to live with it. We must learn how to transform it from intense pain to a duller pain that carries with it its own gifts; the gifts of warm memories of all that was good and loving in the relationship we once shared. There is much we need to hold on to, for holding on in such a way can enhance our lives rather than detract from them. Such holding on keeps the deceased alive on this earth, through our memories and our sharing of those memories.
So it is the balance of holding on and letting go which we should be seeking in our lives. For if such a balance we can discover, we can both render proper and fitting honor to the memories of those we loved, and we can live our lives more fully and meaningfully, as those memories help to guide us as we seek to make the most of our lives. It is to the task of finding that balance that this service of Yizkor is dedicated, for it calls upon us to both remember – for the word “Yizkor” means “Remember” – and to move forward with our lives, carrying those memories with us in positive and constructive ways.