The Edge of the Promised Land
What a powerful Torah portion Sh’lach Lecha is, and how even more resonant this year.
After their wilderness sojournings, the Israelites are on the edge of the promised land and are charged with sending out spies. However, the inexperienced young men charged with the mission find it hard to step away from the trauma responses of their enslavement and crumble in fear. ‘There are giants in the land’ they say, ‘and we are like grasshoppers in their eyes and in in ours.’ These words are poignant and painful, and oh so relatable. They point to themes of exploration and hope, while experiencing overwhelm and fear. There is the reality of witnessing unforeseen events spiral out of control.
Right on the cusp when everything should be going right, the sands shift beneath the Israelites’ feet and things go desperately wrong.
It is a state of mind that we can relate to.
Biased as I am (and biased I should be!) but I really love the Torah’s ability to ‘speak’ to us like this, across space and time, wrapping its words around our lived experience today. These last nine months, I have certainly felt like a grasshopper—small and vulnerable, but also nimble and adaptable. And I have also felt like a giant, or at least standing on the shoulders of giants—lifted up through the gift of community and solidarity, love and support. And, pivoting yet again, I continue to feel like a shaliach or shlichah, a scout and an emissary, for a Judaism that is birthed anew in my spirit. All those three modalities are true, and what may speak to me may also speak to you.
On the cusp of, well, not my promised land exactly, but my annual leave and Sabbatical, I want to leave you with both words of thanks and words of vision. It was not long ago that my seven years with Agudas Achim were celebrated with vibrant love and joy. I continue to be awed by the generosity of spirit the leadership and congregation showed me. It was the warm hug I needed during dark days. It reminded me where I choose to be, to ‘grow where I am planted’ (to use a Midwestern turn of phrase). I am blessed to be your rabbi, and as I look to these months of rest and recharging, this profound sense of gratitude is interwoven with my hopes for the summer.
At the same time, my sabbatical is a time for rediscovery, for vision-casting. We are, as a synagogue, on the cusp of great things to come, leaning on significant achievements we have made these last years. Our membership has grown. We have built public space Judaism through our downtown initiatives, showing both confidence in and commitment to the cities and communities we live in as Jews, doing outreach, putting ourselves on the map. We have had wonderful initiatives and opportunities in this beautiful building. Community is to be built everywhere and anywhere; out in the wilderness and in the Promised Land. Indeed, we can thrive where we take root.
I want to keep this short, but as the summer deepens, I invite you to think of the ways in which you are grasshoppers, and find your strength and courage in unexpected places. I invite you to think of the ways in which you are giants; through the resiliency you have borne yourself with. And the ways in which you are scouts—dreaming of realities not yet formed but that we can see shimmer in the distance. These are the holy things and the deep truths that will carry us through.
I look forward to coming back to you soon.
