It's been quite a whirlwind of a week for me. I enjoyed the Pesach holiday immensely, but diving back into my inbox afterwards and catching up on news of campus protests has had my head spinning. If you are feeling exhausted or overwhelmed by the swirl of the news cycle, or if you don't want to think too hard right now about the topics of Zionism and campus protests, please feel free to skip this one... you have my permission to move straight into Shabbat mode!

I hope you are having a lovely Pesach. I had the rare privilege this year of sitting around the seder table with both my parents and my children... which was quite meaningful and had me thinking even more deeply about the generational transmission theme I reflected on here last week. Meanwhile, the presence of these generations at my seder table also brought another key theme of the season to the forefront for me: love. Indeed, love is one of the dominant themes for Shabbat of Chol HaMoed Pesach, the Shabbat we enter into this evening, during the intermediate days of Passover.

The Shabbat we'll enter into this evening is nicknamed "Shabbat HaGadol," "the Great Shabbat" -- so called because Jews everywhere turn our attention towards Pesach! Indeed, here in the Kavana community, so many conversations in recent weeks have already been focused around the central question of how to approach the Passover holiday in this very fraught year.

Parashat Tazria begins by considering the case of "isha ki tazria," "a woman who is pregnant." After giving birth, the Torah says, a woman becomes ritually impure for a period of time and then must bring specific sacrifices in order to return to a state of ritual purity and be readmitted into the religious life of the Israelite community.

This Shabbat has a special name and function: Shabbat HaChodesh ("the Shabbat of the month") is the Shabbat that announces the new Hebrew month of Nissan. This means, too, that Pesach is just around the corner... the festival of sacred story-telling, collective identity, affliction and joy.

The biblical book of Mishlei (Proverbs) gives us an excellent piece of advice for navigating political and social issues right now:

“Don’t respond to stupid people in their foolishness or you’ll become just like them.” (Proverbs 26:4)

If Merriam-Webster needs a definition for “internet comments section,” they need look no further. There are certain moments when trying to reason with someone is truly a foolish waste of time. Better not to amplify those voices at all!

This time of year, the Kavana organization is abuzz and spring is in the air. Our programs are up and running at full-speed: Shabbat prayer services are beautiful and meaningful, partners are organizing social justice and adult learning events, kids are learning and having fun together, and of course we are looking forward to two incredible Purim celebrations this weekend! On the back end, March means that our staff and board have been busy with annual reviews and program evaluations, intentional growth work and multi-year budgeting. In a nutshell, we spend time each spring planning and recommitting in order to continue and deepen our work into another year.

“And the living creatures ran and returned (ratzo va’shov) like the appearance of a flash of lightning.” (Ezekiel 1:14)

One of the most potent and least-known phrases in Jewish tradition is this line from the prophet Ezekiel, ratzo va’shov, “running and returning”. He was describing a vision of mysterious fiery angels in a scene that would become one of the core texts of later Jewish mysticism. Mysterious fiery angels - or, you know, most toddlers. Running and returning, flitting and flickering with divine spark energy.

“When the people saw that Moses was so long in coming down from the mountain, the people gathered against Aaron and said to him: Come, make us a god who shall go before us, for that fellow Moses—the man who brought us from the land of Egypt—we do not know what has happened to him.” (Exodus 32:1)

M’erev ad boker, “from evening until morning” (Exodus 27:21). Dusk arrived softly that November night as I walked into my senior rabbi’s home. I was only a few months ordained, still figuring out the job, still figuring out the world, (ongoing projects, I’ve learned). I saw my colleague and some friends laughing and chatting in front of a television, and I walked towards them, spying along the way a Hillary Clinton cake waiting in the kitchen. The last few rays of light dipped below the window line, and then the results began coming in. Pretty soon, I told my boss I had to go home. It was way too soon in our relationship for her to see me hollow and shattered and definitely too soon in my career to see a soon-to-be beloved mentor the same way. As I drove home in the dark, I couldn’t stop thinking about that cake. A momentous, once-in-a-lifetime celebration of the first woman to become president turned into a really tasty plate of trash. The political nightfall darkened, and I could only hope that dawn would come again.

Before you read any further, I'd like for you to pause for a moment and think back to a Shabbat service (or other communal prayer experience) that you found especially meaningful and stirring. Perhaps what stands out was the musical experience, or the quiet solitude in the presence of others, the poetry of the liturgy itself, a moment of heartfelt yearning or connection with the Divine, or being in the company of family and/or friends.

Yesterday morning, I dropped my kids at school and continued driving straight to my first meeting of the day. Alone in my car, I turned on the radio to NPR, and found myself listening to live coverage of the Supreme Court's deliberations about whether Trump's name can appear on ballots in Colorado and other states. At issue, as you may know, is the question of whether a provision of the 14th amendment -- a law barring certain public officials from serving in the government again if they took part in an insurrection -- applies in light of the events of January 6, 2021. In the clip that I happened to catch, the justices were following different lines of questioning (how much power should be granted to a single state, do the words "office" and "officer" refer to the same thing, etc.). As I arrived at my destination, I lingered in the car to hear a little more, intrigued by the legal arguments at hand. And then, a specific pair of verses from this week's Torah portion, Mishpatim, leapt to mind for me.

Last week, in our Torah reading cycle, we followed the Israelites as they left Egypt, crossed the sea, and celebrated in song on the other side. This week, the Torah's narrative pivots quickly to take up a brand new question: how might a group of people exist -- independent, free, in the wilderness -- in peace? We see, in Parashat Yitro, the first building blocks of a just society.

As you may have seen, Oscar nominations were released earlier this week. On Tuesday night, Jimmy Kimmel, host of this year's awards, quipped that Ryan Gosling being nominated as Ken while Margot Robbie and Greta Gerwig were snubbed for their respective awards "was kind of the plot of the Barbie movie."

[Yes, you'll find exciting baby news at the bottom of this message!]

This week's Torah portion, Parashat Bo, tells the story of the Israelites preparing to leave Egypt. It chronicles the final three plagues, commands the paschal sacrifice (a lamb per household), and details how blood is to be smeared on the Israelites' doorposts.

Today is Friday, January 12th. It is also the 98th day of the Israel-Hamas War, which means nearly 100 days of captivity for some 130 hostages, 100 days of living in an altered war-time reality for Israelis, and the same number of days of mass displacement, violence and destruction for Palestinians in Gaza. Here in America, we're moving into a long weekend of reflecting on the legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., and also kicking off our 2024 presidential election season with the Iowa Caucuses this Monday. On the Hebrew calendar, we have just entered Sh'vat, the month that reminds us that while it may feel like winter outside, spring -- and the promise it brings of rebirth and renewal -- lies just around the corner. If all of this feels like a lot to hold -- that this moment is sending us in a whole lot of emotional directions -- that's because it is. Thankfully, we have Torah and ritual to ground us.

With the beginning of the second book of Torah, Shemot (Exodus), Moses enters the story. While he will be centrally important to the event of exodus, leading the Israelite slaves away from oppression in Egypt, the shemot or “names” in his life are also intriguing.