From the Bimah: Jewish Lessons for Life

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Talmud Class: The Ideas and the Art Behind a Penitent's Higher Place Sep 27, 2025

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“In the place where penitents stand, even the completely righteous cannot stand.” Berakhot 34B

Last week we encountered this Talmudic teaching which privileges the struggle, the growth, the journey, the learning, of the person who realized they were not living their best life, and they embarked upon teshuvah to live a better life.

This week we are going to double click on this teaching that prizes struggle and growth in two ways.

One, what are the ideas behind it? We will see the perspectives of an arch rationalist (Maimonides), the Hasidic master Rebbi Nachman of Bratslov, and the founder of the Chabad-Lubavitch movement, the Alter Rebbe, who authored a work called The Tanya. Each has a different interpretation as to why struggle and growth are prized.

Two, what does artwork that celebrates this kind of struggle and growth look like? We will examine works of Yoko Ono, Wish Tree, Frida Kahlo, The Two Fridas, and Yayoi Kusama, Infinity Mirrors. What do each of these works of art say about the journey of the soul that is teshuvah?

May Shabbat Shuvah, and the teshuvah we each do in this season, bring us ever closer to the person we hope to become.

Rosh Hashanah Day 2 Sermon: Lifespan and Healthspan with Rabbi Wes Gardenswartz Sep 24, 2025

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Last month I got an email that reassured me that all will be well with the world. That joy and blessing are very much alive.

The email attached a photo of two women who are long-time members of our congregation. The younger one is only 103. The older one is 104. They have been friends since they were 12. Do the math, and that is one long, rich friendship. They were having lunch with their daughters. The picture is of the four of them all smiling at their lunch. Both women read the paper every day. Both women exercise every day. Both women talk to their children, grandchildren, great grandchildren and friends every day. Both women are totally up on what is happening in the world. Their beautiful lives, 103 and 104 years old, and still living, feels biblical. And it is. Their lives evoke Moses who, at the end of his life at the age of 120, is described as loh khahatah eino v’loh nas lechoh, Moses’s vision was undimmed and his vigor unabated. He lives, richly, until his last breath.I had always thought that only Moses, and rare people like our 103- and 104-year old friends, get this treatment. Until I read Peter Attia’s book Outlive: The Science and Art of Longevity, which makes the case that all of us can be Moses in the sense that all of us have more control than we might think about living richly all the years of our lives.We all know the word lifespan. Lifespan is the number of years we get to live. But Attia taught me a new word: healthspan. Healthspan is the quality of our health—physical, cognitive, emotional, spiritual, relational—throughout the years of our life. Attia’s main point is that what we do now can impact how we live later. What we do in our earlier years can shape not just our lifespan but our healthspan, not just the quantity of our years, but the quality of our years. The habits we live by in our 20s, 30s, 40s, 50s, and 60s can dramatically affect the vitality of our 70s, 80s, 90s and beyond. Our current practices shape our future years. And this is a decidedly Jewish issue.

Rosh Hashanah Day 1 Sermon: Flipping Hard Into Beautiful with Rabbi Wes Gardenswartz Sep 23, 2025

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An older gentlemen needed surgery for a rare medical challenge. Turns out that the best surgeon in town was his own son. As the father was about to go under, he asked to speak to his son. Yes, Dad, what is it? Son, do not be nervous. Do your best. I trust you. Just remember one thing. If it does not go well, if something happens to me on the operating table, your mother will live with you and your wife for the rest of her life.

How do we navigate hard times? We all know that we are living in hard times. Is there some way to turn hard times into beautiful outcomes—in fact beautiful outcomes that only happen as a result of how we navigated those hard times?

Shabbat Sermon: Is Not Complaining a Jewish Virtue? Or Is Complaining a Jewish Virtue? with Rabbi Wes Gardenswartz Sep 20, 2025

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Recently, as part of a routine medical procedure, I needed to get hooked up to an IV. Unfortunately, the nurse who did it, while very nice, had a hard time. She poked a needle into my arm and said, oh, so sorry, that didn’t work. She poked a needle into my arm a second time and said, oh, so sorry, that didn’t work either. Let me ask one of the other nurses. Another nurse came and the third time was a charm. The IV took.

When the procedure was over, and I got home, I was fine, but I noticed that my arm had all these cuts and bruises. I wanted sympathy. So I went to my wife in search of that sympathy. I pointed to my right arm. I pointed to the wounds, which I called, for greater effect, lacerations, contusions, and hematomas. Shira look at these lacerations from the bungled IV attempt! Look at these contusions! I think this is a hematoma!! From the bungled IV!!

I’m not sure what I was expecting. But I wasn’t expecting what I got. What I got was, Shira took one look at my arm and said: Buck up buttercup. Excuse me, I said. What did you just say? She said: Buck up buttercup.

In our 42 years together, Shira had never put those three words together, ever. I had never heard them before. I wasn’t exactly sure what Buck up buttercup meant, but it did not sound like the kind of sympathy I was looking for. It sounded like she was saying: toughen up. Stop complaining.

The bad news was that I did not get the sympathy I was looking for. The good news is I got something even better: a sermon topic. Is it a Jewish virtue not to complain, or is it a Jewish virtue to complain? There is a lot of Torah on complaints and complaining, and it is nuanced.

Talmud Class: Is Teshuvah Intended for Our Code Red Failures or For Every Day Life? Sep 20, 2025

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The main religious value concept for our High Holiday season is teshuvah, repentance.

Given the centrality of teshuvah in Judaism, and in the Jewish calendar now, the Torah’s treatment of teshuvah is curious indeed. It appears very late in the game. There is zero mention of teshuvah in Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, or Numbers. Teshuvah does not appear until Deuteronomy chapter 30. Why so late?

And when teshuvah finally appears, it is only after total disaster has already struck. The Israelites will have angered God so much that God will destroy the land and exile the Israelites.

The Lord uprooted them from their soil in anger, fury, and great wrath, and cast them

into another land, as is still the case. (Deut. 29:27)

Is teshuvah meant to be our code red response to our code red disaster?

Finally, the last verse right before teshuvah is mentioned is one of the classic stumpers of the Torah.

Concealed acts concern the Lord our God; but with overt acts, it is for us and

our children ever to apply all the provisions of this Teaching. (Deut. 29:28)

What does this verse mean, and why is it inserted here, in between the expulsion of the Israelites caused by the wrath of God, and the gift of teshuvah which will allow the Israelites to return to God and to their land?

What does the Torah’s treatment of teshuvah mean to how we practice it now?

One possibility is that the Israelites failed deeply and have teshuvah to redeem them. So too, we fail deeply, and we have teshuvah to redeem us. The Talmud teaches that somebody who sins, who fails, who grapples, who goes through a transformation and comes back to God is at a higher level than somebody who never sinned.

Over the next several weeks, we will double click on this teaching. Does our tradition really privilege transformation (I strayed, I sinned, I have come back) over a pure heart (I am disciplined, I am committed to being ethical, I did not stray)?

Over the next several weeks we will examine the case for the primacy of transformation versus the case for the primacy of a pure heart.

Shabbat Sermon: Ripples with Rabbi Wes Gardenswartz Sep 13, 2025

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The two lands we love, America and Israel, both have a problem. The problem is real, recurrent, and deadly. The problem showed up in both lands this week. The problem is violence and lack of regard for the sanctity of human life, lack of regard for the Bible’s most important teaching: that all human beings are created in God’s image and therefore deserve to live and to be treated with respect and dignity.

On Monday morning, at a busy bus stop in Jerusalem, two shooters fired upon ordinary people living an ordinary day, killing six innocent people, the victims of terrorism.

The shots were fired in Jerusalem. But the effects were felt in Newton. The effects were felt in our preschool, right here.

One of the victims was Rabbi Mordechai Steintzag. His daughter Tanya teaches at our preschool. On Monday Tanya flew to Israel to attend her father’s funeral. Like Rabbi Steintzag, every one of the victims was innocent; was loved; did good in the world; did not deserve to be murdered; loved their life and their families; and leaves behind families and communities that will never be the same. Each life taken is an infinite tragedy.

And then, on Wednesday, at Utah Valley University, political activist Charlie Kirk was assassinated. He leaves behind a wife, two young children, and family and friends who are bereft that a31-year-old is no more, the victim of political violence. Charlie Kirk’s murder is an infinite tragedy.

Tonight is Selikhot, the beginning of our High Holiday season. How do we understand this violence, and what are we to do about it? Of course we decry it. We denounce it. We mourn it. We lament it. But is there anything we can do about it?

Talmud Class: Does the Serenity Prayer Work If Our Loved Ones Make Self-Destructive Decisions? Sep 13, 2025

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In last week’s class we encountered the Greek myth of Icarus who, ignoring his father’s advice, flew too high and too close to the sun so that his wings made of wax and feathers melted, he fell to the sea, and died. In class one of our learners offered a poignant coda. While the rest of the world did not see and did not care about Icarus dying, his father Daedalus cared very much. His father gathers his fallen son and buries him.

Daedalus loves his son so much. Cares about him so much. And controls so little. If the son makes decisions that undermine his own life--indeed that end his own life--there is nothing that Daedalus can do but mourn.

The Hebrew Bible also contains a powerful story of a father whose heart is broken by the self-destructive decisions of his son: David and Absalom. Absalom rebels and leads an army against his father, King David. When David hears that Absalom has died—his long hair caught up in the branches of a tree, which allowed his enemies to slay him—David famously laments: “My son Absalom! O my son, my son Absalom! If only I had died instead of you! O Absalom, my son, my son!” Infinite love. Infinite care. No control. Infinite pain.

So many of us experience our own version of the pain of Daedalus and David. Our loved ones make decisions that we cannot control that undermine their lives and cause us pain. As we enter the High Holiday season tomorrow night with Selikhot, part of the pain we carry into the High Holidays are the times that our loved ones are their own worst enemies, which we can do absolutely nothing about.

Is there a prayer that helps?

Tomorrow we will look at the most responsive prayer that I know of on this question, The Serenity Prayer:

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

Courage to change the things I can,

And wisdom to know the difference.

Would that prayer have helped Daedalus as he buried Icarus? Would that prayer have helped King David as he mourned his son Absalom? Does that prayer help us? When our loved ones undermine their own lives, is serenity even possible?

Shabbat Sermon: The Deep Meaning of the Daily Grind with Rabbi Wes Gardenswartz Sep 06, 2025

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For many of us, this week has been the week of the big pivot. We pivoted from August to September; from summer to fall; from vacation to obligation; from light and breezy summer rhythm to an alarm clock that wakes us up to face the reality of a schedule. Back to school. Back to shul. Back to the High Holidays coming up with their invitation to take stock of our lives. All of which is very different from going to the beach or going to Tanglewood or climbing a mountain in New Hampshire or enjoying the gorgeous green of Vermont or the waters of Cape Cod, Nantucket, Nantasket, or Martha’s Vineyard.

In short, how do we think about a return to the daily grind?

Talmud Class: Icarus and Us Sep 06, 2025

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Icarus has so much to say to us now, a few weeks before Rosh Hashanah.

According to Greek mythology, Icarus flew too close to the sun with wings made of feather and wax. The sun’s heat melted the wax, and Icarus fell into the sea and drowned.

In 1560, the Netherlandish master Peter Bruegel the Elder painted a masterpiece entitled Landscape with the Fall of Icarus. This painting is now displayed in a museum in Brussels. The title is so evocative. To Icarus, no story was more important than Icarus. To Icarus, his flying so high, falling so low, and meeting an untimely end in a cold sea in a cold world was all-important. It was THE story. But there is a broader landscape where the fall of Icarus was not only not the story. It was not noticed at all. There are three peasants each doing their thing, plowing, herding and fishing. They are totally absorbed in their own world. They neither see nor care about Icarus.

The pathos of the painting—the desperate pain of one, utterly unseen by others—has inspired poetry by William Carlos Williams and W.H. Auden. The last stanza of Williams’s poem expresses this dissonance so clearly:

a splash quite unnoticed

this was Icarus drowning

The painting, and the poetry of Williams and Auden, convey the world as it is: a splash quite unnoticed. Judaism has a lot to say here. Hillel’s famous teaching in Pirkei Avot is a response. Hillel would not be comfortable with the three peasants not seeing and not caring. Yes, they have their own lives to attend to. That is legitimate. But Icarus drowned. How could they not notice? In attempting to move the dial on human indifference, Hillel teaches:

If I am not for me, who will be?

If I am for myself alone, what am I?

And if not now, when?

(Pirkei Avot 1:14)

This dialectic of Hillel animates our High Holiday liturgy.

Take a look at Bruegel’s masterpiece. Who are the three peasants today? Who is Icarus today? Where are we in the paining? Who and what are we not seeing? What are we focused on? What is our version of plowing, herding and fishing? What does Hillel say to us?

Shabbat Sermon: Love That Sticks with Rabbi Michelle Robinson Aug 30, 2025

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August 30, 2025