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There's an imaginary pile of books in my mind. It's a pile of books that I will never write. One of them on the top of that pile is a collection of sermons connected to each song in Fiddler on the Roof. I have a working title for this book. It's called Fiddler on the Pulpit. But I've said it before and I'll say it again. I think so much of what we deal with in contemporary Jewish life comes back to Fiddler. Some of the core tensions that show up in that musical, they were articulated so beautifully. The tension between being traditional and embracing a changing world. Tradition! The relentless way time seems to fly by, and we can't believe that our children are now Bene Mitzvah, sunrise, sunset, and more. But today I'm thinking about the classic. There is a sense in Judaism that mere survival, that the thrust to keep living despite all of the hardships and all the challenges, that that is a kind of moral victory, defiance against all the odds. God would like us to be joyful even when our hearts lie panting on the floor. How much more can we be joyful when there's really something to be joyful for. Yeah, go on. Last Shabbos, I spoke about an outlook that is an aggressive kind of gratitude that defines a Jewish perspective on the world. We as Jews always feel we have enough and more. I argued that to be Jewish is to be the opposite of spoiled. My message this week dovetails with that idea. I'd like to talk about the Jewish attitude of Lechaim, of the thrust to continue living and celebrating as a natural outgrowth of a disposition of gratitude and appreciation of all of our blessings. To be a Jew is to be part of an eternal chain from generation to generation. We are, as Jews, pro-life, but not in the way that that term is used in the American political discourse, but in the sense that we celebrate life. We nudge newlyweds to have children already. They were just married five minutes ago, and we're telling them, when are we gonna see the grandkids? Now, this is not so simple as a Jewish people, because we know that people make different choices, and we also know that there are many who want to have children and are struggling in our midst. And yet we can't not celebrate when a baby is born or when a child becomes bat mitzvah, because it's an affirmation, a fulfillment of our deepest hopes and desires as a people for more life, for the transmission of our values from generation to generation. I think about Abraham who stood over his son Isaac, who was his legacy. At the moment of seeing it all end, it feels like every generation of Jews has that existential fear that it could all end right here. And then with grace, the hand is stayed, and we get to experience another generation. Even when we experience a loss in Judaism, we balance the need for grief and the need for space and mourning with the reaffirmation of life. The first words a mourner says after they've just buried their loved one, they're still standing at the grave, and they say the kadish. And the kadish is an affirmation of God's greatness, but we say the words Lechhaim in the Kadish. A new mourner, just having finished a burial, says, May we have life. We reaffirm our commitment to life even in the face of death. Did you know? I didn't know until Debbie Miller told me that Judaism has a blessing to be recited upon seeing the first blossom of a fruit tree in the month of Nisan. Rosh Chodesh Nisan was just yet a couple days ago on Thursday, so you can say this blessing now. If you see a fruit tree in blossom, you can go out and say a special blessing. Go out, find a blossoming tree. It's a little long, but the gist is this. Blessed are you, God, who created a world in which nothing lacks, creating good trees from which humans can benefit. The blessing upon seeing a blossoming tree in springtime. You might have thought, after such a cold winter, that those trees will never be green again. We call it the dead of winter, after all. And this winter was particularly harsh. And yet we have faith that every year life will be renewed and restored, and we take the occasion of witnessing that miracle unfolding before our eyes, and we say a blessing to reaffirm our belief that in this world life wins. Spring comes, the world continues. Am Yisral Khai, the Jewish people, is alive and thriving. This theme is also at the heart of Sefer Vaikra at the book of Leviticus, which we begin today. Many people think, as I argued earlier, this is a misconception, that Leviticus, with its sundry details about animal sacrifices, is about a cult of violence and blood. That could not be farther from the truth. The true essence of the laws of vaikra are to preserve and promote life. There are many examples I could point to, but I'll point to only one. I want to call your attention to the ritual of smihah, of laying hands. For certain kinds of offerings, the Torah says, visamachya do al-rosha ulama venirzalo l'hapera lav. The person bringing the offering shall place his hand on the head of the olama, the elevation offering, that it may be acceptable to God as kaparah, as atonement or expiation. Now these are complex uh ritual and theological concepts, and there's a source of debate about them. But I would argue that the concept is that when a person has committed a transgression, when a person has committed a crime for which the penalty is death, by right, by law, the Torah and God should claim our lives. We don't deserve to live after doing something like that. But out of compassion, out of a desire to keep life going, we're able to offer an animal in our stead. Just like that ram in the story of Isaac, it should be used as a symbol of us on the altar. God chooses a replacement so that we may live. The goal of the system of Vyikra of Leviticus is life, more life, better life. Lachaim. The Torah reminds us that we are meant to promote life even at the expense of observing God's commandments. The Torah says, you should live through your connection to these laws, Veloshiy Amutbahem, and not die by them. This is why, whenever there is a conflict between a religious principle, even a strongly held religious principle, and a person's health and safety, life takes precedence. Life wins. If a person is sick on Yom Kippur, they may eat. And the Gemara says, even trafe meat. They can even eat pork if that's all that's available in order to sustain their life. Eating pork on Yom Kippur is permitted if your life is in danger. You heard the rabbi say it here. You may violate Shabbat for Pikuach Nefesh, to take someone to a hospital or administer medical care, because we don't believe in martyrdom. We don't believe in dying for your religion. We believe in living for your religion. My friend and colleague, Rabbi David Schuck, he recently shared a poem with me, and he didn't know how much I needed to hear it. And so I want to thank him for sharing it with me, and thanks to the poet Ada Limon for writing it. And I'm, it's a longer poem. I'm not going to read the whole thing, but I'll share just a fragment of it as a kavanah, as an intention for this moment. The title is of the poem is Instructions on Not Giving Up. And there's this one passage in it that really struck me. Patient plodding, a green skin growing over whatever winter did to us, a return. To the strange idea of continuous living, despite the mess of us, the hurt, the empty. I think that's a good calling for us this spring. The strange idea of continuous living. Jews have always been the people committed to the strange idea of continuous living. I want to lift up Brynn, I know, spoke so powerfully about her connection to the Shoah and her learning of Marta's story. And I recently had the opportunity to be back at the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. I was there just before Purim. It was my first time there in over 20 years, and it hit me in a new way this time. Maybe it's my stage of life, maybe it's just I hadn't been there in a while. But also this time I was traveling there with a group of local black and Jewish leaders together, and that was a unique way to experience the Holocaust Memorial Museum. I'd only ever experienced it in Jewish contexts. We also went to the National Museum of African American History and Culture. There's more I'm unpacking myself from this experience, and more I want to share with you. But the one thing I want to share with you this morning is they were very intentional in the design of that museum with the biblical quotes that they put up. One is from Isaiah, Atem Eda, you are my witnesses. But another one that caught my attention this year is a verse from Deuteronomy. I have put before you life and death, blessing and curse. Uvaharta Vakahim. Choose life, that you and your offspring shall live. Out of the depths of the Shoah, our people wanted to share a message of choose life. That has always been our response to the difficulties of the world. Uvaharta Vakhaim, choose life that you and your offspring shall live. After the pain of all we've been through, we still want our enduring message as a people to be choose life. So as we welcome spring and earnestly pray and prepare for Chagha Aviv, our spring festival, as we engage with the themes of Sefer Vaikra of the book of Leviticus, whose overarching message I want to argue is more life, better life, holy life. We here reaffirm our commitment to live. And if our good fortune never comes, here's too whatever comes. Drink Lechayim. Shabbat shalom.