SPEAKER_02 0:13

Shabbat Shalom. There was once a group of Jews who were unsure about venturing into the unknown. They had been through a lot together. They'd had their share of hardships and triumphs, but they were about to enter a new phase of their lives and the life of their community, and they wondered, how can we do this? How is this going to be? They did some planning and preparing, but when the moment finally arrived, they were unsure and more than a little uneasy. Some panicked. Others mourned. Most went with the flow of the loudest naysayers among them. But there was a small minority who said, we can do this. Have faith. Everything's going to be okay. The story of the scouts from Parshat Schlach is instructive in that it reminds us of how easy it is to be overwhelmed by our fears, our self-doubt, and how contagious that can be in a community. But in the story, as the congregation was beginning to get restless, it was Kalev, it was Caleb who hushed the naysayers. I got into trouble a couple of weeks ago when I used the term Debbie Downer, the Debis in the congregation, and there are quite a few of them, took issue, and heaven forbid I would never ever use the term negative Nancy's. Now we always talk about moving towards Israel as an aliyah. Alone ale. We're going up, whether literally or spiritually, but Rashi sees something deeper in the phrase of Kaleb, Alona Ale, and he comments the following on those words. He says, Ascend even to the heavens, build ladders to go there. And even if God had said, do that, build a ladder to the heaven and we'll go up there, we should do it. Because we will be successful by God's word. In other words, when God says jump, we say how high. And I think the message that Rashi is teaching us conveys some pretty basic wisdom. But even though it's fairly straightforward, this whole story, it can be hard to internalize and live by. You see, there are two kinds of people in the world: people who say, nah, that's too hard. No, we can't, even about that which is possible. And then there are people who say, yes, we can, even about the seemingly impossible. And the lesson, according to Rashi and according to Parshatchlach, is be among the latter, not the former. Our cantor and our Nancy are clearly examples of that second category of people. When there is a task to be done, a challenge facing our people or our community, they're the kind of people who roll up their sleeves and get to work. They have been steadfast in their vision and their commitment to this community for 44 years. And through their efforts, they have built ladders to the heavens for each of us, from the littlest to the greatest among us, to climb in our striving to connect to God, to Torah, to Tfilah, and Mitzvot. They made copies of Torah readings and sat patiently when you were having trouble learning them. They helped you build sukkot or cut the shach. They taught you how to sound the shofar for people who couldn't make it to shul that year. They made every aspect of Purim exceedingly joyous. They helped you mourn and grieve and rejoice and celebrate. When you were anxious about your child's bar or about mitzvah or wedding or bris or whatever, they were there to tell you, hush now. It's going to be okay. Everything's going to be fine. And the calm in their voice made you believe, made you trust that everything was going to be okay. In so many ways, Cantor and Nancy Kaplan have been our Yehoshua and Caliph. The ones who say about everything, Alona Aleah, we can do it. Let's rise together. And we have been lifted up by them. And so now we're facing another major transition. One which brings with it all those same doubts and questions and concerns. But we are ready to greet this transition with confidence and trust because you've given us the confidence and trust in ourselves to feel able to move forward. It's still sad. It's still a bit uneasy. But we believe it's going to be okay. It's going to be fine. Or to do my best to can't or cow, it's going to be fine, fine. It's going to be more than fine. We're going to continue to build and climb ladders to the heavens, and so are you. Some 40-ish years later, a different group of people, but they were faced with the same challenge. And this time they were ready. They were ready to take it on because they had learned and grown through the process, and they were ready to say, Alo na Allah. All together, alo na'lah. It wasn't a minority voice. At that point, years later, we were all ready to say it together. Because they had rituals and processes, they built a community together that was able to manage that transition. So, how do we mark this transition today in a way that feels sacred and meaningful? And for this, I'm grateful to Rabbi Richie Hammerman, who had a good idea. He suggested we find a way to bless you here today and to be blessed by you one more time, but probably not the last. Through the most ancient words of our tradition of blessing, through the words of the Birkat Kohanim. But as I was preparing to lead the congregation in this blessing, and we're going to do it in a particular way in just a moment, I thought a little explanation might be in order. Forgive me, I'm a rabbi. Referring to the Birkat Kohanim, about which we read in Parshatna so just two weeks ago, the Magin of Raham explains in Orachaim 128: any Kohain who does not have love for the congregation, or whom the congregation does not love in return, cannot raise his hands in blessing. Indeed, the blessing that the Kohanim recite before they bless the congregation, the blessing that they recite in order to be able to bless the congregation, includes the word Biahava with love. It appears that there's something about standing before a congregation to bless that requires mutual love, love going both ways, from the Kohanim to the community, and from the community to the Kohanim. If the Kohan is to be a conduit of God's love, well then they need to be somebody who can embody that love in their own mind and heart and hands. And similarly, they need to be the people who, when they take the stage to bless, the congregation feels warmly to them and is welcoming of that blessing so that they can feel a measure of God's love flowing through them. Now, before we get all mushy-touchy-feely, I know that's not the Kaplan style. It's important to note and to remember that love in the context of the Torah and Judaism in general is not romantic love. It's not Hollywood love. It's not even primarily an emotion. It's a set of obligations. The way we say a parent loves a child and will do anything for them to protect them or provide for them, even when it's not particularly convenient or enjoyable. Sche Held teaches in his book, Judaism is about love. He says love is a disposition, not a feeling. You can't build religion on a feeling because feelings come and go. Instead, love is an umbrella term for a whole array of emotions. Loving my daughter and loving the stranger are different feelings, but both can exist in that umbrella term of love. When we talk about love as an act of compassion, and I have responsibilities to act compassionately to show up, for I have obligations towards both those people. And if I'm commanded to love my neighbor, how do I do that when I also say I love you to my wife? Torah can't possibly be asking me to feel towards my neighbor, who are very nice people. But my feelings towards them are different than my feelings towards my wife. In fact, it actually explicitly commands me not to feel those feelings towards. But if we talk about love as care, love as compassion, love as kindness, love as obligation to someone, love as covenant, love as connection, then we can start to understand what is being asked of us. And so the Torah can easily and comfortably command us to love the gare, to love the stranger, the immigrant, the refugee. We don't have to like them or feel warm or mushy towards them, but we are supposed to care for them. And we have a certain covenantal obligation towards them. Those are obligations I know the Kaplan's take very seriously. Because whereas some people talk the talk of love, the Kaplanans walk the walk of love every day. They show up for us, for their community. And I think more than anything, their time in this community has defined by being there. They were there for each of us, for all of us, when we needed them. They've certainly been there for me and for my family. And I know they've been there for so many of you here today. They've been there for all of us. And they do it without asking a whole lot of fanfare or credit. They just do it. And in that sense, they're among the most loving people I know. And I feel privileged to know them. I think you do too. So as our Cantor and our Nancy ascend to the roles of Cantor Emeritus and Mora Nancy Emeritus. As they ascend, as they go up, Alona Allah, let's all go up together. And I thought we could take this one opportunity to bless them and be blessed by them, in the words of our ancient traditions, and to express our love to them. And now, yes, I do mean the mushy kind. Everyone in the congregation has an important role, just as when we say the Birkat Kohanim and the Duchening, we're going to Q, Cantor Kaplan, and Nancy to bless you. And then after they say their Hebrew words of blessing, each time I want you to respond, Kenya Hiratson, so may it be God's will. And then we'll all feel this blessing flowing mutually between us in this room of people who love you very much.