Brotherhood Shabbat Sermon with Guest Speaker Rabbi Elan Babchuck

If you have ever been married, or if you have ever walked an adult child down the aisle, think back to the energy, the electricity, the excitement of the wedding day. All that love in one sacred place. Pure magic.There was a young, bright, beautiful Israeli couple looking forward to their wedding day. The bride and the groom were getting married in the backyard of the bride’s parents. Joyful and magical. Except for two small details.The date of their wedding was Thursday, June 12, 2025. The couple was getting married that night. Israel’s war with Iran, what would become known as the 12-day war, would begin at dawn on Friday, June 13. And the groom is a fighter pilot for the IDF. He flies F16s. The groom knew the war was coming imminently. He knew that he would be flying an F16 into Iran. He was scheduled to be the first pilot of the first F16 into Iran. Which would have required him to be at the base at the time he was to be under the chuppah. So he asked the IDF if he could be the second pilot into Iran. The IDF said yes. That allowed him to stand under the chuppah with his bride. Before the chuppah, he had borrowed his grandmother’s car. It was an hour’s drive from where he would spend his wedding night to his army base. The car was packed and ready to go. The bride and groom got married. On their wedding night, a loud and scary siren reverberated throughout Israel that was the nation’s signal that war with Iran was at hand; and that was the groom’s signal that his wedding was over, it was time to take his grandmother’s car to the base, to get into an F16, and to fly into Iran. Within mere hours of smashing the glass under their chuppah and kissing his bride, the newly minted husband was in the F16 flying into Iran. During the 12-day war, he would fly an F16 into Iran, and back to Israel, day after day. Roll the film forward. The couple, now newlyweds, moved to Cambridge. She is now a first-year business school student at Sloane, MIT’s business school. And liking it. He is working for an Israeli start-up. And liking it. They are together, happy, happy. And then January, and the build up to the war with Iran, again. To be an Israeli fighter pilot, one needs to fly their F16 at least once a week. He was no longer certified to be a pilot, because it had been several months since he had last flown. He could have stayed in Cambridge. He could have stayed with his still newlywed wife. But he knew that if he did not fly the F16 into Iran, someone else would have to do it. He felt a duty to his country. He felt a duty to his people. He felt a duty to his fellow fighter pilots. So, again, he leaves his new bride, in mid-January he goes back to Israel, he gets back in his F16s, he gets recredentialed as a seasoned and qualified fighter pilot, and he has been flying mission after mission into Iran this past week. Meanwhile, she is living by herself, again, in Cambridge.Interrupted wedding night. Interrupted newlywed year. It just is.Why am I telling you all this? When the war broke out, I had thought that American Jews, certainly the ones I know and love at Temple Emanuel, would be uniformly and unambivalently in support of this war. Of course war is hell. Of course we prefer peace. Of course we pray for peace. Of course war unleashes unpredictable and uncontrollable outcomes, so many of which are destructive. And yet, the Islamic Republic of Iran is, and has always been since its very inception, openly and unapologetically genocidal. Its motto “Death to America” is genocidal. Its motto “Death to Israel” is genocidal. What it did in Argentina in the 90s, killing innocent Jews twice, is genocidal. What it did through its proxy Hamas on October 7 is genocidal. The clock in Tehran promising the end of Israel by the year 2040 is genocidal. Given all this, I had expected uncomplicated support of American Jews for this war. Boy, was I wrong.

Rabbi Elan Babchuck serves as the Executive Vice President at Clal (National Jewish Center for Learning and Leadership) and the Founding Executive Director of Glean Network, which partners with Columbia Business School.  He has published in The Atlantic, The Guardian, Washington Post, and Religion News Service, writes a column for The Wisdom Daily, contributed to Meaning Making – 8 Values That Drive America’s Newest Generations (2020, St. Mary’s Press) and is the co-author of Picking Up the Pieces: Leadership After Empire (2023, Fortress Press). His newest book about Shabbat, Sacred Time, is coming out in 2027.He also serves as a Founding Partner of Starts With Us, a movement to counteract toxic polarization in America, and is a founding Research Advisory Board Member of Springtide Research Institute.

What do we do with what we remember? How does what we remember cause us to act? This question comes from two places. It is Shabbat Zachor, the special Shabbat before Purim when we remember Amalek that hated us, that tried to kill us, and that inspired commands to never forget that hate, and to respond in kind. And it is the week of the US Men’s Hockey Team’s first Olympic gold in 46 years. Poignantly, the team’s victory picture included the #13 jersey of their teammate, and hockey super star, Johnny Gaudreau, who was killed along with his brother Matthew in August, 2024 while they were riding bikes by a drunk driver at the wedding weekend of their sister. The team also featured Goudreau’s young children in the photo. All of us move through life carrying all sorts of memories. Painful memories that evoke hurt, loss, indignation, grievance. Joyful memories that evoke triumph, accomplishment, blessing. We carry the memories of people whom we have loved and lost who were always there for us. And the memories of people who disappointed and wounded us. What do we do with all those memories? There is a special mitzvah in Jewish tradition to remember: zachor. There is a special Shabbat, tomorrow, to focus on remembering.  Remembering is the easy part. Where the rubber hits the road: what do we do with what we remember?

The Torah offers more than one account of what was revealed to Moses on Mt. Sinai. This week’s reading, Terumah, suggests that the Ten Commandments were not the focus of revelation. What are the implications for us of the different portrayals of Moses’ experience?About Rabbi Peretz RodmanRabbi Rodman is a Jerusalem-based writer, translator, and editor. A native Bostonian, he has studied and taught at Brandeis University, Hebrew College, and the Rothberg International School of the Hebrew University.

There is a depressing news story that won’t go away. There are fresh chapters every week. The story goes something like this: People who were preeminent in their field—law, business, finance, real estate, professional sports, entertainment, higher education, medicine, health and wellness, spiritual counseling, politics, government—were emailing with a registered sex offender.What is that? So many people. So many different fields. So preeminent. So polished. So terribly off.If our Torah is to speak to our world, in a way that helps us understand our world and live a better life, we need to get to the bottom of this conundrum.Our weekly Torah portion speaks to this dilemma with a simple question: Are we the same person on the inside as we project to the outside world?What are some practical strategies for being the same person on the inside and out?

Even before she stepped into her ski boots to compete in Cortina, Lindsey Vonn’s story was profound. To be a top contender at the age of 41, after six years of retirement, after a partial knee replacement and countless serious injuries, is remarkable in and of itself. But Vonn wasn’t just competing 24 years after her first Olympic games, and she wasn’t just competing on a body which had recovered from countless serious injuries. Just days before the Olympics, Vonn ruptured her ACL racing in Switzerland. Where most athletes would have taken a year to recover, Vonn was planning to ski nearly 100 mph down a notoriously difficult cliff face in the hopes of winning another Olympic gold.The New York Times story about her leading up to the race was titled, “Linsey Vonn is Skiing on One Good Knee, but It’s a Helluva Knee.” There was so much excitement for her race. As her teammate, Mikaeila Shiffrin put it, “her tenacity and grit, and what she’s showing up with this Olympics and staying true to her own values, that’s just straight up beautiful.”When Lindsey crashed, all that positive energy shifted. There were nasty comments all over the internet and social media. People said she had no business skiing on a ruptured ACL. That of course she wiped out. How irresponsible. The blow back was so intense that her teammates and coach, even the president of the International Ski and Snowboard Federation, all began making public statements to defend her.It was a fascinating turn-around. Before Vonn crashed into the gate, there was no critique of her choice, simply admiration. Everyone was talking about how amazing it would be if she could win. But when she caught the gate and crashed, suddenly there was so much blame, so much anger and resentment directed towards her. As if she were wrong to dream. As if the only thing that mattered was winning. As if losing with an injury was somehow embarrassing.We have to talk about that turn-around, about that shift. Because that move, to applaud effort as long as it’s successful, to criticize risk-taking when it doesn’t turn out, that instinct is so tempting and so dangerous. How often do we hold back because we are too afraid of failing? How often do we foreclose the possibility of joy because we are too afraid to take a risk?

Transformation. We were one thing. Now we are different, and better. How does transformation happen?Do our sources believe in the effectiveness of a transformational experience, that we are wowed and inspired and changed by some profound moment? Or are our sources skeptical that a single experience, however powerful, can sustain long-term personal growth? The Book of Exodus has a definite point of view.  If ever there were a transformational moment, it would have been Sinai. God literally comes down to earth and gives the Jewish people God’s laws. The Torah spends a lot of ink on the pyrotechnics, the thunder, the lightning, the fire, the smoke. Sinai was the epitome of intensity. Our senses were never more alive. We could see thunder and hear lightning. Sinai was intense, but was it effective? After Sinai, the Israelites build and worship the Golden Calf, violating the Commandments that they had just agreed to uphold. A lot of razzle dazzle, but it did not work, and it did not last. What does work? The unsexy answer? Boring works. The second half of the Book of Exodus, five portions that are a slow read, detail the building of the Mishkan, the wilderness Tabernacle. The opposite of exciting. But that’s the point. Redemption is found in granular small acts, that are repeated day after day. The sewers sew. The wood carvers carve wood. The jewelers fashion stones. The builders put it all together. Each person gives their gift. No razzle dazzle. No seeing thunder and hearing lightning. No senses on fire. Just doing ordinary deeds every day. What are your daily rounds that heal and restore you?daily exercisedaily prayerregular therapyregular AA meetingsregular visits with elderly parentsregular phone calls checking in with out-of-town loved ones so we stay connected despite the distancemaking your bed, doing your dishes, taking out the garbage, doing your laundry,maintaining your physical space.One powerful experience rarely to never transforms, says the Book of Exodus, as its most electrifying gambit—Sinai—did not work. Transformation takes a lifetime of repetitive, granular, very local deeds.  By doing these deeds every day, we become better. Boring is a compliment.

Over the last 30 years, Adrian Gonzalez met and married his beloved, Leslie, joined Temple Emanuel, raised four wonderful children, and celebrated their bnei mitzvah right here on the Rabbi Samuel Chiel bimah. For all of this time, Adrian has been on his own spiritual journey. This year, he made the decision to officially join the Jewish people. Adrian shares his journey and about the love that brought him into the covenant.Adrian Gonzalez, the son of Cuban immigrants, was born and raised in Brooklyn, New York. After earning a Materials Science Engineering degree from Cornell University, he began his career at Motorola in Tempe, Arizona, where he met his wife, Leslie. They later moved back East to be closer to family and settled in Newton, Massachusetts, where they have lived since 1996. Adrian and Leslie have four children and have been members of Temple Emanuel for nearly 25 years. Today, Adrian is a trusted advisor and leading industry analyst with more than 26 years of supply chain research experience. He is president of Adelante SCM, which includes Talking Logistics (an online video talk show and blog) and Indago (a research community for supply chain and logistics executives). Adrian is also a LinkedIn Top Voice with nearly 250,000 followers. Outside of work, Adrian is an avid cyclist, a fundraiser for Breakthrough T1D, and the author of a best-selling book yet to be written.

Inertia is super strong. What, if anything, is stronger? My late father-in-love used to say, “more than people know what they like, they like what they know.” People like what they know. They like certainty, clarity, predictability. They don’t like being rattled. They don’t like uncertainty. They don’t like unpredictability. They don’t like staring into a murky future. The address in our sacred canon for the strength of inertia comes from last week’s reading. When the children of Israel left Egypt during the Exodus, the Torah says they left chamushim. Rashi offers two explanations for that word. One is that they left with arms, as they would need to fight wars on their way to the promised land. But the other explanation Rashi brings is that chamushim is related to the Hebrew word chamesh, five. Namely, only one in five Hebrew slaves chose to leave. Fully four out of five Hebrew slaves chose to remain slaves. That Rashi is so evocative, so prescient, so rich. Fully 80 percent of Hebrew slaves chose the predictability of slavery over the insecurity of freedom. This despite their moaning and groaning under the burdens of slavery. This despite seeing God’s saving power with their own eyes—it’s dark for the Egyptians, not dark for us; the first-born of the Egyptians perish, our first-born are fine. Despite an interventionist God redeeming them from the misery of slavery, 80 percent of the Hebrew slaves opted for slavery. More than people know what they like, they like what they know. How often has this dynamic played out in Jewish history, with fatal consequences for those who opted to remain where they were.  Rashi goes on to add that the 80% died in Egypt. Throughout Jewish history, inertia has proven not only strong but deadly. How does inertia show up in your life? How does inertia show up in our life? What, if anything, enables us to resist the incredible power of inertia? What can we learn from David Brooks’s final piece for the Times about how to resist inertia? Would you have been the 20%? Or the 80%? Are you the 20% or the 80%?

January 31, 2026