Shabbat Sermon with Guest Speaker Rabbi Rachel Silverman

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?

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 unnoticedthis was Icarus drowningThe 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?

August 30, 2025

Inheritance – A Personal Journey of Discovery and Choice. We have no control over what we are bequeathed. Or do we?Rabbi Jamie Kotler teaches Torah and Jewish texts at synagogue communities in the Boston area and beyond. She has served as chaplain at Fireman House (Hebrew Senior Life), and has served on the Boards of The Rashi School, and Mayyim Hayyim, and on the building committee for Newbridge on the Charles at Hebrew Senior Life.Rabbi Kotler grew up in Brazil and Mexico, the daughter of Holocaust survivors, with little religious practice or knowledge. She began studying Torah as a young mother of three. Her desire to steep herself in the texts and traditions she had missed as a child led her to enter rabbinical school at the age of 54 and was ordained by the Rabbinical School of Hebrew College in June 2016. Before entering the rabbinate, she was a computer programmer (EDS, TX and Hewlett-Packard, CA), a financial analyst (Advanced Cardiovascular Systems, CA), and a consultant to small businesses.Rabbi Kotler holds a BA in Biology from Brown University and an MBA from Stanford University Graduate School of Business. She is married to Harold Kotler, and together they have five grown children and four grandchildren.

Rabbi Rachel Silverman (she/her) first joined the Camp Ramah New England staff as a Rosh Edah (unit head) at the overnight camp from 2005-2010. Many years later, she’s thrilled to be back as the Director of Ramah Boston, our newest day camp. Rabbi Silverman previously served as a congregational rabbi in both Brookline and Sharon, MA, after receiving her ordination from the Jewish Theological Seminary in 2010. When she is not at camp, she is a ceramic artist and enjoys biking, cooking, and gardening. She lives in Sharon, MA, with her husband Josh, their three kids (Anna, Danny, and Benjamin), dog (Abby).

August 8, 2025Just about every night, before bed, we read one of Eder’s favorite books, usually a few times in a row. Eder loves many books, but for the past few weeks, his absolute favorite has been Five Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed. He loves it so much that he often doesn’t have the patience to wait for us to read it to him—he will take it out and read it to himself. He recites the story with joy while out walking or riding in the car, and often, after he announces the doctor’s pronouncement will emphasize the story with “that’s what happened.”Recently, Eder has started improvising within the story. It started on a visit with his grandparents. We’ve been spending a lot of time with him working on please and not just screaming when he wants something. In the middle of his dramatic recitation of No More Monkeys, he paused and said, "the doctor should have said please." For that week, every time he told the story, it was about how the doctor could have gotten what he wanted if he just said please. There was a week when every rendition of the story involved monkeys injuring different body parts and getting booboos that needed a kiss. And then, my favorite question, “where's the Dada monkey?"Listening to Eder’s questions and comments on the story has made me realize that despite growing up with this cute rhyming story, I had never really thought about it. I had always written it off as a story to teach kids to avoid jumping on the bed. But now, thanks to Eder, I’m thinking about so many different pieces of the story in a new way. Why do we, in a story for toddlers, model the kind of speech that we wouldn’t appreciate in real life? Why do we tell stories that feature absent fathers and mothers who are out of control? Why tell a story where every single monkey falls off the bed? Why not tell a story where the monkeys learn and find ways to play that don’t involve getting hurt?Now, you may think I'm losing it. Oh no, pregnancy brain and sleep deprivation and suddenly the rabbi is hallucinating Torah in toddler literature. But I think this is adynamic that we all fall prey to at one time or another. All of us have stories we’ve inherited that we’ve never interrogated or stories that we’ve written for ourselves that no longer serve us. It’s very easy for these stories to become ingrained in our psyches to the extent that they dictate how we engage with the world around us. It’s very easy for us to just repeat without ever wondering why.

On January 15, 1997, Princess Diana walked through a minefield in Angola.The background for her walk was the civil war in Angola that raged for 27 years, from 1975 through 2002, which meant that she was walking through a minefield while the war was still going on. When Angola secured its independence from Portugal, a civil war broke out between a Communist faction supported by the Soviet Union and Cuba, and an anti-Communist faction supported by the United States. The war was not only long but deadly, resulting in 500,000 to 800,000 deaths of civilians and soldiers; and the displacement of 4 million refugees.The war also left Angola infected with landmines which meant that on any given day, with a blue sky overhead, a person in the wrong place at the wrong time could step on a mine and be maimed or killed. In fact, although the war ended in 2002, since 2008, 60,000 innocent people have been killed or maimed by land mines.So in 1997, Princess Diana walked through a minefield in Angola for two purposes: one, to raise awareness and urgency to clear the mines in Angola; and two, to create an international treaty that land mines no longer be used in war. Her goal was to have a “mine-free world.”Princess Diana’s walk was highly successful. In Angola over 120,000 landmines have been cleared since her walk. Land that used to be uninhabitable because of mines is now used for homes, schools and businesses. And, within a year of her walk, 164 nations signed the Ottawa Treaty banning land mines, leading to a halt in their production and to the destruction of stockpiles. Real progress.You might think that with such dramatic success, the only reason for her children to ever go back to Angola would be to celebrate the mine-free world their mother had dreamed of. Sadly that is not the case. Just two weeks ago, on July 16 to be exact, twenty-eight years after his mother first walked through a minefield, Princess Diana’s son Prince Harry was back in Angola walking through minefields. Why now?

I’m sure you’re familiar with the saying: “curiosity killed the cat.” We say it when curiosity leads us down an unproductive or even dangerous path. However, in a fascinating interview with Professor Tal ben Shahar, an expert in the field of positive psychology, he offers this wonderful line: “curiosity might have killed the cat, but it keeps us alive.” Curiosity, says this prominent researcher, is one of the great secrets of happiness. It ensures that even when we’re alone, we’re not bored. But also, says ben Shahar, being curious about others brings new relationships, can help mend broken ones and deepens connections.About Rabbi Sonia SaltzmanRabbi Sonia Saltzman is currently serving as Rabbinic Advisor for Graduate Students at Boston University Hillel. She has taught at various synagogue communities, including Temple Emanuel (Newton), Kerem Shalom (Concord) and Newbridge on the Charles (Dedham). Rabbi Saltzman was Senior Rabbi at Temple Ohabei Shalom, Brookline from 2011-2018 and from 2008-2011 she served as the rabbi of Sha’arei Shalom, Ashland.Rabbi Saltzman was ordained in 2008 as part of the first graduating class of the Rabbinical School at Hebrew College. During Rabbinical School, she held student pulpits at Temple Emanuel in Newton and at Temple Aliyah in Needham, completed chaplaincy training at Brigham and Women’s Hospital, and served as faculty for the Bronfman Youth Fellowship Program in Israel. Prior to entering the rabbinate, Rabbi Saltzman worked in the field of micro-finance at ACCION International as head of the Financial Services Department, extending credit to small businesses in the developing world. She also worked in Bank of Boston’s Project Finance Department and taught in its Loan Officer Development Program. Rabbi Saltzman is a graduate of Tufts University (BA in Political Science) and holds a Masters Degree in International Affairs (Columbia University) and a Masters Degree in Bible and Jewish Thought (Brandeis University).She is married to Dr. Ned Saltzman, a urologist at Newton-Wellesley Hospital and has two grown sons, Benjamin and Gabriel.

July 19, 2025The most amazing article appeared in the New York Times this week titled “The Tooth Fairy is Real. She’s a Dentist in Seattle.” No seriously, I am not making this up. Apparently twenty years ago, when Purva Merchant was applying for dental school, her boyfriend set up an email account for her using her nickname “the tooth fairy.” Ever since, she has received somewhere between three to five emails per day from desperate parents and adorable, sometimes disbelieving children. And she has personally responded to each and every message.The article is full of amazing email exchanges. There is the letter from the mother who forgot to exchange a tooth two nights in a row, who writes to the tooth fairy to let her know that there has been a misunderstanding and to ask if she could stop by while her son was at school. There is the letter from the child who received $100 for her first tooth, but then a much lower sum for each subsequent tooth and is very upset at the injustice of it—shouldn’t teeth all be worth the same amount of money?! And then, just some adorable little notes:“My tooth got pullen out at the dentist today and I am excited for you to cone to my house and give me a surprise for being a brave girl.I am sleeping in my mums bed tonight and my tooth is silver so you can zee it and it’s under the black pillow and it’s in a dog box wrapped in a tissue”and“I’m so sorry I swallowed my tooth. And I love you. XXX OOO”Reading these letters stole my heart. I love the whimsy of every exchange. The parents who, long before the advent of AI, were emailing random tooth fairy addresses in the hopes that somewhere, somehow, someone would save them and preserve the magic of the tooth fairy for their child. I love the image of parents sitting down to help their children write to “the tooth fairy” only to receive a real response in exchange. Can you imagine the squeals of joy?! The fact that these letters are all written by a pediatric dentist makes it even better.

When she was six years old, Erin Paisan fell in love not only with Camp Mystic in the Hill Country of Texas. She specifically fell in love with the Guadalupe River, which was the life force, the energy, the joy, of Camp Mystic. Decades later she still remembers with perfect clarity the very moment when she fell in love with the river. As she told the story to the New York Times Daily host Michael Barbaro, she and her mother were picking up her brother from a nearby camp. Six-year-old Erin saw the girls of Camp Mystic playing, splashing, smiling, in the Guadalupe River. She turned to her mother and said: “I want to go to that camp.”It was far from inevitable that she would be able to go. Camp Mystic is a century-old camp. Generations of the same family would go, m’dor l’dor, from mother to daughter to granddaughter. Erin’s family was not a generational family. And they were not, in her own words, an elite family. Her parents were divorced. Her father was not in the picture. And yet somehow, she was accepted at Camp Mystic, which she joyfully attended from ages 10 to 16. She loved Camp Mystic so deeply as a child that every year she packed her trunk in December. She loves Camp Mystic so deeply as an adult that she has instructed her family, when she passes, to have her remains spread at the camp.She loved that all the girls got a fresh start. Nobody knew or cared how rich they were, how big their house was, what kind of reputation they had at school. In the regular year, Erin Paisan was the child of divorce without a dad who was seen as a geek, in her words. But not at Camp Mystic.She shared that when her husband can’t sleep, what centers him is thinking about golfing 18 holes at his favorite golf course. When Erin can’t sleep, what centers her is thinking about the river at Camp Mystic.But wait a minute. Didn’t that river at Camp Mystic flood last weekend, claiming a heartbreaking number of innocent lives and leaving a heartbreaking number of devastated families? How could Erin Paisan find calm by thinking about the river at Camp Mystic?But the problem is deeper than that. While the flooding of the river last weekend was by far the worst and most catastrophic, it has not been the only flooding. There was also flooding in 1978, when Erin herself was a camper. She remembers being moved to higher ground and going two days without food because the waters were so turbulent that counselors could not safely bring the hungry campers the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Then there was a flooding of the Guadalupe River again in 1987 which had deadly consequences.With all that loss, with all that tragedy, how could Erin Paisan still love the river? This question gets at a deeper question. What does it mean to love deeply? What does it mean to love deeply a person? A place? Our nation? Our homeland?