Rosh Hashanah After 9/11 - A sermon delivered at Congregation Albert. Albuquqerue NM following the terrorist Attacks of September 11, 2001

My Dear Friends, 

I am sure that most Rabbis addressing their congregations tonight have changed the topic of their sermons in light of the horrors of the past week. Indeed, as I said at the service we held last Wednesday night in our sanctuary – the world in which we live today is vastly different from the world in which we lived just a few days ago. This despicable act of terror has changed our lives forever. All of us here tonight remember life-changing moments: 

• I was not alive on December 7, 1941 when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. 
• I vaguely remember November 22, 1963 – the day that JFK was assassinated. 
• But I vividly remember Yom Kippur -- 5734 – October 6, 1973 – when Israel barely survived a surprise attack by her neighbors. 
• I remember November 19th, 1977 – when Anwar Sadat stepped off of an airplane onto the tarmac of Ben Gurion Airport. 
• I remember January 28, 1986 when the Space shuttle Challenger, exploded in midair. 
• I remember November 4, 1995 -- when Yigal Amir murdered Yitzhak Rabin in cold blood.

And now, each of us will remember the date of September 11, 2001 as the day that the United States of America – and, indeed, the entire free world – lost its innocence. 

The world is different now. 

We are different now. 

In the aftermath of the unspeakable tragedy that has fallen on our nation; as the painful reports of casualties become clearer every day; as the unreal images of the deformed Manhattan skyline and the gaping hole in the Pentagon become etched into our consciousness, we have had come to grips with a new reality. The world has become a very small place. Our nation faces the prospect of war – a war unlike any other that we have ever experienced; a war that will probably involve a long, difficult and brutal campaign. We will join with many nations in the goal of eradicating the evil of terrorism from our midst. 

Tonight, I am not going to try to make any sense out of this tragedy – I am not going to find words of comfort- for there can be no sense and no comfort in the face of obscenity. Tonight, instead, on this Erev Rosh Ha-Shanah – this beginning of a new year, all that I can do is to focus on the implications of the past few days and look ahead to the future. 

Our first response must be to direct our thoughts, prayers and resources to the many victims of these despicable acts, and to their families and friends. We hold them in our hearts and pray that God will comfort them in their time of suffering and grief. May God grant a refuah shleimah – a complete healing - to those injured. Now is a time for reaching out -- for donating blood and dollars to help in the relief effort. 

We next must fulfill the vital mitzvah of nichum avelim -- comforting the bereaved families who lost loved ones in airplanes and office buildings. We have seen and heard of men and women who perished fighting valiantly to rescue others, who were buried alive in debris and who were incinerated in an instant as Hell dropped on them from the skies. We must remember and honor them all.  Most of us here tonight do not have immediate family members who died. Yet many of us have heard the stories and read the terrifying accounts; we have friends and friends of friends who have lost loved ones – the circle of connections is very small. 

Third, we must be very careful to avoid placing blame for these events on ethnic or religious groups. The reports that have circulated regarding attacks and abuse that have been leveled on the Islamic and Arabic communities in America are frightening and disgusting. Those who carried out these acts, if indeed, they are members of fundamentalist, radical Islamic terror cells -- do not represent all Muslims – any more than Yigal Amir – the murderer of Yitzhak Rabin – represents all Jews. As Jews, we know more than anything the danger of stereotyping and pogroms. I commend our leaders for condemning these kinds of attacks and rhetoric. 

 Fourth, our nation must resist – with all of our strength and resolve, calls for revenge. Justice must be done, yes. The perpetrators of these vile acts must be hunted down and ultimately, held accountable for their actions. War has been declared and it seems certain that our nation will respond. But there is a difference between the search for justice and the craving for revenge. Last Shabbat morning, at Torah study, we were discussing the essence of the High Holy Days. One of the most essential aspects of this of year is the process of Cheshbon Ha-nefesh: taking stock in our selves and our souls. We look back at the year that has past and look ahead to the future. In order for our Cheshbon to be truly successful, we need to be still – we need time to reflect on all that has happened to us – the good and the bad – and we need to be thoughtful as we prepare ourselves for all that is to come. So too, our nation must go through this process in the days and weeks to come. We need to be cautious and careful. In Hebrew, the word for justice is Tzedek. Tzedek also means righteousness. Revenge is not righteousness. Revenge is blood-lust. We cannot allow ourselves to become like them. Whatever response our President and his advisors formulate, I pray that we do not strike out of anger, frustration or a need to demonstrate our military might. We need to bring the perpetrators of these crimes -- and all who support them -- to justice. But in our search for justice, we must never forget that we are called to righteousness as well. 

Fifth: Our world has been changed forever. We no longer can take our safety and security for granted. Now our nation can understand what our brothers, sisters, friends and colleagues in Israel have known all along: the realities of living life under a constant heightened state of awareness due to the threat of terror. Israelis have learned the unfortunate necessity of being ever vigilant. At the same time, as any visitor to Israel knows, life goes on - and it does so with a remarkable vibrancy and vitality. Israel's response to terrorism over the years is an instructive model for our nation. Terrorists seek to destabilize and demoralize the civic life, the democratic freedoms, and the will of the nations targeted. Through decades of experiencing terrorism, Israel's determined maintenance of its civic will, cultural norms, and vibrant democracy – and its ability to fight terrorism forcefully while maintaining a high degree of civil liberties and societal normalcy is a powerful inspiration and model for America. Indeed this has been Israel's finest victory against the efforts of those that seek its destruction. Although we note Palestinian Chairman Yassir Arafat's statement condemning the attacks, the image of Palestinians dancing in the streets in the West Bank and Gaza during America's darkest hour will be etched in the collective memory of all Americans. While this does not reflect on all Palestinians, on the day in which America's freedom was under attack, too many chose to celebrate with murderers and the enemies of freedom. These spontaneous celebrations were mirror reflections of similar demonstrations in the territories when Iraqi missiles were fired on Tel Aviv during the Gulf War. The fact that these celebrations occurred in the shadow of the anti-Semitic debacle in Durban also makes us pause and re-consider the sincerity of our former partners for peace. Tomorrow morning, I will speak about the current situation in Israel and how we must respond as American Jews and as Zionists. But tonight, I want to direct the rest of my remarks towards the relationship of our national tragedy to these Yamim Noraim - these days of awe.  

Most of us, on Tuesday, were glued to our Television sets, radios and the internet. In this age of instant information, every citizen in the United States, and I would wager, a vast number of people around the free world, saw the horrific events the instant that they took place. We all had a shared vocabulary – a shared experience of horror. There was no need to ask one another on Tuesday “how are you doing?” -- We all knew what everyone was feeling. The terrorists who carried out these attacks knew what they were doing. They wanted to strike fear into the heart of every American citizen. They succeeded. They wanted to send us the following message: You are not safe. You can build fences and pretend to be isolated and removed from the difficulties of the so-called “outside world,” but ultimately, you are vulnerable. We know your weaknesses and we will take advantage of them – whenever and wherever we choose to do so. The targets that the terrorists hit were carefully chosen to both inflict maximum casualties as well as to attack what they perceived as central American values. To the terrorists, the World Trade Towers were the center and symbol of American Capitalism. Their prominence in the New York City skyline and the many banks, brokerage houses, and financial institutions they contained were the perfect icons of evil. 

If the World Trade Towers were to these terrorists the ultimate expression of American Capitalism, the Pentagon was the center of the United States Military machine. It was a symbol for them of arrogance and abuse of power. Money and power – that’s what they wanted to attack last Tuesday. That is how our enemies see us . The goal of the terrorists was to hold up a mirror to the United States of America and force us to look at what they perceived as our ugliness. We know that, in many parts of the world, America is a symbol of corporate greed and creeping globalism . To our enemies, America is franchised food, Hollywood glitter and mass-produced mediocrity. We represent military intervention and Global protectionism. They see us as the ones who train the police, supply the weapons of oppression and reap the profits wrenched out of the misery of the underclass. This is how our enemies see us – how do we see ourselves? 

 My friends, tonight is Rosh Ha-Shanah. Tonight, our tradition teaches, we begin a process of self-examination. We ask ourselves difficult questions. We confront our flaws and weaknesses. At the same time, we celebrate our strengths. And so, let us ask ourselves this question: Are money and power truly what we, as Americans are all about? Were these terrorists correct in their assessment of our society and its values? Or is there something else – something deeper that resonates in our souls….. ?

One of the most powerful prayers of these High Holy Days is the Unetaneh Tokef. It states: 

וּנְתַנֶּה תּוֹקֶף קְדֻשַּׁת הַיּוֹם

  U'natanah tokeph kedushat ha-yom 

"Let us declare the greatness of this day. (we say) it is awesome and full of dread. For on this day your dominion is exalted and your throne established in steadfast love. There in truth you reign. In truth you are judge and arbiter, council and witness. You write and you seal. You record and you recount...you open the book of our days and what is written there proclaims itself, who shall live and who shall die. It bears the signature of every human being." 

Many of us (myself included) have a difficult time with this prayer. It reeks of pre-determination – of a God who is like Santa Claus – “making a list and checking it twice, looking to see who’s naughty or nice….” -- and then acting out in retribution for our mistakes and missteps. In light of the horror of the past week, this prayer takes on a whole different meaning. Aside from the terrorists who committed them, only the likes of Pat Robertson and Jerry Falwell are brazen and callous enough to state these attacks were some kind of divine punishment on America for our behavior and values. 

But maybe we’re reading this text wrong. Maybe instead of reading the prayer as a declaration of “Who shall live” ….. We should read it as a question that asks us: “How shall we live?” To me, that is the essence of these Yamim Noraim. These Sacred days are not about God’s judgment. Rather they force us to examine closely the way in which we live our lives. What values do we represent? Do we like what we see? What changes must we make? How do we come to understand the world in which we live and the society that we are creating? Difficult questions. Are we really - as the terrorists who struck us so viciously believe -  only all about money and power? Or is there something else – something deeper and more essential that gives us and our lives meaning and purpose? 

I think there is – I know there is. I say this as a proud American and as a Jew. In his sermon at the National Cathedral on Friday, Billy Graham spoke of how the walls of the world trade center may have been destroyed, but the foundation upon which they were built still remains (I never thought that I would quote Billy Graham in a sermon on Rosh Ha Shanah – but he took my idea and said it first…..). For Graham, the foundation of our nation is God. I agree with that concept, but I would take it a step further. You see, for Jews, there are three basic foundations upon which everything else rests. These are God, Torah and Israel. These three fundamental concepts not only make life worth living – but they are essential for understanding why we are here in the first place. And it is around these three basic concepts that we can, indeed we must respond to the horrors of last week. So let us turn to God. 

To understand how a belief in and relationship with God is essential to shaping our national and individual values, we first must come to an understanding of our own holiness. To have faith is to state that we believe that life is not accidental – it is to come to grips with the fact that we are here on earth for a reason – for a purpose. Life is a gift from God: your life, my life, all life. If it is true that the perpetrators of the violence on Tuesday were, in fact, Islamic Fundamentalists, they were able to justify their actions by believing that they were carrying out in’sh-allah -- the will of God. On Tuesday, at the Civic Plaza, and then again last Friday night, I said the following from this pulpit: Whoever perpetrated these evil acts believed that they were carrying out the will of their god. Let me state here and how: their god is not our God.  

• We believe in a God who teaches us to see the sanctity in all life. 
• We believe in a God who teaches us to love one another 
• We believe in a God who desires peace. 
• We believe in a God who gives us courage and strength. 

The Torah teaches that we are created B’Tselem Elohim - in the image of God. If we see one another as a reflection of God’s presence, then we understand that each of us has a central role to play in the unfolding of God’s purpose. Our lives are not accidental, incidental or inconsequential. If we see God in every human being – regardless of ethnic, religious or racial background, we would not –we could not demonize them as worthy of destruction. So let us now turn to Torah. 

Torah is essential in shaping the way we live our lives – not only through the observances of the mitzvot, but also in its most basic form. Torah is about learning – it is about ensuring that every person in our society receives a decent education. To state that Torah is one of the pillars of our life is to guarantee that ignorance will be eradicated. 

• You see, ignorance breeds hatred. 
• Ignorance is the enemy of freedom. 
• Ignorance breeds suicide bombers. 
• Ignorance is a greater threat to world peace than a thousand terrorists. 

To bring Torah into the world is to pledge to eradicate ignorance, hatred and intolerance. 

To bring Torah into the world is to work for peace. 

In our siddur we read: 

 עֵץ חַיִּים הִיא לַמַּחֲזִיקִים בָּהּ. וְתמְכֶיהָ מְאֻשָּׁר: דְּרָכֶיהָ דַרְכֵי נעַם וְכָל נְתִיבותֶיהָ שָׁלום: הֲשִׁיבֵנוּ ה' אֵלֶיךָ וְנָשׁוּבָה. חַדֵּשׁ יָמֵינוּ כְּקֶדֶם: Eitz cha-yim hi la-ma-cha-zi-kim bah, v’to-m’che-ha m’u-shar. D’ra-che-ha dar-chei no-am, v’chol n’ti-vo-te-ha shalom. 

 It is a tree of life to those who hold it fast, and all who cling to it find happiness. Its ways are ways of pleasantness, and all its paths are peace. 

To bring Torah into the world is to work for peace. 

 Finally, we come to Israel. As Jews, Israel means more than land, or even nationality. Israel represents the power and necessity of community. If the events of last week have taught us nothing else, we have learned how much we need each other. In the aftermath of our tragedy, our nation has come together. We have joined together in prayer, we have shared and given freely of our resources, our blood. We have held on to each other to give comfort, to find support, to reassure one another that our spirit will not break. The Talmud teaches: Kol Yisrael Aravim zeh ba zeh – all Israel is responsible for each other. This past week we have learned – the entire world is responsible for one another. 

Who was not moved by the images of the Star Spangled Banner being sung in London’s St. Paul’s Cathedral? Or the tears shed in Paris, and Prague and countless other capitals and cities. The blasts in New York, Washington and Pittsburgh that were heard round the world have taught us just how small the planet is upon which we live. Our community must join together to create a global community – united in our desire to find holiness – to allow God’s presence to shine through the pain. We need to teach tolerance – and wipe out ignorance and bigotry. And we need to create communities of support and love. 

My friends, the terrorists who murdered over 5000 men, women and children last Tuesday thought that they were attacking the values of our nation. Nothing could be further from the truth. Through their barbarous actions, they have united us – as a nation and as a world that cried out for peace and justice. We need God –we need to remember that we were created in the image of God. We need Torah – we need to eradicate ignorance and teach peace. We need Israel – we need a community that cares for one another. Our values of God, Torah and Israel have stood for 4,000 years – and they can withstand the impact of a thousand attacks. Today marks the beginning of a New Year. Last Tuesday, we saw the beginnings of a new world. 

May the coming New Year, 5762, bring us hope that our values will prevail in the face of darkness. May we continue to find healing and hope in the promise of tomorrow. 

Ken Yehi Ratzon – may this be God’s will. AMEN¬

Reflections on a Trip to Leipzig, Germany. - Temple Emanuel Shabbat AM services - July 18, 2026

Dear Friends – Shabbat Shalom!

It is truly wonderful to be here with you this morning. This is the first time that I have spoken from the pulpit at Temple since my retirement. I want to thank the clergy for inviting me to be here.

As some of you know, my family and I recently returned from a remarkable trip to the city of Leipzig, Germany. Accompanying me and Sue were our children, Elana and her husband Gregg, Ethan and Zahava, our grandson, Ezra - along with my sister, Nina, and her husband, children and grandchildren. All in all there were 20 of us who travelled together. But we were not alone. We were part of a delegation of approximately 60 children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren of former Leipziggers who were invited to return and learn about the city’s history, past and present.





Our mother, Sophie Kovalevsky Black’s was born in 1926. This year would have been her 100thbirthday, so the fact that we were able to travel together to honor her memory was immensely powerful as well.

The members of our group came from many different countries. Our family was the largest contingent, but there were several other multi-generational families as well. We had participants from the US, England, Canada, Australia, Serbia, and Israel. While everyone came from diverse backgrounds and experiences, we were all connected through the fact that our parents or grandparents had lived in Leipzig during the rise of Nazi Germany – and this reality shaped the trajectories of all of our lives. Some were descendants of survivors of the death camps, others’ parents or grandparents were saved by being placed in the Kindertransports to Britain. My grandparents – Esther and Abram Kowaelwski were refugees from the Ukraine who fled to Germany – “a civilized country” after a pogrom took place in their village of Zolotonosha shortly after they were married. They were able to get Visas to the United Stares because, even though our mother was born in Leipzig, she and her parents never received German citizenship. This fact saved their lives because, although the US quota for German-Jewish refugees was filled by 1938, no one was coming in from the Soviet Union – and they were classified as stateless refugees originating from the Ukraine. Everyone had a story. And everyone understood the realities of what it meant to be returning to this city – in their own way.



As I thought about how I might frame my remarks this morning, I realized that, given the limited amount of time that I have to speak, it would not be possible to share everything that happened to us during our trip. And so, instead, I turned to this week’s parasha to see if I could find a framework around which to wrap my remarks.



On this shabbat, we begin a new chapter of Torah, Devarim, or Deuteronomy. This final book is a series of sermons by Moses that recap the journeys of the Israelites from Egypt to the brink of the Promised Land. One of the fascinating aspects of Devarim is that while it tells our people’s stories of redemption and deliverance -it does so exclusively through Moses’ eyes. It is a first-person narrative. As a result, the details differ – sometimes slightly, sometimes extensively from the accounts that we read in the previous books of the Torah. We see Moses’s passion, hope, anger, frustration, bitterness and pain coming through in his recounting of events. This is as much a book about Moses as it is about the history of our people.

This morning, like Moses, I can only share my personal perspectives – but, by definition, it will be incomplete. Each of us experienced Leipzig differently – depending on our relationship with the history we were encountering.

For my sister, Nina and me, our time in our mother’s birthplace helped us to understand, on a much deeper level, the stories we had heard from childhood. We saw streets and places, heard the language and phrases, walked in parks and city-squares that were part of the lexicon of our experience – but instead of abstract concepts, they now came sharply into focus. Even the food I ate reminded me of the meals that my mother and grandmother would cook for us – from delicious tiny hamburgers to schnitzel and apple strudel. Our journey was very emotional. One particularly moving moment occurred when got off our train to Leipzig from Berlin and stepped into the Hauptbanhoff – the central train station – and realized that what we were seeing for the first time was the very last thing my mother and grandparents saw as they fled the city that had forced them to leave in November of 1938 – two weeks after Krystalnacht. My sister and I hugged each other and the tears flowed and flowed – as captured in this photograph that Sue took:



Our children, who had known my mother until her death 9 years ago, had a different experience. The Savta (Grandma) Sophie they had known related to them through the prism of a lifetime of experience. She was calm, wise and patient – most of the time.... But as children, Nina and I often bore the brunt of the fear and anxiety that that came from her witnessing first-hand the rise of Nazism as an impressionable child and that haunted her in adulthood as a young mother- and indeed, throughout her life. We remembered how she was always afraid that something terrible was going to happen to us and how difficult it was for her to let go of that trauma. It wasn’t always easy. The Shoah and the city of Leipzig was always present in our home.

To her grandchildren, Savta was a loving, caring, and brilliant source of encouragement, knowledge and unconditional love. They were all perfect in her eyes and could do no wrong – as we feel about our grandson, Ezzy. The 5 great-grandchildren who were part of our family were learning new perspectives about their Safta-Gedola (Great Grandmother) for the first time.



Another important perspective that was an integral part of our trip was the fact that so many Israeli descendants of former Leipzigers were part of our group. While they shared many of our same memories, stories and trauma that they inherited from their parents and grandparents who either escaped or survived, they also carried the additional stress that stemmed from the October 7th pogrom, the multi-front war, waves of missile attacks and the rise of international anti-Israel and anti-Jewish hatred that has followed in its wake. For these Israeli fellow travelers the idea of being in Europe at a time when speaking Hebrew is seen as a dangerous act – with multiple documented cases of attacks against their fellow Israeli travelers– was exponentially intensified by the fact that they were returning to the place that had caused so much pain and trauma in their family’s history. At each stop on our journey, learning about the horrors of Nazism was filtered through their own fears and experiences.



There was also the perspective of our hosts – the city of Leipzig. As I mentioned, we came as honored guests. In 1991, shortly after Germany was reunified after the fall of the Berlin wall, the leadership of Leipzig made the decision to invite former residents – those who fled and those who survived – to return to the city of their birth in order to acknowledge and make some attempt to atone for the horrors of the Shoah. About 15 years ago, when the number of survivors was rapidly dwindling, the city decided to expand the program and open it up to the children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren of former Leipzigers. It eventually became a biennial event that was scheduled concurrently with “Jewish Week” in Leipzig – when the city’s government, historical, cultural and religious authorities created a multi-faceted program for the entire city that remembered, celebrated, and tried to come to grips with the difficult truths of the fate of its former Jewish population. There were concerts, lectures, museum exhibits and many other events that were held throughout the city. There were so many activities that it was impossible to attend them all – but whenever and wherever we did, we were recognized and given seats of honor.



But in addition to the members of our group with whom we travelled, we also were accompanied - in a very real sense - by the most important contingent: the loved ones who no longer were alive, but whose experience in Leipzig shaped all of our lives and continues to do so today:

· Those whose parents, children and siblings were murdered in the Nazi death camps,

· Those who, like my mother and grandparents, managed to flee to safety;

· Those for whom the idea of returning to a city that caused them so much pain, sorrow, terror, and loss would be impossible,

We felt their presence in the synagogue we attended on Shabbat.

· We heard them in the German accents all around us.

· We saw them in our faces captured in the reflections of store windows and the long shadows cast during the hot summer afternoons.

· We remembered them in our laughter and our tears – every step we took they took with us.

· They were with us as we experienced the possibilities of redemption in a country that is doing everything in its power to remember, learn from and never repeat its horrific past.

We began our journey with a special reception at the old Leipzig City Hall – a building that dates back to the 14th Century. There we were greeted by the Deputy Mayor of the City (the mayor was in Dusseldorf and could not attend.) She welcomed us with powerful words where she told us that every German citizen whose relatives participated in the rise of Nazism – whether actively or passively - had to come to terms with the horror carried out in their names. There was no way to undo what was done, she said, but the main reason that the descendants of former citizens are invited to return over and over again was to help bear witness and show the hard and painful work of atonement in which they were completely invested.

After her remarks and a short program, all the descendants were invited to sign a book of remembrance that has an honored place in the center of City Hall. Each family received their own pages and wrote whatever came to mind.



There were many other powerful experiences – but I want to share two in particular.

The first was an exhibit at the Museum of the City of Leipzig that contained photographs taken by the Jewish photographer, Abram Mittelmann who lived in Leipzig and had a studio where he took portraits of many of the citizens of the city. Prior to 1936, Mittelmann took pictures of everyone – even Nazi officials. Eventually, he was boycotted by non-Jews, so his clientele shifted to members of the Jewish community exclusively. Mittelmann was able to escape Leipzig and move to France, but a trove of his glass negatives was discovered hidden in an attic in 1988. There were thousands of portraits of Jewish and non-Jewish residents. One of the big surprises for our family was the fact that my mother and grandparents were prominently on display – along with a video of my mother’s testimony for the Spielburg Shoah foundation. To see pictures of my mother and grandparents from the 1930’s was quite remarkable. To hear her voice as she talked about her childhood was overwhelming. For most of us, it was the first time we had heard it since she died in 2017.







Another powerful experience was when we dedicated three Stolpershteines – or “Stumble Stones” in front of the apartment where my mother and grandparents lived until they left in November of 1938. Stolpersteines are small brass memorial stones set into sidewalks to commemorate victims of Nazi persecution. They were initiated by the German artist Gunter Demnig in 1992, and each stone usually marks a person’s last freely chosen place of residence, with their name and life dates engraved on top. There are a little over 116,000 of these markers that have been placed throughout Europe. It’s interesting to note that, while we were in Leipzig, three other Stolpersteines were placed just outside our hotel – not for Jews, but for homeless and mentally ill individuals who were also murdered by the Nazis. There are stones that also have been placed for journalists, LGBTQ+ victims, Catholics and so many others who were slaughtered in the Death Camps.







]
The Stolpersteine dedication ceremony was very powerful. The night before, I couldn’t sleep, so – as I am wont to do at times – I wrote a song using the text from the 118th Psalm –
“Even Maasu HaBonim, haytah l’rosh pinah –
the stone that the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone.”

I sang my song and my sister spoke about our family. Again – we wept copious tears as we added yet another piece to the puzzle of understanding of our mother’s childhood. While we were at the dedication, we met two remarkable families. One had volunteered with the Stolpersteine program to make sure that our stones would be well taken care of. They promised us that they would polish them and keep them from harm.

The other family lived in the actual apartment in which my mother and grandparents lived. The day after the ceremony, we received an email – in Hebrew – from this German, protestant family, inviting us for tea on Sunday afternoon. It turns out that the mother of the family – named Yvonne – was studying theology and she fell in love with Hebrew. She travels to Israel frequently and is a passionate student of both the Hebrew Bible and Jewish theology.

I cannot adequately describe the feeling of walking through the doors of that apartment. It was exactly as our mother had described it: the high ceilings, the room off the kitchen where their maid had lived, the locations of the coal-lit stoves that kept them warm in the winter (the stones were no longer there – but we could see the dark marks on the floor from where they had been), the view from the kitchen window out into the garden below… we felt her presence so strongly. This was the last place in her life that she had felt safe – like she belonged – until it all was snatched away by barbarism, cruelty and evil.



Many people have asked me if the journey to Leipzig was healing – if it provided me and my family some sort of closure. I’ve thought a lot about that question and the answer is, “no” – there cannot be true closure from the Shoah. And yet, it did serve to fill in many pieces of the puzzle of our mother’s life, and for that I will be eternally grateful.

I cannot say enough about the remarkable people that we met who coordinated and led our trip. The leaders, Sven and Katya, were compassionate, caring, attentive and warm. They understood the many layers of complexity that a trip like this brought with it. They gave us room to tell our stories, to breathe, to cry, to laugh and wonder in amazement as we explored a city that was part of who we were – and yet so far removed from our daily lives.

I want to conclude with a song that I wrote at the end of our trip. During our first few days in Germany, most of us spent a few days in Berlin. We then took the train to Leipzig – a short ride of about an hour. It turns out that I was sitting backwards in the train car – and that became a powerful metaphor for me – looking backwards and moving ahead.


The Train To Leipzig Backwards from Berlin © 2026. Rabbi Joe Black –Lanitunes Music - All Rights Reserved

[YouTube link:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uQ4KCq96VMQ]

We boarded at the Berlin station 

Ours seats all faced the rear

This was no vacation

We didn’t come for souvenirs

This city that expelled us

A place once filled with dread 

Whose invitation now compelled us

To look backwards, not ahead 

 

CHORUS:

Our journey took us places we were scared of

Where our family’s story ends and then begins

Memories we dimly were aware of 

The train to Leipzig backwards from Berlin

 

Arriving at the terminal

We stepped into the heat

Glass ceiling high above us  

Harsh sun on cold concrete 

Overcome now with emotion

As we retraced their sojourn

3 fled in 1938. 

20 now returned.

 

The few photos we remembered

Were faded black and white

But like stoking dying embers

We brought color back to life

Reciting names and places 

Etched upon the stumble stones

Dedicating sacred spaces

Resurrecting bones   

 

CHORUS

 

BRIDGE

A city filled with mystery

Where music filled the air

Broken glass and history

Were scattered everywhere

This land of Bach and Mendelssohn  

That’s trying to atone 

For the panic and adrenaline 

That filled our childhood home

 

CHORUS -

A Prayer for the End of a Legislative Session - Invocation for the CO State House

 

Our God and God of All Creation:

The Psalmist writes:

אֶשָּׂ֣א עֵ֭ינַי אֶל־הֶהָרִ֑ים מֵ֝אַ֗יִן יָבֹ֥א עֶזְרִֽי׃  עֶ֭זְרִי מֵעִ֣ם יְהֹוָ֑ה עֹ֝שֵׂ֗ה שָׁמַ֥יִם וָאָֽרֶץ׃

I lift up my eyes to the mountains – from there will my help come.” (Psalm 121)

In this sacred chamber, the tasks of governance seems both insignificant and indispensable at the same time.  When we try to assess our actions in light of the challenges we face, our attempts to create change can  seem insignificant. And yet, fighting against the temptation to succumb to a cynicism bred from hubris is a defining characteristic of the divinity You have implanted within us all.

As this legislative session draws to a close, instead of looking at the myriad of tasks in front of us, let us set our heights a little higher. We look back at the months that have passed with mixed emotions.  The seemingly endless hours of negotiation have been both fruitful and frustrating.  How many hopes for meaningful change were left discarded on the cutting floors and backroom deals of the political process?  How many well-intentioned initiatives were defeated in the name of expedience and influence?

But there were also moments when our highest ideals were on display for all to see.  When politics were set aside for the sake of the common good; when men and women of character came together in the name of our shared values of democracy and compassion; when both sides of the aisle were united in determination to celebrate the potential for making a difference…it was, is and always will be these acts of humanity that give us hope in the face of the challenges we face.

Thank you, God for the ability to shine a light on the goodness of humankind – even when we it is hard to see.  Thank You for the ability to rise above the petty and the partisan to make a difference.  Thank you for these leaders who share their passion for representing their communities. Thank you for the clerks, officers, advisors, and all who labor behind the scenes to keep our government running smoothly. May the recess that awaits bring rest, renewal and a reignited hope for all that is good.

We pray for those around the world whose lives are uprooted by natural disaster, perceived injustice, disease, and warfare.  We pray for our great state of Colorado - may we always lift our eyes to the mountains to find Your presence.

AMEN

 

The Rains Teach Us of Our Interconnectedness. - Invocation for the CO State House 4/30/2026

Our God and God of all people:

God of the Rich and God of the Poor

God of the Broker and God of the Broken. 

God of the Hungry and God of the sated.

God of those who have no God.

Over the past few days, we, in Colorado, have been experiencing something unusual – something that has not been part of our daily lives for a long time: It has been raining and snowing!  Our hardened earth, dangerously low reservoirs, snow-starved ski runs, and straw-dried grasses and prairies are currently being treated to precipitation that, throughout the course of this past winter and early spring has eluded us. 

We are digging out umbrellas and raincoats that have lain dormant. The soothing sounds of droplets on our roofs seem miraculous after so many days, weeks and months of drought. It’s amazing how the presence of moisture can bring so much joy and hope.

The rain and snow that feeds parched fields and mountain streams remind us of just how interdependent we really are. We rely on the rhythm of nature to sustain us and help us to thrive. When the natural order upon which we rely is unbalanced, we scramble to compensate and compete for essential resources. When water is scarce, we need to sacrifice and conserve. We also understand that the need for water unites us – it is part and parcel of our humanity. We all thirst for stability – regardless of politics, faith, status or power.

As we look ahead to the final days of this legislative session, the metaphor of scarcity and competition hits hard. The debates and disagreements that have taken place in this chamber remind of just how interconnected we all are. Each legislator understands that they are laboring on behalf of their constituents.  While there may be differences across the aisle, ultimately, their task is to do all that they can to ensure that our State of Colorado remains strong, vibrant, and able to support every citizen-regardless of where they live and how they vote. This takes compromise and conservation. Just as we cannot assume that the moisture that sustains us is unlimited, we also know that without  partnership, the fertile soil upon which legislation must be crafted will cease to yield the bounty on which we all rely.

And so, as we give thanks for this small reprieve from drought -as we give thanks for rain and snow – we also can take the time to appreciate the partnerships and compromise that we have witnessed over these past months. May it continue to bring hope and growth to each of us. As this session draws to a close, may we all draw sustenance from the holy work that makes a difference.

AMEN

 

 

 

 

Endings and Beginnings - Invocation for the CO House of Representatives - April 23, 2026

Our God and God of all Humanity:

You teach us, through the wonders of Creation, that beginnings must also have endings:

·      Seasons Change

·      The Sun rises and sets

·      Flowers bloom and then they fade

Our lives are so short!  O that we might take to heart the words of the Psalmist:  Teach us to number our days, that we might acquire a heart of wisdom!

 

Each day is a gift- each sunrise  - is an opportunity:

·      To make a difference

·      To make change in our own lives and in the lives of those in the communities in which we live.

·      To find the extraordinary in the day to day miracles we encounter at all times

 

For almost 4 months, these legislators have come to these chambers to try and make a difference.  They have argued.  They have fought.  They have won and they have lost.   But through it all, they have participated in a unique and sacred ritual of governance.

 

These last few weeks of the session portend more than the end of a legislative process – they also mark the dissolution of a unique community of peers. Despite all the contentiousness that we have witnessed, every person who labors in this chamber is part of something much larger than any arguments that have taken place.

 

As we take the time to look back, let us also strive to see the holiness that was created – even amid perceived chaos and enmity.  Let us understand that arguments that occur for the sake of heaven are holy – and those who are given the responsibility of governance are both imperfect and enlightened men and women – created in Your image.

 

May any wounds that been open over the past four months find swift healing.

May misunderstandings give way to new insights.

 

We thank You, our Creator, for the ability to appreciate the beauty and diversity of nature – and of this chamber.  May these last  few days of this year’s session help to make our state, our nation, our world a better place.

 

AMEN

Budgets, Values and Vision - Opening Prayer for the CO State House. April 9, 2026

 

Our God and God of all people:

On this sacred day – these legislators are focused on the difficult task of approving a $46.8 Billion budget for our beautiful State of Colorado.   While many perceive the budgeting process as a tedious wrangling of numbers from one column to another, there is another perspective.  Instead of seeing columns, figures and numbers, I humbly suggest that we also consider the fact that each dollar allocated can be an opportunity to bring about change and instill hope in the lives of all too many of our citizens whose capacity for wonder is compromised by the brutal struggle for daily existence.

Our budgets reflect our values.

Our values color our vision of the world around us.

Our vision determines the way we fulfill the sacred responsibilities that have been entrusted to us – as legislators, citizens and servants of a God who holds us to high standards of compassion and cooperation.

On this day of difficult and all too often painful choices, let us pray that in addition to numbers, these lawmakers might see faces of the men, women and children who are affected by each column in the balance sheet and each line item that is added or subtracted before the final results are tallied.

At the end of this process, may all of these dedicated public servants be able to find peace in the knowledge they have done all that they could  to make our world, our state, our neighborhoods, our homes – ourselves – just a little bit better.

May politics and pride be no stumbling block to the achievement of the shared goal of working to perfect this all-too imperfect world.

God, we thank you for the opportunities You have given us to make a difference.  May we continue to go and grow from strength to strength.

AMEN

 

 

The Urgency of the Halfway - Opening Prayer for the Colorado State House - March 12, 2026

Our God who calls us to reflect on who we are and why we are here: This morning, we come together in liminal space and time as we   near the half-way point of our legislative session.  We marvel at weeks and months that have passed while simultaneously feeling the anxiety of the layers of unfinished business that loom in front of us. We find ourselves experiencing the discomfort of the in-between – feeling the pressure of what is yet to come while realizing what has already come to pass. 

In a world that all too often demands unyielding perfection from its leaders, there is little, if any, margin for error.  Words of condemnation come easy in political parlance.  But as hard as we are on our colleagues, we are even more merciless on ourselves.  Those who have been chosen to serve feel the burden of answering the clarion call of the people:  to make a difference; to change the unchangeable; to fix the flaws in our laws, fate of our state and the holes in our souls.  And yet, the realities of time and space force us to acknowledge that we cannot complete every task. We feel a sense of frustration and sometimes those closest to us bear the burdens of our feelings of incompleteness and insecurity.

 

And so we pray:

 

Dear God, You created us with imperfections.  Watch over all who serve in this chamber:  the legislators and the lawyers, the captains and clerks; the interns and the innovators.  Give all of them the strength to pursue the task of governance, and the patience to accept that there is always more to accomplish than is humanly possible.  Protect the souls of your servants who are exposed to the harshness to human expectation.  Help them to support one another –  even in the heat of debate and disagreement.  Let any conflict that arises be for the sake of the greater good and teach us to quickly forgive and forget the sting of slogans and slights that are thrown about in the messy process of  crafting legislation.   As we cross the threshold of the halfway and realize that the end of this session looms ever larger in the forefront of our consciousness, may every person here become reconciled to the sacred necessity for compromise and communion.

 

We thank You for the ability to make a difference O God.  We see You in the passion of our colleagues. We feel you as we address the urgency of the unfinished.  We pray for Your guidance as we seek Your presence in our daily lives.  Help us to understand that our  sacred task is to strive to make the lives of every resident of our great State of Colorado better because of our labor and debate.  Then and only then will we be able to do Your holy work.

AMEN