Rabbi Steven Moskowitz

I am thinking about King David. Yes, the Jewish hero king, who unified the southern and northern kingdoms 3,000 years ago, declared Jerusalem our spiritual center and killed the giant Goliath. I have often thought about him when our nation is riveted by scandal and riven by discontent. I have thought about David before—first when Professor Anita Hill testified before the Senate Judiciary Committee (yes, I am that old), and then when President Clinton evaded telling the truth about his affairs, and now again as I watch Dr. Christine Blasey Ford’s testimony and Judge Brett Kavanaugh’s denials. King David was an extraordinarily powerful man. He also had unrivaled character. One day David spied Batsheva bathing on a rooftop near the palace.... This post continues on The Wisdom Daily.

Edmond Jabes, a 20th century French Jewish poet, writes:    “Thinking pulls back the thick veil covering the universe, only to replace it with another so thin we barely guess it is there.” We perceive the word only through this transparent veil,” he said. And added: “What if this veil were language?” Soon we will roll the Torah scroll back to its opening words. We will begin the Torah reading cycle again and begin our discussions (and debates) about its language and import. According to Jewish tradition the Torah is perfect. If a sentence appears repetitive, a word seems curious, a letter seems out of place, the fault cannot be with the Torah, but instead with the interpreter. Each and every week we unroll the scroll and discover a new question. It may be last year’s question, but even if it is, it is different because we are different. And so we begin again. Why does the Torah begin with a bet? If the Torah is without error and authored by the hand of God then why

On Sukkot we shake the lulav. We take branches of a date palm, willow and myrtle, hold them together with an etrog (basically, an oversized, bumpy lemon) and wave them in six directions: east, south, west, north, up and down. This is in fulfillment of the Torah’s command: “You shall take the product of hadar trees (etrog), branches of palm trees, boughs of leafy trees (myrtle) and willows of the brook and you shall rejoice before the Lord your God.” (Leviticus 23) Waving the lulav reminds us that God is everywhere and anywhere. To be honest it looks like a rain dance. This makes sense because Sukkot begins the rainy season in the land of Israel. We continue this tradition even though we live outside of the land. We even add the prayer for rain as we welcome the changing colors of fall. Many of our customs are tied to Israel. Even the holidays follow that land’s patterns rather than our own. Still the Rabbis did not abandon these traditions. Instead they found meaning for t

What follows is my Yom Kippur morning sermon. A Hasidic story. In the wealthier sections of Rophshitz, the town where Reb Naftali was the rebbe, it was common for homeowners to hire night watchmen to guard their property. One evening, the rebbe went for a walk in the woods. On his return to town he walked through this wealthy neighborhood. A watchman saw him coming through the forest and called out to him to halt. When he drew closer, and the rebbe’s face was illuminated by the street lamps, the watchman said, “I am sorry, Rebbe, I did not recognize you in the dark.” The rebbe smiled and then asked, “For whom do you work?” The watchman told him. Then he asked the rebbe the same question, “And for whom are you working this evening, Rebbe?” The question hit Reb Naftali like a lightning bolt. He stepped back and grew startled; he stammered, “I am not working for anyone at the moment.” The rebbe continued pacing back and forth under the street lamps. Suddenly he stopped, t

What follows is my Yom Kippur evening sermon. A friend recently shared the following story with me. A few years ago, the nursery school that he oversees assigned their three-year old’s to classes. Emails were sent to parents informing them of their children’s class assignments. Within an hour, the phone began ringing non-stop. Parents were irate. The school had neglected to accommodate the majority of class placement requests. Little Samuel was not with his best friend David. Abby was not with her best friend Shoshi. They have been best friends for their entire lives—or at least since the day they could say each other’s name, which to be honest was only since they were in the two’s. Parents threatened to remove their children from the school. They demanded refunds—or at the very least, discounts. The requests, however, could not be accommodated. Guess what, the kids all made some new friends. Samuel and David did continue playing on the playground during free time, but A

What follows is my introduction to our Yom Kippur services and in particular Kol Nidre. I once learned from an intelligent, young man a legend about two Buddhist monks. Given these monks’ vow of celibacy, they were forbidden from even touching a woman. The two often went on long walks together, speaking about their devotion to Buddha, communing with the peacefulness of nature and seeking to become at one with the universe. On one such walk they approached a river. A beautiful woman, dressed in fine silk, approached them and asked if the monks would carry her across the river. One angrily refused and explained his singular religious commitments. The other, without even speaking a word, lifted her on his shoulders and carried her across the waters. After she went on her way, the two monks returned to their walk. After several miles, the angry monk, still seething at his colleague's transgression, confronted his friend and chastised him. He exclaimed, “You carried a

Yom Kippur begins Tuesday evening and with it the day long fast that is the hallmark of this holy day. To be honest, I don’t like fasting. It seems so un-Jewish. I prefer eating. On Yom Kippur, we beat our chests and proclaim our mistakes. We deny ourselves the pleasures of this world. The goal is that we become closer to God and on this day, a little more like angels. I prefer dancing. The ancient rabbis appear to agree. The Talmud declares: “One who eats and drinks on the ninth of Tishrei (Erev Yom Kippur), the Torah considers it as if one fasted on the ninth and tenth of Tishrei.” (Babylonian Talmud, Yoma 81b) The evening’s festive meal is just as important as the fast. This is because the hallmark of a Jewish life is celebration. It is one punctuated by dancing and singing. A seudat mitzvah—feast—is the quintessential Jewish act. This is not to suggest that we should ignore the fast. It helps to elevate our souls. It forces us to focus on our prayers—although I must co

What follows is my sermon from Rosh Hashanah Morning. Hey rabbi, everyone is excited to hear what you have to say this year. But… Don’t talk about politics. Don’t get too controversial. Keep it inspirational. Give us something meaningful. I wouldn’t want your job—especially this year. Good luck. What am I to do? What should a rabbi talk about during one of the most contentious and divisive years in memory? Well, I wouldn’t be the rabbi that you know, and perhaps love, if I avoided controversy. I understand that some want me to leave such divisiveness at the synagogue’s door, that here there can be shalom, peace. That this place can be an escape and refuge from all that mishegas. This place can be a sanctuary. I appreciate that perspective. It is not mine. I believe that Jewish teachings have to give us some guidance for how to make our way through this mess, that they must give us wisdom and strength to face the everyday. Quite frankly, if we can’t take Torah o

I enjoy spending hours cycling on Long Island’s roads. One of the first things you learn when riding for such long stretches is not to grip the handlebars too tightly. This may seem counterintuitive. What about when careening down a hill? What about when following closely behind other cyclists? The key, however, is a relaxed grip. Beginners often grip the bars so tightly that they complain about sore necks and shoulders, and even numb hands. The secret about riding a bike is instead balance rather than grip. So it is with life. You have to let go of holding on too tightly. In a few days Jews throughout the world will be celebrating Rosh Hashanah—the Jewish New Year. I am thinking that this holiday is about restoring that balance. It is about realizing that we cannot hold on to life with too tight of a grip. Examine the day’s prayers. They speak about the fragility of life. They frighten us with the exclamation: “On Rosh Hashanah it is written and Yom Kippur it is se