A Gift from Senator Orrin Hatch on Erev Hanukkah

Honestly, I am not sure what to do with this, nor do I think it will replace Adam Sandler's Hannukah song but it is fascinating to me that a Mormon Senator from Utah wrote a modern Hannukah song.  Enjoy, and let me know what you think:


Eight Days of Hanukkah from Tablet Magazine on Vimeo.

Michael Steinhardt on Jewish Innovations and the Organized Jewish World

While I have mixed feelings about what Michael Steinhardt has to say on one level, on another, I completely agree with his argument. The source of my concern comes from the praise of birthrightIsrael as THE success he claims it to be. Nonetheless, his argument is compelling for the need to find a new way to do business in our world. The absence of any suggestion as to how is obvious but it does not negate the accuracy of his claim. It is for us, those who work in the field, to find new, smart ways to touch the souls of Jews around the world in meaningful ways. I invite your comments and meaningful suggestions after you watch Michael Steinhardt!

Struggle - Toledot 2009

"Those are my principles, and if you don't like them... well, I have others."

Groucho Marks

This is one of my favorite quotations of all time. With these few words, Groucho summarizes some of the truths of the human condition: we are inconsistent, we develop, we change; we live in tension between competing values, expectations, demands; and sometimes, we are pained by the contradictory opinions and beliefs that we hold at the same time, struggling to decide which ones we should follow, strengthen, or abandon at any given moment. At times, it hurts to live in two very different ideas - we don't know what to do, we look for answers. We cry out for help and for the ease of consistency, probably knowing that it will never come. And sometimes we just give up.

The struggling of two boys in the womb, Jacob and Esau, is so painful to Rivka that she goes to either "inquire of God," "demand of God," or "supplicate to God" to try and understand why this is happening to her. These two beings compete inside their mother, literally trying to crush one another. The classic midrash on this verse explains that the movement and struggle would get particularly intense whenever Rivka would pass either a Beit Midrash - a House of Study - or a place of Idol Worship. In the first case, Jacob would try to get out of the womb to go and study Torah while in the second case, Esau would try to rush out to get access to the place of idol worship. How could two so very different children exist inside one womb? In this midrash, which influences many of the commentaries that follow, there is a clear "good choice" and a clear "good son" and a clear "bad choice" and a clear "bad son."

Rabbi Shalom Noah Berezhovski, the Slonimer Rebbe, in the spirit of the midrash I just mentioned, understands the word "sons" in this verse to represent thoughts, specifically good and evil thoughts, pure thoughts and abominable thoughts. The pain that Rivka feels, in the eyes of the Slonimer Rebbe, grows out of the existence of both inclinations, thoughts, inside her. She is a righteous woman - how can she tolerate impure thoughts within her and how can they coexist with goodness? In such a narrative understanding, there must be a clear winner, the good must prevail, and not just for the short term but for the transmission of the blessing and the future fulfillment of Divine promises.

In the world in which we live, however, things are almost never black and white. At best, they are varying shades of gray and we constantly struggle with competing values: environmentalism and convenience; egalitarianism and critical mass; eco-kashrut and expense; universalism and particularism. And when the principles come into conflict, it is just painful, almost paralyzing because we want to do the right thing or we want to do what is best for us even if the consequences of that choice will negatively impact another. What I find more and more often, however, is that the internal struggles are not about good and bad but about competing principles and values where there is no clear good or right but nuances and trade-offs. That is not to say that there are not things that are clearly "bad." There are. But the next time you find yourself being critical of a choice that you know someone made, try to understand the internal competition and pain the other person went through in coming to that decision. You might just learn that it is not as simple or as clear as you thought.

And when the tensions and challenges of living with different principles becomes to great, we scream out "Why me?" While there may be little comfort in the answer that it is not just you, God's answer to Rivka implies that this is normal, that we do live with internal contradictions, that we struggle with ourselves - and that as long as we stay the course and engage honestly in our thinking, then we will make the right decision, the good will triumph, and we will grow as a result.

Shabbat Shalom.

Parashat Toldot 2009

Parashat Toldot - Senior Sermon Notes from Rafi Lehmann z"l

The following words of Torah were to be shared this week by our friend and teacher Rafi Lehmann, zikhrono livrakha, who tragically died so recently. Even in his absence he continues to teach us Torah. May we all learn from his example. Thank you to Rafi's father, Rabbi Allen Lehmann for sharing Rafi's words with us.

Growing up in Florida, even the biggest hill in my hometown of Gainesville seemed quite insignificant in hindsight. It was a late summer morning in Northern Jerusalem, and I had just arrived the day before on a group flight with forty plus university students from all over the North American continent. We were up early with the sun after being awoken by the crow of a nearby rooster. I was living in the French Hill neighborhood in student dormitories at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Feeling a little bit jetlagged a few of the other newcomers and I began our trek to campus to get ourselves registered for Summer Ulpan and became better acquainted with what I would soon regard as the big scary monster of Israeli bureaucracy.

Gradually, as a group, we climbed up the Churchill Boulevard, a World War I cemetery on our left and a pristine, glistening view of Jerusalem on the right—it was really quite distracting. Once arriving on the campus we walked to the Rothberg International School building and began the registration experience. By the time we finished it was lunchtime and asked the folks in the Rothberg building if they had any recommendations for lunch. Without missing a beat, we were directed to the Frank Sinatra Cafeteria—a cafeteria-style eatery with all kinds of a la carte Israeli specialties. A group of a dozen American students that arrived on the group flight the day before sat together in the corner of the dining hall. The food was good and rather filling, we happened to see the representative from the New York office that escorted us on the group flight having a cup of coffee with a friend, we bid her a pleasant afternoon and we were on our way to set up our campus emails.

It was there when it happened. An earth shattering noise that sent car alarms blaring. After a bit of confusion, it soon became clear that the noise was an explosion and about an hour later I was informed that the bombing occurred in the very cafeteria in which I stood only ten minutes earlier.

(pause)

I don’t share this story with you out of a heartfelt desire to gain sympathy for a difficult experience that I went through, rather upon first reading this week’s parashah, Parashat Toledot, a particular piece of its narrative stuck out for me and it’s a thought that I remember exclaiming to myself that afternoon at Hebrew University. Very early on in the parashah, we encounter Rivka Emeinu in the midst of what could only be characterized as a difficult pregnancy. Genesis 25:22 reads, “V’yitrotzatzu habanim b’kirba”—“And the children struggled together inside of her.”—she was having twins. Now, this is interesting and certainly chomer l’drush-as Rashi would even say in so many words- in and of itself. But I’m more interested in the second half of the verse. The text goes on, “va’tomer, im kayn, LAMAH ZEH ANOKHI?!”—“If it is so, why me?” Why is this happening to me? The 12^th century biblical exegete, Avraham ibn Ezra, understood this to be a question asked by Rebecca and being addressed to other women—if they had experienced similar travails while pregnant themselves, and their answer is a resounding no. Ibn Ezra taught that Rebecca’s response should be read as follows: “If pregnancy is generally experienced differently than the way that It is occurring to me, why is my pregnancy different?” (hey’rayon m’shuneh)

Ibn Ezra, without question exposes us to a very contextual, p’shat, text-based reading of the verse. But I want to approach this question that Rebecca is asking from a different perspective altogether. I’m not convinced that Rebecca’s question is purely a scientific one—far from it. Rather, Rebecca’s question strikes at the very core of her being, her very existence. In the Zohar, from the section entitled “Midrash Ha’Ne’elam” we learn that Rebecca’s question should be understood to mean, “lamah nivrayti?” or “Why was I created?”

“Why is this happening to me?” is one of life’s questions that many of us ask ourselves during trying times. It almost never has associated with it an easy answer. However, when asking such profound, deeply existential questions, it is rarely the “answers” that prove to be the most revelatory—at times, merely getting to the source, the heart of the question proves to be truly transformative and perhaps even “life-changing.” It could boil down to the question of what is my purpose, my motivation, my very role in this seemingly complex web of a universe in which I find myself.

I find Rebecca’s next move in the saga to be meaningful and quite instructive and it has helped me on my own life journey. The Torah teaches us that immediately following the matriarch’s deep question of “Why me?!”, the text goes on with “Vataylekh l’drosh et Adonai”—“And she went to go seek guidance from God.” At this difficult, and self-definitional time, after having asked the all-important question, Rebecca seeks out God, the Source of Life, in order to better understand her purpose, perhaps even to seek out support from the one called “El Rachum v’Hanun.” Again, it is important to emphasize that she is not necessarily in search of answers, justifications, or a rationale for her excruciating situation.

It is exactly those trying moments when we yearn for proximity to the Force in the universe that we understand to be larger than ourselves. There is a desire to transform the chaotic, unintelligible present with an ordered discernable future.

That extremely difficult summer afternoon, and the days, weeks, and months that followed it led me to be a “doresh haShem”—a seeker, in an unquestionably deeper manner than I had experienced before that moment. In a sense, that “drishah” took place much more within than “without.” I have to admit, initially on an emotional level, I wanted answers—who was responsible? How could this happen? What could motivate a human being to be capable of such blatant hatred of the “other” to the extent that a heinous act like this was even possible!? Once the initial emotional, and even a bit exasperated response calmed a bit, it became an opportunity for heshbon nefesh and a genuine chance to reflect quite personally and confront life’s big questions: “what’s my purpose,” “what’s the very nature of my existence”… “LAMAH ZEH ANOKHI?”—The likes of which we so instructively observe Rivka pursuing in our parashah.

Master of the Universe, help us to embrace opportunities to reflect upon and better understand what it is that gives our lives purpose, direction, and a seep sense of meaning. While we will almost certainly encounter “birth pangs” in the process, grant us the strength and courage to prevent them from becoming stumbling blocks on our respective journeys.

Amen.

Welcoming and Comforting - Parashat Vayera

My intention this week was to write exclusively about the mitzvah of hachnassat orchim - welcoming guests - as the key to the future of successful Jewish institutions. The last twenty-four hours, however, have shifted my attention from hachnassat orchim to halvayat hamet - the mitzvah of burying the dead. In the Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 127a, we are taught that among all the mitzvot:

These are the actions whose fruits a person enjoys in this world but whose principle remains intact for her or him in The World to Come, and they are: Honoring your parents; acts of lovingkindness; early attendance at the house of study for shaharit and ma’ariv; showing hospitality to guests; visiting the sick; providing for the bride; escorting the dead; absorption in prayer; bringing peace between two people; and the study of Torah is equivalent to all of them...

The Talmud focuses on a variety of mitzvot and uses investment language to describe the benefits that fall to the person who performs them. When the Talmud talks about enjoying “the fruits in this world” and the “principle remaining intact in the World to Come,” the imagery is as if we are building an investment fund made up of our actions, our doing mitzvot, the interest from which we benefit today while retaining the principle, letting it grow, so that we can benefit from it in The World to Come. Think of it like an Olam Ha’Bah (World to Come) Roth IRA.

While there is an implication that some may perform these mitzvot precisely to build up there Other Worldly credits, either inflating their own personal stock or offsetting other less than worthy deeds, I don’t think the Talmud is actually talking to them. Rather, the Talmud is describing the character of a person who is constantly and intentionally working to make this World a better place. They do so not in order to gain reward at all, as described in Pirke Avot, but because they are called to do it, to repair this World in both joyous and difficult moments: Welcoming guests, showing hospitality, making another feel comfortable, at home, in what could be an otherwise uncomfortable situation - being a stranger in a community; Escorting the dead, part of Hesed shel Emet - the ultimate in true compassion for it cannot be repaid - includes the act of burial and the act of comforting mourners at the most difficult of times. Those engaged in these acts on a regular basis never seek out recognition, nor are they motivated by it. They do it because it should be done.

The world of Jewish institutions and organizations must focus anew, in a near zealous way, on the mitzvah of hachnassat orchim - showing hospitality and welcoming guests. As people seek to connect, there is a chance to welcome them, to make them feel a part, to show them the warmth and love of communities devoted to Torah. We need to take an honest inventory of how we are doing in our performance of this crucial mitzvah. Those who do it well will not only survive these challenging times but will thrive into the future. Those who do not will limp along with what they have but will slowly disappear as they fail to attract newcomers. Without doing welcoming well, we cannot inspire people with our incredible visions or ideas. They don’t stick around long enough to hear what we have to say because our first message is, unintentionally, “We are not interested.” Thinking about the summer, we need to challenge ourselves to do the same honest inventory I am talking about, to examine how we are doing at welcoming new campers, new staff members, and the myriad of visitors, from potential camper parents to families of campers and staff members, to Jewish professionals from throughout the region. We have to be open to learning, to adapting, and to improving on what we do. And not just because we want to be around and thriving in the future but because it is the right thing to do.

Listening to NPR this morning while dropping the girls off at school, the reports of the mass murder at Fort Hood in Texas were chilling. One reporter noted that it is often the case that we learn much about the murderer immediately but that we may wait at length to learn about the victims, if we ever learn more than their names at all. How do we participate in halvayat hamet - in escorting the dead - when we live so far away? What can we do to be nihum aveilim - to comfort those who mourn? There will be names and addresses soon and we can contact people and extend our words of comfort to those that do not know us. And there are many other ways to comfort those who are struggling with understanding how something like this happens in this world while they grieve the loss of loved ones.

One other way we can acknowledge the loss of these brave soldiers, those who were preparing to head off to Iraq and Afghanistan, is to acknowledge those soldiers we see who were not attacked at Fort Hood but who walk through our airports and communities everyday. If the Psalmist is correct - “Lo HaMeitim Y’Hallelu Yah” that it is not “the dead who sing Halleluyah,” then we can extend comfort to those who continue to serve in this World. Rather than focusing on outrage at the perpetrator, deserving though he is, supporting the victims and the soldiers serving in the US military is not only the ultimate in protest but it is a form of eternal and truthful Hessed. I will be in the airport again on Wednesday, heading to Kansas City for recruitment meetings, and am certain that I will see many soldiers making their ways either home or back to base and deployment. What will I do to support them and show some comfort to them?

Many communities have proclaimed this Shabbat one in which to focus on Hachnassat Orchim in the spirit of Abraham, who in this week’s parashah demonstrates why he and Sarah are the consummate performers of hachnassat orchim. There are excellent resources available from The Partnership for Jewish Life and Learning in Washington DC about this crucial mitzvah and they can be accessed at http://www.pjll.org/article.php?id=642 . While we rejoice this Shabbat and try to match the level of excellence in welcoming guests that Sarah and Abraham display, we must also be reflective about the implications of yesterday’s tragedy in Fort Hood and find ways to participate in the comforting of distant mourners. In focusing on both of these mitzvot, we all help move this world a bit closer to becoming The World to Come, where nobody will feel like a stranger and where mass, senseless murders will be replaced with ever increasing and abounding Love.

Shabbat Shalom.

Parashat Noah 2009

“Blast from the Past” was a movie about a family that entered a home-made bomb shelter in the 1950’s or 1960’s and never came out. As far as they knew, the world was destroyed and leaving the shelter would lead to radiation exposure and death. For this family, the “command” to leave the bomb-shelter would only come at the moment dictated by the amount of time it would take for the radiation to dissipate. Fast forward several decades: the time for a safe and healthy exit from the bomb shelter arrives and the parents send their son, now an adult, out to see what he can find.

Of course, there never was a nuclear attack or meltdown, there was no radioactivity, and while the world of the 1950’s was long gone, it was replaced by progress and not “the bomb.” The son emerges into a new and exciting world with great trepidation. Honestly, I do not remember whether the movie was very good or particularly funny, but I do remember that the re-entry into the wold was filled with potentially hysterical and treacherous possibilities. I also remember that when I watched the film, I realized that I was watching modern cinematic midrash on parashat Noah.

Noah enters the biblical-era equivalent of the 1950’s bomb shelter. Radiation caused by humanity is not the vehicle by which destruction arrives; rather, flood waters sent by God but caused by humanity’s violence and corruption rain destruction on the earth. While the characters in the movie do not stock up on pairs of animals, they do have to put aside large quantities of supplies in order to live through the radioactive years and then to work to re-populate the earth. Similar to the arrival of the date in the movie when radiation no longer posed a threat to life and allowed for the family to leave the bomb shelter, the day arrived for Noah when the floodwaters receded, when it was safe to come out onto dry land.

Interestingly enough, once Noah knew that the waters receded, that the land was dry and that it was safe to emerge, he did not leave. He stayed in the ark. He waited. It is easy to imagine how frightened Noah must have been. The world as he knew it was destroyed. It no longer existed. Not only that but once he did go out of the safety of his floating home, nothing short of the obligation to rebuild, re-populate, and re-imagine the entire world rested on Noah’s shoulders. So, Noah remained in the confines of his Ark, with his family, and the animals. He stayed in cramped quarters that I have to imagine were not so pleasant, but were safe and familiar and... easy. While in the Ark, Noah could maintain his regular routine, make very small changes to ease life, and avoid facing up to the new reality he would encounter outside the Ark.

In fact, Noah only left the ark when he was commanded by God:

“צא מין התבה”

“GET OUT OF THE ARK.” God’s voice demands Noah to wake up, to get out, to see the New World not with fear and trepidation but with possibility, excitement and creativity.

“GET OUT! ALL OF YOU, GO OUT OF YOUR SAFE PLACE!” God’s demand is not just of Noah but of everyone and everything with him in the Ark.

“GO AND FILL UP THIS NEW WORLD!” God gives permission to Noah, commands of him, to create a new reality, a New World

Like the family in the movie, our world was not destroyed nor was everything washed away by a flood of Biblical proportions. But, we do face a new reality in the Jewish world. Whether we like it or not, our world is different today than it was before the onset of the financial meltdown. And those organizations, ideas, programs, etc that survived the initial meltdown may not be those that ultimately survive. I believe that the Jewish World faces one of the most exciting and daunting opportunities in decades. But to succeed, we must be willing to leave the Ark of comfort in the past. We must ask difficult, critical questions about ourselves and our institutions, about our ideologies and our programmatic approaches, about our values and our agendas, about our prior objectives and those of our future. Moreover, we have to be willing to accept different answers than those of the past.

In this new reality, exceptionally strong, historically successful organizations will survive and thrive. They will remain fiercely devoted to a set of core values and vision and at they same time they continually stress innovation, creativity, and adaptation - the same approaches , I might note, that insured that Judaism and the Jewish People would survive thousands of years of ongoing displacement and persecution. They will not rest with the status quo. They will exit the ark, see the changed landscape and plant new vineyards of ideas and programs that will flourish in the newly fertilized soil.

What would have happened to Noah and his family and all those on the ark if they never left? What if they never heard the call from God? What if they simply ignored it? Starvation and dehydration, misery, disease, death, and the end of the experiment that God started with Creation would have been their fate. For those in the Jewish world unwilling to leave the ark, the consequences will be similarly dire: they will lead to individual and organizational extinction. Those parts of the Jewish world that tinker around the edges, that refuse to openly and fully re-imagine and re-invent themselves, those that become stultified, or those that abandon their core values for the fadish or trendy, will limp along until they disappear.

As for me, I am an optimist. The new landscape we see is exciting and refreshing, invigorating and redemptive. I am fortunate to be part of an institution that sees this bright future and is investing in it. Ours is an incubator for the future of the Jewish People, for our ongoing relationship and dialogue with Torah and with God, and for new approaches to learning and living based on values that have been central to Ramah since its outset.

This Shabbat, we all have a chance to exit the ark. Will we? And when we do, what will we allow ourselves to see and imagine? Will we be moved to create the next new world of Jewish opportunity? Noah did and we live as beneficiaries of his efforts. We owe it to the next generation to do the same.

Shabbat Shalom.

In Memory of Rafi Lehmann z"l

I still remember the crux of the conversation with my friend Heidi after the death of one of our classmates from high school. I was sitting in my dorm room on the phone with her, and with the high level of wisdom that only a sophomore or junior in college could muster, I tried to comfort Heidi with a wide range of theological and philosophical explanations for why this tragedy had come to pass. I don’t remember what illness struck down our friend; I do remember trying to find intellectual words of comfort to respond to a soulful crisis. As I got older, and added at least a little humility and thoughtfulness to my quiver of skills, I came to realize just how vain and foolish my theological-intellectual response was. The arrow I shot probably hit the bulls-eye. The problem was that I was shooting the wrong arrow at the wrong target in the first place.

I have been thinking about that conversation with Heidi a lot the last few days. Despite the fact that the phone call, and the death, took place over twenty years ago, the questions that spurred that call never stopped coming. And since Tuesday midday, they have come back with a special ferocity:

“How could such a terrible thing happen to such a great person?”

“Why did God take him?”

“How could God do this to such a wonderful family?”

The question of “Tzaddik v’Rah Lo” or “The Righteous Soul who suffers,” Theodicy, Why Bad Things Happen to Good People, is as old as eternity itself. And I have been seeking words to give as an answer since Tuesday, and since I was in college, and since I was a camper. On Tuesday, a person with the soul of a Tzaddik, a true anav - a humble servant of God, a friend and staff member at Ramah Darom, Rafi Lehmann died. He was a few months shy of 28 years old. A month ago, Rafi fell and broke several bones. A chain of events started leading to a spiraling decline, the ICU, unconsciousness, and death. All of us who knew Rafi were and continue to be devastated.

We search for words to express our own sadness; and more words to try and explain this tragedy, to make sense of living in a world where something like this happens; and we search for words to comfort Rafi's incredible family - his parents, Rabbi Allan and Joanne, his brother, Elie, and others - and for his future, Sara Beth - and for his closest friends. And none come, at least none that are adequate. Our tradition gives us words, a script of sorts, to use for circumstances, circumstances where words do not come easily: "Barukh Dayan HaEmet" or "Blessed is the True Judge" and "HaMakom Yenachem Etchem B'Toch Sha'ar Avelei Tziyyon v'Yerushalayim" or "May God comfort you among all the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem." They are ways to open or close conversations when words are difficult to come by. They are mantras, repeated over and over during the transmission of awful news and during the process of mourning. They do not bring about magical healing. They do, however, provide openers and closers. And whatever emotions they elicit from the recipient - anger, sadness, wailing, sobbing, talking, and or silence - are the right ones, no questions asked. Like all other words in these circumstances, they are insufficient, but they are a starting point.

Sitting at Rafi's home in Boston yesterday, I was thinking a lot about possible ways to answer the e-mails and the facebook chat inquiries asking about Tzaddik v'Rah Lo, the tragedies of the righteous. There will be a time for theological discussions with those who are asking but it is not now. Now is the time to remember Rafi. The gap in the world, in the hearts of all those who love Rafi, will not be filled again by those words nor will those discussions bring Rafi back to us. The best I can do for myself is to try and make sure that the gap left by Rafi's departure from this world is filled by remembering him, what he tried to do, the lives that he touched and the legacy of Torah and Ma'asim Tovim - Good Deeds - that he left (as we were reminded by the teachings of Rabbi Danny Lehmann between Mincha and Ma'ariv last night).

Of the countless memories of Rafi at Camp Ramah Darom, where he spent ten summers, three stand out in my mind:

Our entering ninth grade theme for Yahadut learning at Ramah Darom focused on "friends, relationships and sexual relations in the Jewish tradition." Campers were offered a menu of different courses from which to choose. Rafi wanted to teach a traditional text class on Shir HaShirim - The Song of Songs. Lots of people told me not to bother offering the course as nobody would sign up for it. They were wrong. I still see a group of four or five campers, all kinds of kids (lest you think it was just the "serious kids") sitting in the Bet Midrash at Ramah Darom at a round table "shteigging" through the text with Rafi. Absent were the giggles that one might expect from adolescent males studying a text that is filled with romantic and erotic imagery. In place of those giggles was a serious discussion about relationships that grew out of a Biblical text made relevant by a compelling soul, by Rafi.

Rafi was a wonderful ba'al tefillah - literally though poorly translated as "owner of prayer" - and often led Kabbalat Shabbat and other services at Camp. He enveloped himself in his tallit, resting it over his head, and truly owned the words he sang as he served as our shaliah tzibbur. In his humble way, his voice channeling his sweet soul, Rafi represented us all beautifully to the Kadosh Barukh Hu - The Holy Blessed One.

Finally, there were several summers that Rafi and Benjie Ackerman, his dear friend, would come back to camp from days off with sticker photos of the two of them that would end up on my walkie-talkie and on the walkie-talkies of other members of the senior staff of camp. Rafi and Benjie were characters at camp, characters in the best sense of the term. Their simhat hayyim, their joy of life, was contagious and they connected to the broadest array of people. You couldn't see them and not smile or laugh. Rafi was one of the people that had Torah and the ability to make it real to so many different kinds of people because he could connect to them where they were at AND infuse the conversation with Torah places that they COULD visit. While both Rafi and Benjie had independent personalities at camp, the indelible image is of the two of them bringing fun and Torah and God to people in camp.

Rafi's legacy is and will be seen in the future by the generations of people that he touched in school, in life, and in camp, as the compelling teacher who attracts students from the broadest spectrum of interests, as the sweet, humble voice of the community, and as the neshamah who connected deeply with the people he encountered. You can see his legacy in the constant stream of testimonials to Rafi that appear in people's status updates on facebook and you can hear it in the voices of those he touched.

If I had any words, I wish I had those that would bring Rafi back to us. But I don't. The world truly is a lesser place because of Rafi's death. And our community is lesser because of his loss.

I wish I was in touch with Heidi these days. She taught me one of the most important lessons a young, not yet in rabbinical school, future rabbi could learn. It is a lesson that I wish, in the deepest corner of my soul, I never had to use.

Entering this Shabbat and Holiday, I know that I will be thinking about Rafi a lot and will be sending thoughts and prayers of love and nechama to his mother, Joanne Schindler, his father, Rabbi Allan Lehmann, his brother, Elie, his fiance, Sara Beth Berman.

T'hey Nishmato shel Rafael Peretz Ben Chana V'HaRav Aleksandr Shabbtai tzrurah b'tzror hachayyim...

Please God, may the Memory of Rafi Lehmann be bound up in the bonds of Life.

Y'hey Zikhro Barukh...

His Memory is and will always be a Blessing to All of us.