Together, Toward Redemption: My Message Upon Being Installed as Senior Rabbi at Temple Beth El

Photo credit: Dan Young

My dear friends, I’m overwhelmed with gratitude to stand here today. Becoming a rabbi — and stepping fully into my new role as Senior Rabbi here at Temple Beth El — is not something one does alone. It’s only possible because of the support, love, and guidance of so many.

First and foremost, to my incredible wife and partner, Adira — thank you for your love, patience, partnership, and support. I truly couldn’t do this without you. And to Lilah, Shemaya, and Akiva — you inspire me every day to be better, to dream bigger, and to work for a more just world.

To my mentors and friends Abe and Josh, thank you for being here this weekend, and even more so for walking with, supporting, and guiding me throughout my journey. To my friends and family who traveled to be here — and to our public officials, Jewish communal professionals, and interfaith colleagues — thank you. I feel profoundly blessed by your presence.

To everyone here at Temple Beth El — my honored predecessor, our rabbi emeritus, Rabbi Hammerman; my extraordinary clergy partners, Cantor Kaplan and Rabbi Ginsburg; my incredible staff colleagues; our devoted volunteers, dedicated Board, and especially the search and installation committees — thank you for making me and my family feel so at home in Stamford, for creating such a beautiful weekend, and for all you do to strengthen this sacred community.

And to my new Temple Beth El family – I am so grateful for you. Indeed, I am deeply aware that this moment isn’t about me. It’s about us — what we’ve already begun to build together, and what we dream of creating in the days and years ahead. It’s about the kind of sacred community Temple Beth El is, and all that we can still become: a congregation of belonging and purpose, where we show up for and support one another; where we strive, hand in hand, to pursue a more loving and just society, and where we work together to repair our broken world.

As we take this opportunity today to honor our congregation’s past, celebrate our present, and dream about our future, I want to share with you one of my favorite stories in the Talmud (Bavli Sanhedrin 98a) — a story that, serendipitously, has a beautiful connection to today’s parashah, Tazria-Metzora, a portion focused on illness, care, and recovery; and that, to me, powerfully captures both the promise and the challenge of the sacred task before us in the days and years ahead:

Once, Rabbi Joshua ben Levi asked Elijah the Prophet a question only Elijah could answer: “When will the Messiah come?” Elijah replied, “Go and ask him yourself.” “OK,” Rabbi Joshua responded. “Where can I find him?” And the prophet answered, “He sits among the lepers outside the gates of Rome.” 

Now, for the rabbis of the Talmud, Rome wasn’t just a city — it was a symbol. Rome was the quintessential arrogant empire, where the powerful thrive and the vulnerable are cast aside. The city gates represent the empire’s controlled borders. Those deemed desirable are allowed in; everyone else — the tired, the poor, the huddled masses — are excluded, denied access to privilege and resources, seen as dispensable to those in power.

Given these realities, Rabbi Joshua asks Elijah, “How will I recognize him?” After all, he doesn’t know who the Messiah is or what he looks like, and a lot of poor and sick people sit outside Rome’s gates, barred from entering the city and accessing its resources. So Elijah responds that the Messiah is distinguished by the fact that he “removes and rewraps his bandages one at a time, since he might be called upon at any moment to redeem the world, while the other lepers remove and rewrap their bandages all at once.” 

The image of the Messiah sitting, ignored and unwelcome, outside the locked gates of Rome offers a powerful contrast. The Messiah represents the world as it ought to be, a fact that is underscored by the community of mutual care formed by the Messiah and the other lepers. According to some scholars, the Messiah and the lepers are not just tending their own wounds, but each other’s, creating among themselves a microcosm of God’s promised future of a world that is radically inclusive and thoroughly just. 

This, our tradition teaches, is the messianic vision: a world where those in pain aren’t ignored; where no one is left out or left behind; where community is suffused with compassion and sustained through shared responsibility. This repaired and redeemed world is held back by a regime that cares only about its own power, position, and privilege, and can thus only be brought about by transforming the empire’s policies and practices, or else, failing that, by altogether changing the regime.

So Rabbi Joshua travels to Rome, finds the Messiah, and asks, “When will you come?” And the Messiah answers, “Today.” Rabbi Joshua is elated. He hops the next boat back to Israel to be there in time for the Messiah to arrive. But “today” comes and goes, with no sign of the Messiah. Another day passes, and another, and another – and still the Messiah does not appear. Feeling crestfallen and deceived, Rabbi Joshua returns to Elijah and says, “The Messiah lied to me! For when I spoke with him, he said he was coming ‘today’ – yet many days have passed, and still he has not arrived!” “This is what he meant,” Elijah explains. “Hayom - im b’kolo tishma’u / the Messiah would come ‘Today’ — if you listen to God’s voice.” Redemption, in other words, need not be a matter of fate. It can be a matter of choice. The promise of a better world is always within reach — if we’re willing to heed God’s call and actively pursue it. We are called to be God’s partners in this work of ushering in the messianic era through our actions, through our choices, through our commitment to advancing a world where all are included and cared for, and where no person suffers want; a world that honors every single human being as manifestations of the Divine image, equal in value and infinite in dignity. 

This, I believe, is the core of our mission as a congregation. Our purpose as Jews is not to simply wait around for a better world. We are called to be active agents in bringing that world to life. 

The work of building a loving and just world begins here, in this room. If the world Jewish tradition calls us to advance is one in which divisions between people are erased and communities are joined together, then cultivating our own caring community here at TBE is a necessary starting point. 

Cultivating a caring community calls for those of us gathered here today, and indeed everyone in our congregation, to commit to showing up for and supporting one another throughout our lives’ journeys. It means participating in one of our Beth El Cares initiatives, such as Project Ezra, providing meals to the bereaved in the congregation; or our Reyut committee  – volunteering to help congregants who are sick or struggling. It looks like showing up on Shabbat, even if prayer is not your thing. It looks like going to a funeral or shivah, even if you didn’t know the deceased or aren’t close with the bereaved. It looks like spotting an unfamiliar face, introducing yourself, and inviting them to share their stories. 

And just as we look inward to strengthen the bonds of compassion within our community, we must also look outward — beyond our walls — to bring that same loving spirit to the world around us. That’s why I find it so beautiful, so powerful, that Temple Beth El has always been “a synagogue with windows, and not walls” – notably the opposite of our tradition’s image of Rome, which builds walls and locks doors to callously shut itself off from even seeing or hearing — let alone helping — those who suffer outside. Let us never forget that the Messiah, by contrast, deliberately sits outside the gates of empire – among the vulnerable, the excluded, the overlooked – joining with them as they care for one another. That is where redemption begins. And that is precisely where our work must begin as well. 

We do this through acts of direct service and generosity — feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, and comforting the afflicted. We do this when we partner with organizations that support refugees, when we provide food for those experiencing food insecurity, when we extend our hands and open our hearts to neighbors in need. 

And we must not stop there. According to our tradition, the imperative to repair the world requires not only comforting and caring for those in need, but also working to build a society in which there are no needy — transforming structures that cause and perpetuate suffering, that entrench and expand inequality, that enshrine privileges for some while diminishing the worth of others. Tikkun olam involves both tending to the wounds of those left outside the gates and reshaping the very systems that put and keep them there. These are not separate tasks, but intertwined expressions of the same sacred obligation: to honor the Divine image in every person. That means advancing policies that ensure no one is left out or left behind, that everyone has access to life’s essentials and the opportunity to flourish. We do this through both interpersonal acts of lovingkindness and advocacy for systemic change — as individuals, as a congregation, and in partnership with other people of conscience who share our vision of a world rooted in human dignity, sustained by belonging, and redeemed through equity.

This is the sacred mission we’ve inherited. This is the task we’ve taken on. And this is the kehillah kedoshah, the sacred community, that we are cultivating together: one where we lift each other up, and where we work together to lift up the world.

Yes, it will be hard work. It will require us to rethink what is possible, to challenge the systems that keep people out and leave others behind. But it is work that matters. This congregation matters. What we do here — together — matters. And I am committed to partnering with you to build such a community of caring and moral action, a community that embodies the world we want to see inside our walls, and advances it beyond them.

As we embark on this sacred journey together, I invite you to join me in a small but powerful act—an act that symbolizes our commitment to this collective vision. Just as in a wedding, when a couple takes vows to create a new world together, today, we, too, make a vow. Our work is not only to enrich our lives here, within these walls, but to draw from that strength and use it to build a world of love and justice. I invite you to rise as you’re able, to join me in this sacred commitment, by reciting together the words of the prophet Hosea:

וְאֵרַשְׂתִּ֥יךְ לִ֖י לְעוֹלָ֑ם וְאֵרַשְׂתִּ֥יךְ לִי֙ בְּצֶ֣דֶק וּבְמִשְׁפָּ֔ט וּבְחֶ֖סֶד וּֽבְרַחֲמִֽים׃ 

And I will partner with you completely:

I will partner with you for righteousness and justice,

And for goodness and mercy, 

וְאֵרַשְׂתִּ֥יךְ לִ֖י בֶּאֱמוּנָ֑ה וְיָדַ֖עַתְּ אֶת־יְהֹוָֽה׃ {פ}

And I will partner with you faithfully; 

And you shall know the Infinite.

You may be seated. 

My dear friends, with God as our guide, and one another as friends on the path, may we together advance a world that reflects the values we hold dear, a world that is worthy of our ancestors and fulfills our promise to our descendants, affirming the faith that ultimate redemption will be immediately at hand hayom – im b’kolo tishma’u / today – if we heed God’s call, embrace our purpose, and work together to bring it about.

Barukh atah Adonai, Eloheinu melekh ha-olam, Blessed are You, Infinite One, our God, who nourishes our spirits and guides us into sacred partnership. You created the world with purpose and humanity in Your image,  calling us into relationship — with one another and with You — to redeem the world with love and justice. As we come together, rabbi and congregation, may our community be strengthened by wisdom, kindness, and a shared commitment to repairing the world. Blessed are You, Infinite One, who fills our hearts with joy and purpose in this holy work. 

And let us say, “Amen.”