YK Day 5785

It's difficult to answer when people ask me what synagogue or denomination I grew up in. Jewish Community Centers primarily shaped my Jewish adolescence. Which one? Well, lots of them. The short answer is this: you probably saw your Rabbi most often on the bimah. I saw them in the weight room or the racquetball courts. That's just how I grew up. Fitness was part and parcel of Judaism for me. They were on the same team. Because I didn't grow up with normal parents. I grew up with amazing parents. Who also happened to be triathletes. My mother, eight weeks after giving birth to me, completed one. My father is The Terminator. Half man, half metal. Still working out twice a day. In his seventies, my uncle Edgar still rides hundreds of miles each month worldwide. "Strong like a bull, smart like rock," as my Grandfather used to say. 

I engaged with Judaism through the lens of physicality—sports conditioning, exercise, and performance. As a small child, I considered playing basketball with men five times my age, much like how an Orthodox Jew grows up davening on Shabbat. It was just how I was Jewish. In a way, the idea of strength and exercise—for both 9-year-olds and 90-year-olds—was integral to what it meant to be Jewish—strengthening oneself, practicing, and working out. 

This past year, the events of October 7th and my personal life have again transformed my perception of strength and Judaism. Last year, I proudly announced a trip to Israel for this upcoming Spring in this very spot. But the world has changed since then. I'm reminded of that every day on my way to work, passing a billboard on Highway ninety-five that shows a Star of David necklace on a chest that reads, "You shouldn't be afraid to wear this in public.” That’s insane to me. Listen, I’ve driven through Florida and seen the billboards about Jesus, Hell, and damnation. But a public sign letting people know that it’s dangerous to be Jewish? It’s inconceivable. 

Since last October, I have become a different Jew—a different Rabbi. Throughout the past year, pages upon pages have been ripped from the Book of Life before their time. We have been transformed by the horrendous events that transpired and continue to occur. But we have also grown stronger by holding tight to our tradition and one another. 

At this moment, being Jewish means being strong. Strength is what defines us as Jews and Israel as a nation. It's what her soldiers in Israel need, the hostages and their families, and the millions of Jews who sit in pews as we do this afternoon. Judaism, as a religion, embodies strength in many different capacities. It has enabled us to endure as a people as we look towards the future, outwards at the world, and inwards to ourselves on this day of reflection. 

After my sophomore year of college, I went to Israel for the first extended period on a Jewish Federation-organized trip called Project Otzma. I spent ten months in the north, south, Jerusalem, and Tel Aviv. As a naive, first-time out-of-the-country 20-year-old, I idolized the Israelis I saw around me. For the first time, I wasn’t one of the only 6-foot Jewish people in the room. These folks were fit, tan, and trendy.

But moreover, their reality was so different from mine. A country and people that weren’t consumed by luxury and indulgence. I was far from Silicon Valley and sprawling suburbia with renovated schools, football fields, and classrooms with the newest computers. Instead, I saw people building a country. Walking around, I listened to the slight inflection of both attitude and passion in their voice. I wanted to be Israeli. Speak Hebrew like them. I so badly wanted to be strong the way they were. Not indifferent, but just tough. 

The people on the bus next to me, my exact age, weren’t headed to a Frat Party. They were off to their stations in the army. They regularly went home on Friday to celebrate Shabbat with their families, whether religious or not. They ate vegetables as snacks and not drive-thru fast food. 

I admired how they embraced one another, like family, kissing friends, male and female, on the cheek. How they would invite strangers into their homes and offer them whatever they had in their refrigerators. 

The way they spoke of their country was not as history but something they were actively participating in. Kvetching and complaining weren't the first things out of their mouths. Old women schlepping their wheeled grocery carts from the shuk. It all embodied a different type of strength I had never experienced before.  It put into perspective all the trivial pursuits of my own college life. 

From ages 19 to 30, I have taken nine separate trips to Israel, including kibbutz, tours, volunteering, Ulpans, and Yeshivas—about three years, give or take. And each time I stepped out of the airport, I knew I was among a community, a people, my people, that had learned to adapt, overcome, or merely cope with their reality—the Iron Dome, security guards at every entrance, bomb shelters, and an unfriendly geopolitical neighborhood. I witnessed people who relied on one another—strengthened by one another. 

When I returned home after Project Otzma, I felt stronger. Not physically—in fact, I gained a few pounds—but in my Judaism. Strengthened by my homeland and the people in it, having learned one of its true meanings. 

And I believe that my experience with Israel and the name of the trip were not a coincidence. Because the word “otzma” can mean either courage, strength, or to become powerful. As we read in Isaiah, “He gives power to the faint, and to the power­less he increases strength” ( Isaiah 40:29).

“נֹתֵן לַיָּעֵף כֹּחַ וּלְאֵין אוֹנִים עָצְמָה יַרְבֶּה”

The root of this word, otzma, is "etzem" or "b'etzem." Meaning by oneself or to oneself. In a sense, the type of strength of otzma is that of finding it in oneself, which is precisely what happened to me on that trip. I learned to rely on myself for the first time. To muster courage from within. 

Rabbi Yehuda Leib Edel explains that otzem or etzem refers to "inherent strength.”  Alternatively, he explains that otzem in the sense of "strength" is borrowed from the word etzem, meaning bone, because the bone is physically the most substantial component of one's anatomy. You know, the skeletal fabric, the hardened structure that keeps us upright. 

Our backbone, if you will. The symbol of strength in character. The colloquial phrase "growing a backbone" means being assertive, confident, or resilient.  But my idea and definition of strength continue to grow as I grow as a rabbi. Nowadays, it’s not sitting with Israelis in cramped cafes as they smoke and banter. It’s sitting with laypeople and hearing about the death of their children, uncles, brothers, friends, and colleagues. It’s meeting single parents after a divorce or even a death. It’s officiating at and burying one of my best friend's mothers. And then his sisters several months later. After eight years of watching all these folks continue celebrating, living each day as a blessing without pulling the covers over their heads and pushing life away. They have taught me strength as well. 

I’m proud to acknowledge and say that Jews I know who sit here today, and even the ones I don’t, are tougher than they were last year because that’s what it means to be Jewish. It’s becoming stronger every year in ways we cannot imagine. After all, it is no coincidence that, according to Rabbi Shlomo of Urbino, a late-15th-century Italian scholar, there are 36 distinct Hebrew words for "strength" or "power." 

“גְּבוּרָה, זְרוֹעַ, חַיִל, כֹּחַ, נֶצַח, עֹז, צוּר, תֹּקֶף, עָצְמָה” 

Each depicts a different type of courage, force, muscle, or energy. Remember, the heart is an organ, too, and like the biceps and quadriceps, it too can be strengthened. So can our spiritual connection to God. 

This year, some of us have gained spiritual and muscular strength, while some have acquired strength of mind, perseverance, and clarity of thought. Some have struggled with mental health and have worked on their emotional state. Some had rehabbed rotator cuffs, hamstrings, or hips. Sharon. It’s all the same. It’s all strength. And the Torah tells us that. 

Every leader of Israel has demonstrated strength differently. Joseph, Abraham, Miriam, and Moses exerted themselves differently. Let's not forget that Moses's impatient brute strength against a rock prevented him from entering the land of Israel. It's not one-size-fits-all. It’s not pure muscle that releases the sword from the stone. 

Even though Jews are depicted stereotypically and in a derogatory sense as weak—brilliant but not browny or stout—the Jewish people are some of the strongest people I know. Strength is what defines the Jewish people. It's embedded in our Torah, our hearts, minds, souls, and every fiber of our being. It's in our DNA. It's why there are so many occasions when we recognize it. 

When completing the end of one of the five books of Moses, it is our custom to say the following: Chazak, chazak v'nitchazek! “Be strong, be strong, and may we be strengthened!” But chazak, like most Hebrew words, has multiple meanings or connotations, which perhaps helps us understand why we call upon it three times. It can mean: 

To make substantial, strengthen. To make firm. To display strength. To make severe. To support. To have courage. To repair. To prevail. To have, take, or keep hold of.  To retain. To hold up. To be firm. To grow stout. To grow rigid

All of these are ways of being strong. Rabbi Ari Lev clarifies, "I like to imagine that each time we speak this phrase, we call upon its varied attributes, asking that words of Torah and the lives we have honored in reading them will support and encourage each of us on our journeys to wholeness and connection.” 

He says, “There is a recognition in the repetition that we are bound to them, and they are forever a part of us. Thus, may we each draw courage and strength from one another and our service as Jews.” 
In Deuteronomy, we read the following as Moses passes the torch of leadership to his protege and successor, Johshuah. He says: “Be strong and resolute (חִזְקוּ וְאִמְצוּ), be not in fear or dread of them; for it is indeed your God who marches with you. Then Moses called Joshua and said to him in the sight of all Israel: "Be strong and resolute (חֲזַק וֶאֱמָץ), for it is you who shall go with this people into the land that God swore to their fathers to give them, and it is you who shall apportion it to them. (Deut. 31:6-7).

And then again, we hear: “And [God] charged Joshua son of Nun: "Be strong and resolute (חֲזַק וֶאֱמָץ): for you shall bring the Israelites into the land that I promised them on oath, and I will be with you." (31:23) 

The Vilna Gaon explains that chozek, or chazak, refers to outer "physical strength." In contrast, Rabbi Yehuda Leib Shapira explains that ometz refers to the "strength in one's heart" (i.e., one's spiritual resolve), and chozek refers to the "strength of will" (i.e., courage). The courage to take control of oneself and become the best possible version of oneself. 

To illustrate the difference between the two, he explains that chozek is necessary for entering a battle or any dangerous situation. Meanwhile, ometz is the courage to remain in battle and not run away. 

Rabbi Mark Margolis explains, "Jewish tradition teaches us to connect ometz lev, courage of the heart, with the quality of chesed, lovingkindness, and concern for others. According to Midrash, the rabbis explain that there is no real courage in using one’s strength to push someone into a pit or off a roof. True courage consists of seizing the hand of one about to fall or lifting someone who has already fallen.

After Moses' passing, God reiterates King David’s message, using this expression four more times when speaking to Joshua. Generations later, when King David speaks to his son and future successor Solomon, he too repeats the phrase

“חֲזַק וֶאֱמָץ”

We, too, receive a similar charge at the start of every new Jewish year. Psalm 27 is recited throughout the penitential season in the month of Elul. Before Rosh Hashanah, it is customary to end the year with words of encouragement: 

“שְׁמַע־יְהֹוָה קוֹלִי אֶקְרָא וְחֲנֵּנִי וַעֲנֵנִי…קַוֵּה אֶל־יְהֹוָה חֲזַק וְיַאֲמֵץ לִבֶּךָ וְקַוֵּה אֶל־יְהֹוָה”

“Hear, O LORD, when I cry aloud, and have mercy on me. Answer me…Look to God: Be strong and courageous, and God shall strengthen your heart.” Encouraging us to cultivate our inner strength to meet new challenges in the new year. 

Finally, one of my favorite expressions is what we say to bar and bat mitzvah students, Torah readers, or anyone who has come to the bima and helped read the Torah or teach words from our Torah. It takes chutzpah, another kind of strength—the kishka kind—to stand up here. This is why we say the following: “Yishar kochacha,” meaning “May your strength (כֹּחַ) be enriched!” or “May your strength be straight!” These days, the closest idiom would be “More power to you!” Yasher Koach! 

This phrase, “yasher koach,” originally appears in the Talmud, in the comments of the Jewish sage Resh Lakish, explaining why Moses broke the stone tablets containing the Ten Commandments after seeing the Golden Calf. As Moses descends from the top of Mount Sinai carrying the two Tablets of the Covenant, he is confronted with the Israelites dancing around the Golden Calf. In anger, he heaves the Tablets down at the foot of the mountain, shattering them. In his commentary, Lakish used the Hebrew phrase “yishar koach.” 

In other words, Reish Lakish believes God praises, not criticizes, Moses for smashing the tablets. It may seem counterintuitive for God to endorse the destruction of these sacred objects, but God is proud of his leader for doing the right thing at the right time. In a sense, God says, “All strength to you!” Rashi, quoting from the Talmud, tells us that God congratulates Moses for this act of strength. 

My theme today of strength isn’t arbitrary. It’s not a leftover thesis I pulled from Google Drive. For me, it’s been the theme of my year. How do I muster the strength to reach tomorrow? And the day after? And the one after that? Given what we read and see on the news, how do we move into the following year as a congregation? Given the murders, the hostages, bombings, and rockets that reach our city centers. The fear and intimidation - not from abroad, but from our neighbors. I don’t say we are strong people in the face of October 7th, but because of October 7–because we’ve had to be strong.  

What I’m saying is that I’ve seen more strength in Judaism this past year than ever before, given the atrocities that continue to befall Israel and the Jewish people. We are strong because we practice Judaism. Each day. Either at JCCs, synagogues, Federations, or out in the community, we perform avodah. The last Hebrew word I’ll bring up today.

Avodah can describe any type of work or labor. This can range from physical tasks such as farming, construction, or household chores to mental labor such as studying, teaching, or problem-solving. But it also refers to divine service to God or worship and prayer. In general, we perform avodah by fulfilling mitzvot. Avodah encompasses all the work and service humans engage in to better themselves and the world around them. 

Avodah encapsulates the physical, spiritual, and mental work necessary to strengthen our minds, bodies, and souls. It’s not just exercising, drinking water, making time for family, and eating the right things—all of which take time, consciousness, and effort—but being kind in the face of hatred, providing for the needy, or visiting the sick. When we work out. When we pray. Give tzedakah. When we fulfill tradition. Plant trees in Israel or after a fire in California. Build houses for the homeless. It’s all avodah. 

Some of the first founders of Israel and builders weren’t called scouts because they put up tents and used Swiss Army knives. They woke each morning in deserts, swamps, and the wilderness and worked and cultivated the land. The same koach, that energy, now fuels a new type of cultivation. That of technology. Communication, agriculture, medicine, Defense, Aviation and Military, Computing, Theoretical computer science, Biotechnology, and Chemistry. The list goes on for miles.

In case you have forgotten, we are strong. And getting stronger every day. When we carry ourselves with pride as Jews. We are strong. When we stand by Israel, raise her flag, and say out loud that she has the right to defend herself and her people from militants and murderers. We are strong. We are strong when we pray for peace and actively work towards it in board rooms and synagogues alike. That’s why they call it practicing Judaism. Just like any exercise, one has to do it repeatedly to get better and more skilled. Every day, we have to practice being strong.

With that, I tell you the following: May god give you otzma and increase your strength. May you be strong and resolute. Chazak v’Ematz. May you look to god, be strong and courageous, and may God strengthen your heart. Yashir Koach to everyone here for reaching this season. And finally, Chazak, chazak v'nitchazek! Be strong, be strong, and may we be strengthened!