Parshat Ki Tavo-A Child of Light, Love, and Peace

This d’var Torah was delivered at Congregation Beth Israel in Berkeley, September 21, 2024.

Shabbat Shalom.

My wife Deb and I spent part of this past summer in Israel, balancing some work but mostly focused on supporting our many friends who live there, including, of course, Jon Polin and Rachel Goldberg, Hersh’s parents, who I’ve been friends with since we grew up together in Chicago. It was an intense time, but there was also this cautious hope in the air—almost a feeling of optimism. The negotiations were gaining momentum, and there was a real sense, even if cautious, that a hostage deal might be close and that there could be some kind of pause, even a temporary one, in the war. 

So, with a sense of hope and optimism I signed up to give this drash, believing by the time I’d deliver it, the fighting would have stopped and all the hostages would be safely home.

Before I left for the airport to return to Berkeley on that trip, I told Jon that my next trip to Israel would be for Hersh’s welcome home celebration. A few weeks ago, however, I made that next trip—not to celebrate, but to comfort Hersh’s neshama, my friends, and myself.

Like all of us, I’ve been trying to make sense of this past year. A theme that keeps surfacing for me is the difference between understanding and knowing. Understanding, for me, involves all of my senses. I watched the videos of the attacks on October 7th and I saw the shelter where Hersh and 28 others hid for hours, and I knew what happened. But until I was there, physically, standing inside that same shelter I couldn’t begin to understand it. I still don’t. Not yet.

As I reflected on this week’s parsha and haftorah, several examples represented this same message: a slow, deliberate merging of the senses and the spiritual to find meaning in ideas, concepts, or new realities that defy simple comprehension.

The first comes from the opening of the parsha that introduces the concept of preparing for the bikkurim, offering of the first fruits.

וְהָיָה כִּי־תָבוֹא אֶל־הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר ה’ אֱלֹ-יךָ

 נֹתֵן לְךָ נַחֲלָה וִירִשְׁתָּהּ וְיָשַׁבְתָּ בָּהּ

When you enter the land that your Gd is giving you as a heritage, and you possess it, and settle in it,

Entering, possessing, and settling. Three distinct ways of describing a process of becoming ready. 

The Maharal explains the meaning behind these three verbs as a progression in the Jewish people’s journey. “Entering” marks the start of their path toward their promised destiny. “Settling” goes beyond just taking over the land—it represents their deeper understanding and acceptance of their responsibility as caretakers. Finally, “Dwelling” reflects the moment when they have fully established a permanent and rooted existence in the land, living in alignment with the values of the Torah.

Together, these three phases or stages represent a progression that blend a physical and spiritual journey toward understanding.

On my first trip to Israel after October 7th, I felt like I entered a different dimension. I was there for a short time, but I spent as much as I could with Jon, Rachel and their girls. That trip started around day 120 of the war. I ended up having Shabbat dinner with them at their house, just us. We talked for hours. For me, the experience of having that time with them, as the Maharal suggests, was the beginning of an understanding of what they were really experiencing. I asked all the questions I had been holding. How can you sleep? Don’t you ever just want to jump in a car and drive to Gaza and find him? He’s so close! What gives you strength…or hope?

Their answers were clear: very good sleeping pills; yes, we do want to drive there and offer to trade places with him; and…we’re on a mission…we choose hope, every day.

My second trip to Israel after October 7th was a longer one. This trip was around day 260. Unlike my visit in February, this trip was in the heat of the summer. One of the things I love doing in Israel is getting up early and walking the neighborhoods. I love the sounds and the smells of a Jerusalem day beginning. It feels less like waking up early, and more like being drawn into a new day. It feels holy. 

Like Isaiah says in the opening of the Haftorah we read today, the last of the seven haftarot of nechama, of comfort:

קוּמִי אוֹרִי כִּי בָא אוֹרֵךְ וּכְבוֹד ה’ עָלַיִךְ זָרָח! 

Arise, shine, for your light has dawned; The Presence of Gd has shone upon you!

I walked and talked a lot with Jon on that trip. We walked the mesila, the train path in Jerusalem, many times back and forth from the events organized to support them and the other hostage families. Being there for that long allowed me to settle into a more regular routine and to be more in the flow of their lives. 

One of the gifts of that time was sitting next to Jon in shul for four consecutive Shabbatot. Much has been said about their community and shul, Hakhel. It’s all true. It’s also very similar to what people say after a visit to CBI. It’s hard to explain what it was like to observe a shul community holding space for the family of a hostage and having it feel somehow natural. Singing acheinu or saying the mi sheberach for the hostages in that shul, next to Jon, challenged my faith in prayer, in Gd, in hope. But it very much strengthened my faith in humanity. 

Like the Maharal suggests about the opening pasuk of the parsha, the experiences of that trip and the act of settling, allowed me to develop a deeper understanding and acceptance, perhaps a reconciliation, of the responsibility I felt to do more and to hope better. 

A few weeks ago I traveled to Israel for my third trip since October 7th. This trip was not supposed to happen. As a friend said in a text to me the night we got the horrible news: it was not supposed to end this way. 

From the moment I learned of Hersh’s passing  until I sat in the shiva tent on Friday morning, I could not make sense of what I was experiencing. I found myself unable to even try. 

A pasuk toward the end of our parsha captures exactly what I was experiencing:

ולא־נתן ה’ לכם לב לדעת ועינים לראות ואזנים לשמע עד היום הזה 

Yet to this day ה׳ has not given you a mind to understand or eyes to see or ears to hear.

The shiva tent was something else entirely. If it was shiva, it was more for the community than the mourners. Hundreds, even thousands, of people lined up, each one waiting for a brief moment or two to sit, speak, or just be with Hersh’s family, the primary mourners. There was a roped-off area where people from visiting groups were brought in, 25 at a time, just to say *HaMakom* and then move on. Every segment of society Jon and Rachel brought together through their tireless and hopeful efforts was there—religious, secular, Jewish, Muslim, Christian. Family, friends, and people who felt like family after following their public story for 330 days.

I saw and heard what was happening in the tent, I knew,  and yet I could not understand it. 

When I got near to where Jon and Rachel were sitting, one of their close friends motioned for me to sit next to Jon. I sat down, held his hand, reached across and held Rachel’s hand, and said quietly, “I have nothing to say.” He quietly responded with, “there is nothing to say.”  

It was an unbelievable zechut–a privilege– to dwell in that tent of mourning. I was in the shiva tent for all the hours I was able. I used my eyes to see and my ears to hear in the hope that one day my heart would be able to understand. 

The Maharal, again, commenting on this pasuk, says that the heart to understand symbolizes the capacity to understand and internalize divine truths; the eyes to see represents the ability to see beyond the surface level of events, and recognize the divine in daily life; and ears to hear denotes the ability to truly hear not just on a superficial level but with full spiritual comprehension.

Not easy, not yet, but again, the slow, deliberate merging of the senses and the spiritual to understand what is beyond simple comprehension.

A custom for many in Israel is to visit the kever, the grave, the day shiva ends. I was invited to join Jon, Rachel, Leebie, and Orly along with a small group of family and friends that Sunday evening.

I’m a kohen, and, thank Gd, I haven’t spent much time in cemeteries or at gravesites. Thankfully, Hersh’s kever is in an area accessible to kohanim. Being there, being close to Hersh, felt peaceful….and complete. He was home. It was a blessing they were able to bring him home and to have a place to sit with him, to  talk with him,to pray with him and to feel his presence. As we say in the mi sheberach for those held captive:

הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא יִמָּלֵא רַחֲמִים עֲלֵיהֶם

וְיוֹצִיאֵם מֵחֹשֶׁךְ וְצַלְמָוֶת, וּמוֹסְרוֹתֵיהֶם יְנַתֵּק

וּמִמְּצוּקוֹתֵיהֶם יוֹשִׁיעֵם וִישִׁיבֵם מְהֵרָה לְחֵיק מִשְׁפְּחוֹתֵיהֶם.‏

May the blessed Holy One shower compassion over them, and deliver them from darkness and strife,remove their bondage, deliver them from their afflictions, and return them speedily to their families’ embrace.

We arrived around 5pm for mincha and stayed until around 7pm after maariv. Har HaMenuchot in Givat Shaul on the outskirts of Jerusalem is quite a beautiful spot. While we were there the moon rose and the sun set. Stories were shared, tehillim were recited, and there were tears and lots of hugs. And somehow…it felt hopeful. 

I didn’t have the words at the time, but Isaiah captures the experience perfectly as it says toward the end of the haftorah we just read, the same words we recite to mourners on the last day of shiva just before they rise: 

לֹא־יָבוֹא עוֹד שִׁמְשֵׁךְ וִירֵחֵךְ לֹא יֵאָסֵף כִּי ה’ יִהְיֶה־לָּךְ לְאוֹר עוֹלָם וְשָׁלְמוּ יְמֵי אֶבְלֵךְ

Your sun shall set no more, Your moon no more withdraw;

For Gd shall be a light to you forever, And your days of mourning shall be ended.

The parsha starts with b’nei Yisrael preparing to enter the Land of Israel, it continues with loads of do’s and don’ts, and it closes with Moshe telling them:

וּשְׁמַרְתֶּם אֶת־דִּבְרֵי הַבְּרִית הַזֹּאת וַעֲשִׂיתֶם אֹתָם לְמַעַן תַּשְׂכִּילוּ אֵת כׇּל־אֲשֶׁר תַּעֲשׂוּן׃

Therefore observe faithfully all the terms of this covenant, that you may succeed in all that you undertake.

Many commentaries suggest that תַּשְׂכִּילוּ  “that you may succeed” connects the study and observance of the mitzvot to achieving various types of success, including practical success, spiritual enlightenment, and the fulfillment of one’s purpose in life.

At one point during Hersh’s captivity, I asked Rachel why she felt that “hope was mandatory”…a saying that had become sort of a slogan for her. She said it was because faith and belief were easy. She has deep faith and believes Gd is next to her wherever she goes. Hope, on the other hand, is a choice. 

From Moshe to Rachel, I think the lesson here is that if we try to attain and maintain our faith and belief…and choose hope…we’ll at least have a better chance at success, spiritual enlightenment, and a purposeful life. 

In his eulogy for Hersh, Jon said that Hersh’s memory should be “for a revolution.” There’s already a poster in the back of the shul with that phrase on it.

Since then, Rachel has offered a slight refinement: “May his memory be a blessing and a revolution… but not a wild revolution—just one that inspires us to think and do differently. To think and do… better.”

Next week we’ll begin saying selichot as a community, including the musical selichot that has become a beloved tradition here at CBI. Saying parts of the liturgy that we’ll hear on RH and YK is a visceral reminder that an opportunity is coming—if we’re ready to do the work to prepare for it.

As a way to bridge the sadness of the past year—the loss of our beloved Hersh and so many other innocent souls—and the hope that Rosh Hashanah and a New Year may bring, I’d like to offer an invitation to our community, perhaps as an example for others, or simply as a message of consolation and hope to Hersh’s family as the difficult days continue.

As we sit here, there are still 101 hostages remaining in captivity that need our prayers and our hope. 101 families, like Hersh’s, who are waiting, working, worrying, every single minute.

Another of my closest childhood friends, part of “Team Hersh” (a group that supports the family and coordinated efforts to bring Hersh home), was the one person who protected Jon and Rachel’s personal space at shiva more than anyone else.She is the mother of  6 sons…each of whom has put his  life on the line for the state of Israel, before and since October 7th. She recently shared with me part of a conversation she had with one of her sons who was finishing up his latest round of miluim, reserve duty.

She wrote: “When I spoke to him the other day before he was going out on a mission, I said to him please don’t go. Please just stay here with me and with your pregnant wife and your daughter. He turned to me and said Imma, it’s gonna be ok, I’m ok, this is a zechut – a privilege – that I get to go.”

How fortunate are most of us here that we don’t have those conversations or make those sacrifices, of our children or of our souls. How much more that we might step into the bayit meshutaf, the shared home that is Am Yisrael, and do what we can to end the seen and unseen suffering of countless everyday heroes. 

So, my invitation to all of us is to take on a practice over the next few weeks that will truly embody a revolution for good—a revolution to think and do differently… to think and do better.

There are  pages available on the tables in the back of the shul, with some suggested actions to take on during the remainder of shloshim, and even into the Yamim Noraim, as a way to honor the memories of Hersh and all of the hostages who were stolen and have since perished in captivity, and the families of all those who’ve made the ultimate sacrifice for their country and our safety.

These pages  will take you to a document where you can share any actions you’re committing to during this time—whether you’d like to be held accountable to your commitment or to share it in order to inspire others.

As we head toward the end of shloshim for Hersh and the other hostages who perished with him: Carmel, Ori, Alexander, Almog, and Eden, may their memories, and the memories of all the fallen in this war, be for a blessing.

Shabbat Shalom