Message from Rabbi Goldsmith: We thought we had to replace the benches in the Garden of Gratitude. Years of sitting in rain and sun and snow had worn them down. The wood had turned a rough gray that left dust on your pants. They looked finished. And then one day, I came in and they were restored – renewed. “What happened?” I asked. “Wilfredo took care of them,” I was told. He had power-washed, sanded, and repaired the benches until they weren’t quite new – but they were full of new life. No one had asked him to do it. He simply had some down time, so he took care of them. That’s who Wilfredo was. He always looked for the extra mile he could go, the extra detail he could care for, the extra way to make this synagogue more beautiful and this congregation more fulfilled. He took quiet pride in his work – not for his own sake, but for the sake of all of us: clergy, staff, and especially congregants. It is impossible to imagine that he is gone. Impossible to believe that someone so vibrant and kind, so young and gifted, so hard-working and caring, could be gone. In Jewish tradition, we try to end with a nechemta – with comfort, with uplift. But I do not have a nechemta today. I only have the hope that we will strive to live up to his legacy of caring, commitment, and kindness. Please come to Shabbat on the Beach this Friday, when we will have a special moment of remembrance for Wilfredo. (fb)

Message from Rabbi Goldsmith: [Note: This is a hard time, and this is a hard topic to write about. I’m not a military strategist or an aid expert - but I am someone who cares deeply about Judaism and its moral voice. What follows is my attempt to bring that voice to bear on this moment. As always, I welcome your thoughts - over email or over a cup of coffee.] On the sidewalk of the 7th arrondissement near our hotel, a homeless man fed pigeons with crumbs from a day-old baguette. There was something timeless in the act—his smile, the fluttering wings at his feet. No matter our circumstance, we humans have an instinct to feed: animals, plants, and people. Watching hunger goes against our nature, especially when we can do something about it. This call to compassion echoes beyond the streets of Paris—it runs through the Torah. We are told to leave the corners of our fields unharvested for the stranger, the orphan, and the widow. In the Talmud, we learn: “When you besiege a city... leave a path of escape.” The same spirit lives in the IDF Code of Ethics (http://bit.ly/3H6XKWm): “The IDF and its soldiers are obligated to protect human dignity. Every human being is of value...” Not every soldier succeeds at all times, but they strive - because Jewish ethics begin with the belief that all are created b’tzelem Elohim, in the image of God. And so, it is in line with our sacred tradition, our holy texts, and our common humanity, that our hearts break for the civilians in Gaza who need sustenance (http://bit.ly/44SzzEa). There are hundreds of complicating factors including: the hostages, Hamas, UN prejudice, war tactics, Israeli politics, international pressure, the definition of famine, and the difficulty of verifying statistics. But one thing is certain - Israel is in a position to help alleviate the suffering of innocents. Indeed, they have already taken steps (http://bit.ly/4l5Vwo7) in that direction this week. And, while our tradition demands that we defend ourselves, it also demands that we protect the innocent (https://bit.ly/457EXlG), that we protect the very image of God incarnate in every human being. (fb)