A version of this sermon was delivered at Temple Emanu-El of East Meadow on Yom Kippur Morning, 5776.
“Great Scott!” you might say. “Aren’t we supposed to be thinking about all of our sins, all of our accomplishments, all of our deeds and vows over the last year?” Yes, we are. But there can be no mistake that this day, perhaps more than any other on our calendar, asks us to peer into the future as we commit to being better versions of ourselves in the coming year.
If only we had a time machine that could take us back before the concrete began to crumble in our sanctuary. If only we had a DeLorean, that when it hit 88 miles per hour would take us to the future on tire tracks of fire, a time after all the difficult decisions have been made, and after all the discussions have happened, a time after the chaos when we will look back in wonder at how we ever did that. Well, we may not be able to travel thanks to 1.21 gigawatts of power, but we will make it to that time, as long as we do it right. The best way to predict the future is to create it. Getting it right in the future is in part about looking back with the right perspective. That’s the easy part, really. The harder part is looking forward with the right perspective.
There are a number of ways to look toward the future. Will we be resigned to our future? Will we look at whatever comes as a blessing? And will we make the commitment to be a part of it, whatever it may look like, because there can be no future if there is no one to experience it?
A story is told of King Solomon, who put his servants to the test in order to teach them a lesson in humility. As servants to the king, they were accustomed to treating those beneath them with a certain disdain and superiority. “I have heard,” the King announced, “of a ring of magical powers. This ring has the power to make the happy man sad and the sad man happy.” Solomon ordered his servants to scour the countryside looking for such a ring, though it was the product of his imagination. They had no idea where to go.
“How will we find this magic ring?” one servant bemoaned.
“I bet it doesn’t even exist!” one of the servants shouted.
“It’s probably some wild goose chase for one of his wives!” another joked angrily.
Four servants went out from Solomon’s palace toward the four directions, each hoping to find this ring for the King and gain prestige and status in his eyes.
The first returned from the west, over the sea, empty handed. “I am sorry, King, but there is no such ring in the west. Though I prayed to God I would find it, I could not.” And with that, he retreated from King Solomon’s presence.
The next returned from the south, the lands of Ethiopia and Sheba, and he had brought with him an assortment of rings, hoping that one of them would meet Solomon’s needs. “My Lord, these are the finest of rings from the south, you may have your pick!”
“None of these does what I ask.” Solomon dryly responded. With a wave of the King’s hand, the servant exited, humiliated.
Well, the same thing happened with the servants who went east and north. One came back empty handed. The other, having heard what happened when a variety of rings were offered to the king, selected one ring, a beautiful, jewel-encrusted, shimmering-in-all-colors signet, from what he had gathered
If only we had a time machine that could take us back before the concrete began to crumble in our sanctuary. If only we had a DeLorean, that when it hit 88 miles per hour would take us to the future on tire tracks of fire, a time after all the difficult decisions have been made, and after all the discussions have happened, a time after the chaos when we will look back in wonder at how we ever did that. Well, we may not be able to travel thanks to 1.21 gigawatts of power, but we will make it to that time, as long as we do it right. The best way to predict the future is to create it. Getting it right in the future is in part about looking back with the right perspective. That’s the easy part, really. The harder part is looking forward with the right perspective.
There are a number of ways to look toward the future. Will we be resigned to our future? Will we look at whatever comes as a blessing? And will we make the commitment to be a part of it, whatever it may look like, because there can be no future if there is no one to experience it?
A story is told of King Solomon, who put his servants to the test in order to teach them a lesson in humility. As servants to the king, they were accustomed to treating those beneath them with a certain disdain and superiority. “I have heard,” the King announced, “of a ring of magical powers. This ring has the power to make the happy man sad and the sad man happy.” Solomon ordered his servants to scour the countryside looking for such a ring, though it was the product of his imagination. They had no idea where to go.
“How will we find this magic ring?” one servant bemoaned.
“I bet it doesn’t even exist!” one of the servants shouted.
“It’s probably some wild goose chase for one of his wives!” another joked angrily.
Four servants went out from Solomon’s palace toward the four directions, each hoping to find this ring for the King and gain prestige and status in his eyes.
The first returned from the west, over the sea, empty handed. “I am sorry, King, but there is no such ring in the west. Though I prayed to God I would find it, I could not.” And with that, he retreated from King Solomon’s presence.
The next returned from the south, the lands of Ethiopia and Sheba, and he had brought with him an assortment of rings, hoping that one of them would meet Solomon’s needs. “My Lord, these are the finest of rings from the south, you may have your pick!”
“None of these does what I ask.” Solomon dryly responded. With a wave of the King’s hand, the servant exited, humiliated.
Well, the same thing happened with the servants who went east and north. One came back empty handed. The other, having heard what happened when a variety of rings were offered to the king, selected one ring, a beautiful, jewel-encrusted, shimmering-in-all-colors signet, from what he had gathered
But, Solomon was not swayed. “This is not the ring I’m looking for. This does not make the happy man sad and the sad man happy.”
But Solomon’s most trusted servant had not yet returned. Which direction had he gone, anyway? Well, Benaiyah had decided not to go far, but to dig deep. He went from alleyway to alleyway, starting in the center of Jerusalem working his way to the outskirts, near the walls. He pored over the wares of each and every jeweler and junk dealer twice, just to be sure. He worked systematically, quietly, on official business of the king. That was all he would tell people when they asked after him: “I’m on official business of the King.”
One day, not long after the last servant was sent away from the king, Benaiyah had just finished looking through an elderly man’s makeshift shop, if you could call a blanket spread out on the ground a shop, for the third time. Not having found it, Benaiyah collapsed against the wall for a break.
But Solomon’s most trusted servant had not yet returned. Which direction had he gone, anyway? Well, Benaiyah had decided not to go far, but to dig deep. He went from alleyway to alleyway, starting in the center of Jerusalem working his way to the outskirts, near the walls. He pored over the wares of each and every jeweler and junk dealer twice, just to be sure. He worked systematically, quietly, on official business of the king. That was all he would tell people when they asked after him: “I’m on official business of the King.”
One day, not long after the last servant was sent away from the king, Benaiyah had just finished looking through an elderly man’s makeshift shop, if you could call a blanket spread out on the ground a shop, for the third time. Not having found it, Benaiyah collapsed against the wall for a break.
The old man looked at him and asked: “My young friend, what is this official business of the King that he has you rummaging around in shops like mine, in these forgotten corners of the city? What could the king want that I have?”
“He is looking for a ring, a magical ring, with the powers to make happy men sad and sad men happy.” Benaiyah put his head in his dirty, tired hands.
“I have such a ring!” the old man exclaimed. And with that, he took a simple gold band, polished it with an old cloth, etched a few letters into it and handed it to Benaiyah. “Here, my son. This is what the King asks for.” Benaiyah looked at the ring’s engraving and smiled wide. He leapt to his feet and bounded back to the castle.
“He is looking for a ring, a magical ring, with the powers to make happy men sad and sad men happy.” Benaiyah put his head in his dirty, tired hands.
“I have such a ring!” the old man exclaimed. And with that, he took a simple gold band, polished it with an old cloth, etched a few letters into it and handed it to Benaiyah. “Here, my son. This is what the King asks for.” Benaiyah looked at the ring’s engraving and smiled wide. He leapt to his feet and bounded back to the castle.
He burst into the King’s chamber and, out of breath, presented him the ring. “This, my King, is the ring you seek!” He handed Solomon the ring on which was engraved the words “Gam zeh ya’avor. This too shall pass.” Solomon’s surprise turned to dismay and then quickly to resolve as he commended Benaiyah for having completed the task.
“Well, Benaiyah, you certainly have done it.” Solomon didn’t even look up, he was so transfixed by the ring. Immediately, he took off all his jewels and robes and declared that rather than teach a lesson in humility, he learned a lesson in impermanence. Nothing lasts forever, Solomon declared. With that ,Solomon went on to write the book of Ecclesiastes, Kohelet.[1]
Nothing lasts forever. The difficulties we are facing are not permanent and not impossible to overcome. The challenges we will struggle through together have an end, and together we can reach that end. This story of Solomon teaches us that while we may feel stuck in a situation, time continues to move forward, and even if not immediately, situations change.
Gam zeh ya’avor, this too shall pass: reminds us that we can always create change. The future is uncertain and therefore, unwritten. Though we spend much of these days of awe asking for inscription in a book of life, and meditating on who will live and who will die through the words Unetaneh Tokef, it is the line after that reminds us that our future is not preordained, that reminds us that our current situation is not fixed. We remind ourselves that we have the power in us to change the future, through the work of prayer, repentance, and charity. Gam zeh ya’avor is not a prescription merely to wait for change to come; it is also a call to act to make change happen. This too shall pass is a helpful tactic when we’re faced with difficulties, and a reminder not to take the good in our lives for granted.
There is, however, an issue with living an exclusively gam zeh ya’avor lifestyle: we may be tempted to consider our past less than critical. If everything changes, what good is dwelling on the past…or the present? King Solomon even tells us in Kohelet that all of life is fleeting. If wherever we are is impermanent, why make a record of it at all? Because, while our situations may change, our values do not. Kohelet, we must remember, is only one book of the Bible for a reason. Our past reminds us of our values and of where we came from so that our future, the future we bring about by causing our situation to pass, ought to be informed by all that we have learned in the past, lest we repeat the same mistakes. Gam zeh ya’avor: one way to prepare ourselves for an uncertain future is to recognize that our current state is not permanent. That might be enough to push us to action.
A second story, this one from the Talmud[2], and this one also including the word ‘gam,’ meaning also. Rabbi Akiva was accustomed to saying "Everything God does is for the good". Once Rabbi Akiva was traveling with a donkey, rooster, and candle and when night came he tried to find lodging in a nearby village only to be turned away. Although Rabbi Akiva was forced to spend the night in the field, he did not lament his fate. Instead his reaction was as it always was. “Everything God does is for the best.”
“Well, Benaiyah, you certainly have done it.” Solomon didn’t even look up, he was so transfixed by the ring. Immediately, he took off all his jewels and robes and declared that rather than teach a lesson in humility, he learned a lesson in impermanence. Nothing lasts forever, Solomon declared. With that ,Solomon went on to write the book of Ecclesiastes, Kohelet.[1]
Nothing lasts forever. The difficulties we are facing are not permanent and not impossible to overcome. The challenges we will struggle through together have an end, and together we can reach that end. This story of Solomon teaches us that while we may feel stuck in a situation, time continues to move forward, and even if not immediately, situations change.
Gam zeh ya’avor, this too shall pass: reminds us that we can always create change. The future is uncertain and therefore, unwritten. Though we spend much of these days of awe asking for inscription in a book of life, and meditating on who will live and who will die through the words Unetaneh Tokef, it is the line after that reminds us that our future is not preordained, that reminds us that our current situation is not fixed. We remind ourselves that we have the power in us to change the future, through the work of prayer, repentance, and charity. Gam zeh ya’avor is not a prescription merely to wait for change to come; it is also a call to act to make change happen. This too shall pass is a helpful tactic when we’re faced with difficulties, and a reminder not to take the good in our lives for granted.
There is, however, an issue with living an exclusively gam zeh ya’avor lifestyle: we may be tempted to consider our past less than critical. If everything changes, what good is dwelling on the past…or the present? King Solomon even tells us in Kohelet that all of life is fleeting. If wherever we are is impermanent, why make a record of it at all? Because, while our situations may change, our values do not. Kohelet, we must remember, is only one book of the Bible for a reason. Our past reminds us of our values and of where we came from so that our future, the future we bring about by causing our situation to pass, ought to be informed by all that we have learned in the past, lest we repeat the same mistakes. Gam zeh ya’avor: one way to prepare ourselves for an uncertain future is to recognize that our current state is not permanent. That might be enough to push us to action.
A second story, this one from the Talmud[2], and this one also including the word ‘gam,’ meaning also. Rabbi Akiva was accustomed to saying "Everything God does is for the good". Once Rabbi Akiva was traveling with a donkey, rooster, and candle and when night came he tried to find lodging in a nearby village only to be turned away. Although Rabbi Akiva was forced to spend the night in the field, he did not lament his fate. Instead his reaction was as it always was. “Everything God does is for the best.”
With that, Akiva settled in for the night. A wind came and blew out his candle. Later, a cat ate his rooster. And then, a lion came and ate his donkey! Each time, Rabbi Akiva's reaction was “Everything that God does is for the best.” That night a regiment came and took the entire town captive, while Rabbi Akiva who was sleeping in the field went unnoticed and thus was spared. When Rabbi Akiva realized what happened ,he said, “Didn't I tell you that everything that God does is for the best?” Rashi explains that if the candle, rooster, or donkey would have been around, the regiment would have seen or heard them and would have also captured Rabbi Akiva.
But Rabbi Akiva didn’t just come to this outlook on life by happenstance. He was taught. And his teacher’s name was Nachum – you can see why I like this story – but he was known as “Ish Gamzu.” The Talmud explains that his nickname came from the fact that his reaction to anything that happened to him was always “gam zu l'tovah this, too, is for the good.”
One time, the Jews wanted to send a present to the Emperor in Rome, and they felt that Nachum Ish Gamzu would be the best emissary as miracles are always happening to him. So they sent him with a chest filled with treasures. On his way to Rome, he stopped by an inn and during the night the innkeepers emptied the jewels from the chest and filled it with sand. When the chest was offered to the Emperor, he opened it and saw the sand. Naturally the Emperor was infuriated. Nachum Ish Gamzu just said, “Gam zu l'tovah: this too is for the good.”
Eliyahu Hanavi, Elijah the prophet, came disguised as one of the Emperor’s men and suggested that maybe the sand was from Abraham who threw sand and it turned into swords. The Romans tried out the sand on a nation that they had difficulty in conquering and were able to defeat them with the aid of the sand. The Emperor sent Nachum back with great honors and a chest full of treasures. Gam zu l'tovah, indeed.
The beginning of Nachum’s story has him being sent to the Emperor, in Rome. And then later, this unknown rabbi from Judea, an outpost of the empire and from a defeated people no less, gets an audience with the Emperor. Perhaps this is a signal that this story, and indeed its lesson, is meant to be taken with a grain of salt. A miraculous story in the Talmud teaches us that everything will turn out ok as long as we hope or pray it will. But, we know that the clouds of difficulties and hardships sometimes don’t have silver linings.
So, what do we learn from Nachum ish Gamzu? Even when the most beautiful of things suddenly become sand, that doesn’t mean it’s all bad. There can be good that comes out of a bad situation. There can be, and in fact, ought to be, a way to look at every situation that pushes us not only to mourn what we have lost, but to make the best out of a bad situation, and it starts with mindset. Are we ready to direct our energies positively in the year ahead? Are we ready to look at what we have before us and make the statement: Gam zu l'tovah, even if we might not know what good will come? When we are ready, the story seems to tell us that God will help us. God sends Elijah to Nachum’s side, to give him the strength to see everything as if it truly is letovah, for good.
But as with gam zeh ya’avor, this too shall pass, gam zu letovah comes with a caveat. Nachum isn’t the least bit concerned for his safety over the fact that he has been robbed. His optimism and positive let’s-make-lemonade-out-of-lemons attitude overwhelms his ability to see the reality before him.
But Rabbi Akiva didn’t just come to this outlook on life by happenstance. He was taught. And his teacher’s name was Nachum – you can see why I like this story – but he was known as “Ish Gamzu.” The Talmud explains that his nickname came from the fact that his reaction to anything that happened to him was always “gam zu l'tovah this, too, is for the good.”
One time, the Jews wanted to send a present to the Emperor in Rome, and they felt that Nachum Ish Gamzu would be the best emissary as miracles are always happening to him. So they sent him with a chest filled with treasures. On his way to Rome, he stopped by an inn and during the night the innkeepers emptied the jewels from the chest and filled it with sand. When the chest was offered to the Emperor, he opened it and saw the sand. Naturally the Emperor was infuriated. Nachum Ish Gamzu just said, “Gam zu l'tovah: this too is for the good.”
Eliyahu Hanavi, Elijah the prophet, came disguised as one of the Emperor’s men and suggested that maybe the sand was from Abraham who threw sand and it turned into swords. The Romans tried out the sand on a nation that they had difficulty in conquering and were able to defeat them with the aid of the sand. The Emperor sent Nachum back with great honors and a chest full of treasures. Gam zu l'tovah, indeed.
The beginning of Nachum’s story has him being sent to the Emperor, in Rome. And then later, this unknown rabbi from Judea, an outpost of the empire and from a defeated people no less, gets an audience with the Emperor. Perhaps this is a signal that this story, and indeed its lesson, is meant to be taken with a grain of salt. A miraculous story in the Talmud teaches us that everything will turn out ok as long as we hope or pray it will. But, we know that the clouds of difficulties and hardships sometimes don’t have silver linings.
So, what do we learn from Nachum ish Gamzu? Even when the most beautiful of things suddenly become sand, that doesn’t mean it’s all bad. There can be good that comes out of a bad situation. There can be, and in fact, ought to be, a way to look at every situation that pushes us not only to mourn what we have lost, but to make the best out of a bad situation, and it starts with mindset. Are we ready to direct our energies positively in the year ahead? Are we ready to look at what we have before us and make the statement: Gam zu l'tovah, even if we might not know what good will come? When we are ready, the story seems to tell us that God will help us. God sends Elijah to Nachum’s side, to give him the strength to see everything as if it truly is letovah, for good.
But as with gam zeh ya’avor, this too shall pass, gam zu letovah comes with a caveat. Nachum isn’t the least bit concerned for his safety over the fact that he has been robbed. His optimism and positive let’s-make-lemonade-out-of-lemons attitude overwhelms his ability to see the reality before him.
And, while in his case it’s not detrimental to him, we know all too well that neglecting to see the reality, neglecting to face hard truths, and neglecting to prepare for the future can have very dangerous consequences. Optimism and positivity can carry us far, but if they are not tempered with realistic expectations, we may all find ourselves sleeping in a field.
One final story[3]: In a mountain village in Europe many centuries ago, there was a nobleman who was concerned about the legacy he would leave to the people of his town. The man spent a great deal of time contemplating his dilemma, and at last, decided to build a synagogue. In the course of his planning, he decided that no one would see the plans for the building until it was finished. Apparently, centuries ago, there were no Temple Boards. He had scaffolding erected and a large tent covering the construction site so no one could see what was going on. The construction took quite a long time – much longer than he anticipated—because doesn’t it always?
But at long last, the project was completed. A grand opening was planned. The townspeople were excited and curious about what they would find upon seeing their new synagogue unveiled. There was a great ceremony and with great fanfare. The cover was dropped from the building and the people marveled at the synagogue’s magnificence. No one could ever remember so beautiful a synagogue anywhere in the world.
The townspeople entered the beautifully appointed building and marveled at the careful woodwork and the beautifully crafted floors in the entrance way, inlayed with different colors of wood in patterns of such grace and beauty. They continued to move through the building and began to examine the walls, so expertly joined together. Their eyes travelled to the high ceilings, expecting to see some grand candelabra, but there was none. For a few minutes no one said anything about it.
Then, noticing the seemingly obvious flaw in the design, one of the townspeople asked, “Where are the lamps? What will provide the lighting? Are we to pray to God in the dark!?” There was nervous laughter from the crowd and all eyes turned to that nobleman who had commissioned the building.
The proud nobleman pointed to brackets, which were strategically placed all along the walls throughout the synagogue. He then gave each family a lamp as he explained, “Whenever you come to the synagogue, I want you to bring your lamp, and light it. But, each time you are not here,” he said, “a part of the synagogue will be dark. This lamp will remind you that whenever you are absent, some part of God’s house will be dark. Your community is relying on you for light.”
The light of our community relies on each one of us, bringing our lamp, hanging it up at the Temple and proclaiming that our little corner of God’s house will not be left dark. Regardless of where our lights have been in the past, this day is about looking to the future. We need to recognize our roles in our future. We need to see ourselves as bearers of that light, and understand that the light that we each bring is a necessary part of our community. That is true today, and it will continue to be true tomorrow and next week and next year. We may look toward the future with the gam zeh ya’avor attitude or the gam zu letovah attitude, but it won’t make a difference if we don’t all commit to bringing our lights.
Last night, our Cantor and Choir helped us to time travel by evoking the memory of generations past with their beautiful rendition of the Kol Nidre prayer. Our memories are of the past, those moments of years gone by when those melodies filled our ears and our souls. Yes, the prayer pulls us back, but it asks us to look forward. “Mi yom kippurim zeh ad yom kippurim, haba’ From this Yom Kippur to the next Yom Kippur.” The vows we make, all that we pledge and promise, we pray that we not be held responsible for breaking those vows. The future is not certain, but it rests in our hands. Kol Nidre, and indeed all of Yom Kippur, asks us to understand who we have been and use our experience to strive to be better moving forward while at the same time recognizing the realities as we look forward.
We don't need a DeLorean. We don't need to physically travel back in time to learn from our past and improve our future. We are already equipped to handle the difficulties before us. As we exit this Yom Kippur, as we celebrate the new year with our families, breaking our fasts with sweetness and togetherness and a good number of bagels, let us not only consider ourselves cleansed from our previous deeds and our past year. Let us also consider ourselves prepared for the year ahead and for the future. Let us consider ourselves prepared to handle the challenges before us with the right mindset and the right opportunity. And finally, let us all commit to installing our light as often as possible.
Shanah Tovah
[1] יש אומרים
[2] Based on B. Ta’anit 21a and B. Berachot 60b
[3] Thanks to Rabbi Robin Leonard Nafshi for the base of this story, which she titles: The Nobleman’s Legacy.
One final story[3]: In a mountain village in Europe many centuries ago, there was a nobleman who was concerned about the legacy he would leave to the people of his town. The man spent a great deal of time contemplating his dilemma, and at last, decided to build a synagogue. In the course of his planning, he decided that no one would see the plans for the building until it was finished. Apparently, centuries ago, there were no Temple Boards. He had scaffolding erected and a large tent covering the construction site so no one could see what was going on. The construction took quite a long time – much longer than he anticipated—because doesn’t it always?
But at long last, the project was completed. A grand opening was planned. The townspeople were excited and curious about what they would find upon seeing their new synagogue unveiled. There was a great ceremony and with great fanfare. The cover was dropped from the building and the people marveled at the synagogue’s magnificence. No one could ever remember so beautiful a synagogue anywhere in the world.
The townspeople entered the beautifully appointed building and marveled at the careful woodwork and the beautifully crafted floors in the entrance way, inlayed with different colors of wood in patterns of such grace and beauty. They continued to move through the building and began to examine the walls, so expertly joined together. Their eyes travelled to the high ceilings, expecting to see some grand candelabra, but there was none. For a few minutes no one said anything about it.
Then, noticing the seemingly obvious flaw in the design, one of the townspeople asked, “Where are the lamps? What will provide the lighting? Are we to pray to God in the dark!?” There was nervous laughter from the crowd and all eyes turned to that nobleman who had commissioned the building.
The proud nobleman pointed to brackets, which were strategically placed all along the walls throughout the synagogue. He then gave each family a lamp as he explained, “Whenever you come to the synagogue, I want you to bring your lamp, and light it. But, each time you are not here,” he said, “a part of the synagogue will be dark. This lamp will remind you that whenever you are absent, some part of God’s house will be dark. Your community is relying on you for light.”
The light of our community relies on each one of us, bringing our lamp, hanging it up at the Temple and proclaiming that our little corner of God’s house will not be left dark. Regardless of where our lights have been in the past, this day is about looking to the future. We need to recognize our roles in our future. We need to see ourselves as bearers of that light, and understand that the light that we each bring is a necessary part of our community. That is true today, and it will continue to be true tomorrow and next week and next year. We may look toward the future with the gam zeh ya’avor attitude or the gam zu letovah attitude, but it won’t make a difference if we don’t all commit to bringing our lights.
Last night, our Cantor and Choir helped us to time travel by evoking the memory of generations past with their beautiful rendition of the Kol Nidre prayer. Our memories are of the past, those moments of years gone by when those melodies filled our ears and our souls. Yes, the prayer pulls us back, but it asks us to look forward. “Mi yom kippurim zeh ad yom kippurim, haba’ From this Yom Kippur to the next Yom Kippur.” The vows we make, all that we pledge and promise, we pray that we not be held responsible for breaking those vows. The future is not certain, but it rests in our hands. Kol Nidre, and indeed all of Yom Kippur, asks us to understand who we have been and use our experience to strive to be better moving forward while at the same time recognizing the realities as we look forward.
We don't need a DeLorean. We don't need to physically travel back in time to learn from our past and improve our future. We are already equipped to handle the difficulties before us. As we exit this Yom Kippur, as we celebrate the new year with our families, breaking our fasts with sweetness and togetherness and a good number of bagels, let us not only consider ourselves cleansed from our previous deeds and our past year. Let us also consider ourselves prepared for the year ahead and for the future. Let us consider ourselves prepared to handle the challenges before us with the right mindset and the right opportunity. And finally, let us all commit to installing our light as often as possible.
Shanah Tovah
[1] יש אומרים
[2] Based on B. Ta’anit 21a and B. Berachot 60b
[3] Thanks to Rabbi Robin Leonard Nafshi for the base of this story, which she titles: The Nobleman’s Legacy.
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