This sermon was delivered to the congregation during Erev Shabbat service by Senior Rabbi Ben Spratt on March 7, 2025.
Shabbat Shalom, everyone. Shvurei lev, broken hearts.
Tonight we begin Shabbat Zachor, the Sabbath of Memory.
And what is it that we are remembering tonight? We are remembering one of the most difficult and controversial commands in all of Jewish tradition.
On this Shabbat, tomorrow morning, in synagogues around the world, we will read a special passage from Deuteronomy concerning Amalek, the arch-enemy of the Israelites. We are commanded in these verses to remember how Amalek attacked the most vulnerable of our people on our journey out of Egypt. As a result, we are commanded to eradicate all the descendants of Amalek and to blot out their memory from under heaven. No qualifications, no limitations.
And on this Shabbat of Memory, our tradition reminds us of the command to destroy those who seek our destruction. We read this special portion because Haman, the villain of the Purim story, is a descendant of Amalek. On Purim, we symbolically costume this mythic foe, and we eat hamantaschen, the cookies shaped like Haman’s three-cornered hat, or more accurately in the Hebrew, Oznei Haman—we actually eat the “ears of Haman.”
As we boo and we hiss the mythic villain of the story, we also face the end of this tale and its brutality. For after the execution of Haman and his sons, the Jews of Shushan rise up and kill the 75,000 Persian supporters of Haman. Eating our enemies, obliterating their supporters, blotting out their memories. For most of us, we could not think of a more distant expression of our sacred tradition, for all of us prefer to exist in a sense of humanity absolved of shadow.
Purim invites us into a masquerade in which we see the darkest sides of the human heart. But only those ignorant of our tradition would see the verses of Shabbat Zachor or the end of the Megillah as indicative of our Jewish ideals. The calls for vengeance, though understandable, ignore the Talmudic aversion to the story and, in fact, the rabbis’ desire to not include it in our sacred canon at all. The notion of seeking Amalek’s destruction omits the Torah’s context for this command.
Led into it, we are to bring fairness to our dealings. It’s how we hold the memories of our relatives to the sense of justice in our own communities. Seemingly because of what Amalek did to us long ago, we aspire to be communities of justice rather than vengeance as a result of our remembrance, according to our Torah.
As Maimonides points out, the point of remembering Amalek is specifically to not become Amalek ourselves. As Amalek sought out the most vulnerable, we are to support the most vulnerable. Hence the central obligation of Purim—to care for the poor, as Rabbi Karol mentioned. We remember the horrors of our enemies in order to not become them ourselves. The trouble, of course, is that caring for the most vulnerable does not shield us from those who seek our annihilation.
I returned yesterday from being in Israel with a delegation of our community—some of whom are here, others still in Israel. On our opening day of this journey, I read these words by Leonard Fein:
“There are two kinds of Jews in this world. There’s the kind of Jew who detests war and violence, who believes that fighting is not the Jewish way, who willingly accepts that Jews have their own and higher standards of behavior. And not just that we have them, but that those standards are our lifeblood, are what we are about. And then there is the kind of Jew who thinks that we have been passive long enough, who is convinced that it is time for us to strike back at our enemies, to reject once and for all the role of victim. Who willingly accepts that Jews cannot afford to depend on favors, that we must be tough and strong. And the trouble is, most of us are both kinds of Jews.”
Shabbat Zachor, and indeed the entire existence of the State of Israel, is a reminder that we must have both kinds of Jews within ourselves and within our communities. In remembering the eternal struggle with Amalek, we notice the call for vengeance, the lust to obliterate all those who seek our annihilation. But we ultimately reject it. We use the broken hearts of our remembrance to bring the opposite energy into this world—to care for the poor and for the vulnerable. But we are also warned they will come for us again, and no moralizing will be enough to bar the wrath of those who seek only destruction.
We are commanded to remember that our hearts must forever be broken. Broken with a past and present acknowledgment of pain and grief, and broken with the recognition that requires us to wield power in all its forms, no matter how heavy the burden.
We are commanded to aspire to our highest ideals while being prepared for the most excruciating realities of the baseness of humanity.
We are committed to exist as complex people who wear the masks of heroes and villains, but at heart are far more beautiful, messy, and confounding.
For our first conversation of the journey, we met with Dan Fefferman, a scholar and leader in military defense, history, and policy. Dan encouraged us to see the goal of these days in Israel as embracing the perspectives of real people. Not talking heads or pundits or people distant across the sea, but real people on the ground. Perspectives that might collide between people and even within the same person.
One particularly helpful concept he posited was to try and look at our world today through the framework of destroyers and builders. Setting aside emotions and rhetoric, who are the people who hold a positive, constructive vision with a commitment to actually create it? And who are the people who simply want to burn down the imperfect present?
Within Israel, within America, within us all, we can see these two potent forces of change. But we should never confuse the clarity of destroyers for the necessity of builders.
We later stood at a lookout at Givat HaTatzpit B’Netivot and gazing into Gaza—an azure sky and lush green fields contrasted distant rubble and the sounds of gunfire. Depending on the direction of one’s sense, one can find the shadow of memory or the bloom of hope in a single breath, a single sight.
As a group, we held on to the words of Moshe Dayan’s eulogy for Roi Rotberg in 1956, as he lamented the necessity of the sword but also rejected the path of the destroyer. We would go on to spend hours in Kibbutz Hanita, right at the border with Lebanon, and face both the remnants of destruction and the first signs of life returning to the kibbutz. The pockmarks of rocket blasts and the aftermath of tank treads contrasted the quiet and serenity of the community—both in their own way reminders of what was lost.
But all around us were the blooms of the rakafot, the first flowers of the cyclamen, native to that area. And those blooms whisper the story of what we would encounter with Bat-Ami Shmuel, a resident of Hanita, who chose to speak with our group. Within a week following October 7th, Kibbutz Hanita was evacuated, and Bat-Ami left with her two teenage daughters and her 90-year-old father before the northern front erupted. Her daughters and her father kept pleading with her to return, saying it was the only place in which they belonged. So displaced from their own home, with imagery and horror deluging them from every source, still, the only place that made sense to them was to go back to those mountains in the Galilee.
Bat-Ami and her daughters moved back only earlier this week, and her father just returned yesterday. Only a day into moving back into the kibbutz, Bat-Ami chose to share a bit of her story with our group. And she said to me, “Sharing and listening, we get to feel the heart—even if it’s broken—the heart that we share.”
A member of our community asked Bat-Ami what she dreams of for herself in Israel twenty years from now. She said, “I dream of being able to live together, with each person able to live as he wishes without needing to control how another wishes to live.”
She spoke to the diversity of her own home. She is a secular Jew, one daughter leading a traditional religious life, and the other daughter a passionate “lefty activist,” in her words, “What I have to see every day is that ideas are different than people,” she said. “We can disagree about ideas and still feel like family. I wish that for everyone.”
Driving down Route 232 in the Gaza envelope, recently repaved and with the phalanx of eucalyptus trees, I felt the horrors of October 7th footage overlaying my vision. Bomb shelters that became the sites of butchery, now repainted with beautiful murals and artifacts of memory. As we walked into the place of the Nova Music Festival, we witnessed a grove that was drenched in death nearly seventeen months ago. Hundreds of memorials, each marked by the offerings of human hands demanding the persistence of love and life. And the stillness betrayed the horror.
And even as my tears felt like an essential offering of humanity, as red anemone wildflowers bloomed beside ceramic recreations of them, we see the earth itself building towards what we can only raise as a symbol.
Sitting there amidst those memorials with Rami Davidian, one of the precious shining lights of goodness and bravery, we witnessed him sharing his own experiences of October 7th. Rami’s face held both weariness and hope amidst the markers of these hundreds of lives slaughtered there. A local farmer transformed into a hero. Over the course of one day, he saved more than 750 lives. We sat with him amidst the very trees that once held mutilated, violated, obliterated bodies, and he returns there every single day to share his experience, sacralize memory, and to sanctify that space as more than an atrocity—by reminding us of humanity.
Everywhere we went, we encountered complexity. And almost nothing—nothing—fell into the clean, binary categories that typically frame discourse around Israel here in America. Druze and Jews, Christians and Muslims, everyone we met lives with a broken heart now. And I keep wondering if this isn’t the essential message of this time and of this Shabbat Zachor. The only true way to avoid becoming Amalek ourselves—to prevent ourselves from the intoxicating clarity of destroyers—is to let our hearts break, to grieve every child, to mourn every atrocity, and to delve deeply enough to find the darkness that exists beneath it all.
For out of that—out of the rubble and ruin—one can feel called to create, to see that wielding power may be necessary, but it must be for a higher ideal. That we are called to be a builder.
I keep thinking about the rakafot, the cyclamen flowers we saw in the north at Kibbutz Hanita. The interesting thing about the rakafot is that they cannot live in the direct light of the sun, nor can they grow in typical soil. These beautiful flowers must emerge from shadowed spaces, nestled in broken rock and discarded stone. The rakafot actually thrives in rubble and in ruin. And I hold this image of the rakafot that we saw—now blooming from hidden spaces—and listen for the whispers of what might be becoming.
From beneath a rock, a very sweet rakafet blooms suddenly,
And the shining sun kisses and decorates her with a pink crown.
Rakafet, rakafet, the bird sings, peek at me for a moment,
But the glorious rakafet hides within the rock,
Hidden from every living being.
With each person we encountered another iteration of both complexity and hope. In different homes and different forms of grief. Again and again, we encountered builders. Those anchored in memory and grief and yet refusing to be imprisoned by it. Those reaching towards tomorrow and yet rejecting naivete.
We found that everyone we met—everyone—held something. There was a catch in everyone’s throat, but also a prayer. And perhaps that’s what it takes to be a builder. And that is really what I hope for each of us this Shabbat.
That we may break open the comfort of simplicity, And from the remnants, notice the spaces from which something new may grow.
That we may see our broken hearts as the first offering of hope, letting memory of atrocity, the complexity of humanity, turn us away from the path of destroyers.
That we may feel the responsibility held by every generation who chose to be builders, and that we will step forward to take our place as such.
Our journey to Israel reaffirmed our eternal responsibility to Israel’s future—not only its past—through both moments of hardship and the incredible resilience of its people.
The World Zionist Congress elections, beginning this Monday, March 10th and running through May 4th, offer a powerful way for Diaspora Jews to shape policies that impact not only the future of Israel, but Jewish communities worldwide. By voting—and every one of us has a vote to offer—you help ensure that Israel forever aspires to our highest ideals without losing sight of the realities it must face and the weight it must shoulder. And even more importantly, that we can take one significant step of building towards it’s founding dreams.
These elections help determine the apportioning of $1 billion a year for five years into Israel. So we encourage every Rodeph Sholom member who is over 18 to vote. On Monday, you will receive an email from us with links and supports to make this as easy as possible. So take the five minutes it takes, offer the five dollars it takes, and lift up your voice.
Remember the atrocity. Hold the broken heart. Notice the spaces, the gaps between what is real and present and for what we dream and reach. And may we collectively take a step as one community, as one people, to show what it is to be a nation of builders—at a time when we need them most.
Shabbat Shalom.
Justin Callis (he/him), our Cantorial Intern, is a fourth-year student at Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion in the Debbie Friedman School of Sacred Music. He is the recipient of the Reuben Peretz Abelson Prize for dedication to Yiddish Song, the Temple Israel of Boston Cantorial Prize, and the Lee Gura Memorial Prize for Aptitude in Synagogue Choral Music.
Known for his sweet and “sumptuous” (New York Times) tone, American-born Doori Na took up violin at the age of four and began his studies with Li Lin at the San Francisco Conservatory of Music. He quickly made his first performance with orchestra at age seven with the Peninsula Youth Symphony as the first prize winner of the concerto competition. Thereafter Mr. Na went on to win top prizes in The Sound of Music Festival, The Korea Times Youth Music Competition, the Chinese Music Teacher’s Association, The Menuhin Dowling Young Artist Competition, The Junior Bach Festival, VOCE of the Music Teacher’s Association of California, and The Pacific Musical Society. Receiving full scholarships to private high school Crossroads School of Arts and Sciences in Santa Monica, he moved to Los Angeles to study with renown violin teacher, Robert Lipsett, at The Colburn Music School. There he appeared as soloist with the Palisades Symphony, Brentwood Symphony, and Torrance Symphony. During that time, the summer of 2004 was Mr. Na’s first time at the Perlman Music Program where his expression and musical identity were greatly influenced. He has been a part of the program ever since and participated in many of their special residencies in Florida, Vermont, New York, and Israel.
Violinist Michael Roth is a native of Scarsdale, NY and received his early musical training with Frances Magnes at the Hoff-Barthelson Music School. He attended Oberlin College and Conservatory, continuing his studies with Marilyn McDonald. At Oberlin, he won the Kaufman Prize for violin and First Prize in the Ohio String Teacher’s Association Competition. He completed his Master of Music degree at the University of Massachusetts where he worked with the distinguished American violinist and pedagogue Charles Treger and was a recipient of the Julian Olevsky Award. Mr. Roth is currently associate concertmaster of the New York City Ballet Orchestra and has appeared in chamber music and as a soloist with the company, most recently in the debut of “Slice Too Sharp”, a ballet of Biber and Vivaldi violin concerti, and “After the Rain”, violin music of Arvo Part. In addition he is a member of the Mostly Mozart Festival Orchestra, Principal 2nd violin of the Westchester Philharmonic, the American Composers Orchestra and the New York Pops. He was concertmaster of the Vermont Mozart Festival Orchestra for many years and often appeared as soloist there, as well as at the Caramoor and Bard Music Festivals. He has played and toured internationally with the Orpheus Chamber Orchestra and the New York Chamber Soloists.
Sarah Adams, viola, performs locally with the New York Chamber Ensemble, the Claring Chamber Players, the Sherman Chamber Ensemble, the Friends of Mozart, and the Saratoga Chamber Players.
Praised by the New York Times as “irresistible in both music and performance.” flutist, 
Rabbi Mira Weller (she/her) received her ordination at Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion in Los Angeles in May 2022. She studied Culture and Politics at Georgetown University’s School of Foreign Service and received her Master’s in Jewish Education at the Rhea Hirsch School of Education at HUC-JIR. She is the proud recipient of awards for her studies in rabbinic literature, her work in Jewish education, and she was granted the Myrtle Lorch Pfaelzer-Monroe Pfaelzer Award for an Outstanding Female Rabbinical School Student (2022). Rabbi Mira speaks Hebrew and Spanish (so please practice with her!). She has a passion for uncovering new possibilities in the great wealth of our tradition and for making music inspired by Judaism’s many cultures. Her guilty pleasures include cupcakes, classical music, and philosophy.
Alan Goodis is a touring Jewish musician playing over 150 events a year. Born and raised in Toronto, Alan is a proud product of URJ Goldman Union Camp Institute. Noted for his dedication to building relationships and community through music, Alan tours throughout the US to serve as an Artist-In-Residence and performer at Temples, Youth Conventions and Jewish summer camps.
Julie Silver is one of the most celebrated and beloved performers in the world of contemporary Jewish music today. She tours throughout the world, and has been engaging audiences with her gorgeous compositions and liturgical settings, her lyrical guitar playing, her dynamic stage presence, and her megawatt smile for over 25 years.
Dan is a product of the URJ Jewish camping movement. He has toured Jewish summer camps across North America for the last 15 years. A classically trained singer, Dan received his Bachelor of Music degree in vocal performance at the University of North Carolina. In 1995, realizing the potential of music to make powerful connections with Jewish youth, Dan established the Jewish rock band Eighteen. Since that time, Dan and Eighteen have released 13 albums. Songs like, L’takein, B’tzelem Elo-him, Kehillah Kedoshah, Chazak, Sweet As Honey, and Asher Yatzar have become Jewish communal anthems throughout North America.
Naomi Less is an internationally celebrated singer/songwriter, ritualist and educator. Beloved for her warm smile and inviting presence, communities celebrate her imagination and innovation, tenderness and pizzazz! Her original music is sung in worship communities worldwide. Naomi serves as Co-Founder, Ritual Leader and Associate Director of Lab/Shul and is a leader in amplifying women’s voices through her work at Songleader Boot Camp and her Jewish Women Rock show on Jewish Rock Radio. Naomiadvocates for people struggling with fertility journeys as a performance artist and speaker for Uprooted: A Jewish Response to Fertility Challenges. Fun fact: Naomi and her husband wrote the song shine/Yivarech’cha, a Friday night blessing, specifically composed for URJ Crane Lake Camp, sung every Friday night in the dining hall.
Her destiny became obvious to Joanie Leeds’ parents when, at the tender age of 2, Joanie grabbed the performer’s mic at a party and belted out the entire song“Tomorrow” from Annie. Jaws dropped! No one could remember ever hearing a big voice like that coming from one so tiny and certainly no one would have thought she would one day earn a GRAMMY® Award for her original music.
A composer, multi-instrumentalist, and prayer leader, Elana Arian is one of the leading voices in contemporary Jewish music. Elana’s music is part of Jewish life across the globe, and her compositions are sung in spiritual communities, summer camps, and synagogues from Louisville to London, from Chicago to the CzechRepublic, and everywhere in between. Elana just released her fourth album of original music, The Other Side of Fear, and her compositions have been published in countless Transcontinental Music collections. Elana serves proudly on the faculty of Hava Nashira (Oconomowoc, WI), the Wexner Heritage Foundation (Aspen, CO), Shirei Chagiga (London, England), and as an instructor at the Hebrew Union College in New York, where she teaches in the Debbie Friedman School of Sacred Music. Elana has performed at Carnegie Hall, Lincoln Center, Tanglewood, and perhaps most memorably, five separate appearances at the (Obama) White House. She lives in New York with her wife, Julia, and their two daughters, Maya and Acadia.
Known for his unique, engaging, and deeply soulful approach, Noah Aronson is considered one of the most sought after Jewish musicians in North America, making over 65 community appearances each year.
There is a reason why Time Magazine has listed Michelle in their Top Ten list of Jewish rock stars.
Kol B’Seder has been composing and performing contemporary Jewish music since the early1970s. Rabbi Dan Freelander and Cantor Jeff Klepper met as college students; over the past 50years they have released numerous CDs and songbooks. With Debbie Friedman (z”l) and others, they forged a new musical sound for American Jewish camps, schools and synagogues. Their songs, such as “Shalom Rav,” “Modeh Ani,” and “Lo Alecha,” have become traditionalJewish melodies around the world. They are delighted to be inaugurating their fiftieth anniversary celebration by appearing in support of URJ camps, where they first composed and incubated many of their early songs.
New York bassist Roger Wagner enjoys a long and diverse career. As soloist, chamber musician, and orchestral bassist, Mr. Wagner has appeared on many of the world’s great concert stages.
Margaret Kampmeier, 
Leonard Bernstein described 
Sarah Adams 
Michael Roth
Our initiative for young children and their grown-ups provides a slate of offerings including Shabbat and holiday celebrations, music, classroom readiness programs, and new parent experiences. During the pandemic, we have leaned on $1m of seed funding for Sholom Sprouts established through this campaign as we offer age-appropriate virtual programs for our families with young children, who are the future of our community. We look forward to welcoming our littlest members and their grown-ups back to our new fifth floor, as well as hiring a Program Assistant to increase the capacity of Sholom Sprouts to grow. This program provides a crucial entry-point to the congregation and membership for young families.
