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Shabbat Sh’mot – January 6, 2018There is something very special about a first pregnancy. I remember that when Abbey was pregnant with Elianna, we both read What to Expect When You are Expecting from cover-to-cover, I attended every doctor visit, and we took a class at the hospital. Neither of us were particularly nervous. We had many nieces and nephews by that time and both of us are very comfortable around babies and children. As most of you are aware, I will never pass up the opportunity to hold a baby. But, having never done been parents before, we wanted to make sure we got it right. And so, when Abbey’s doctor walked us through the various options for birthing, we listened carefully and considered our options. This was the first time I really understood the role of a mid-wife and what makes the birthing experience different with them. It is a difference of orientation, more focused on the experience of birthing in addition to the medical aspects that are inherent in the process. We didn’t choose that option; Still just learning about the midwife process impacted my experience.Now, I imagine that the distinction in perspectives would have been lost on our ancestors who were living under harsh conditions in Egypt. Midwives were almost certainly the only option available and the midwives’ primary responsibility was to ensure that both the baby and the mom made it through, healthy and alive. That was certainly not a given at that time. And even today, with all our medical advances, I would venture to guess that most of us know someone or know of someone who has a lost a baby at birth or in the final weeks of a pregnancy. Some of you may be sitting here right now. Women who I speak with about this, and men too, will often tell me that no matter how many kids they may have after that, no matter how successful they may be, the pain of that loss never fully dissipates. Given the important role that the midwives play in our story, it is not surprising that they are named – we are in parashat Sh’mot after all, which means names. But what does surprise me each year are the many midrashim that speculate on who these women are, despite the fact that we are given their names as Shifra and Puah. According to one tradition, they are Yocheved, Moses’ mother, and Miriam, his sister. And if we follow the descendants along this line, then Puah (i.e. Miriam) offspring eventually lead to the birth of King David. According to another Midrash, Puah is Elisheva, the daughter of Ammindav, who marries and spawns several deputy High Priests and her brother Nachshon is the leader of the tribe of Judah. Either way, there is an effort to associate her with royalty.Why would the rabbis go to such lengths to identify them with other characters, despite the fact that their names are given? Perhaps it is because of the bravery and importance of their actions. The Torah states (v. 17) that the midwives did not heed Pharaoh, and “did not do as the king of Egypt had spoken to them; they let the boys live.” The Rabbis ask why it was necessary to write “they let the boys live,” if Scripture already stated that the midwives did not do the king of Egypt’s bidding? They answer that the end of the verse teaches that not only did they not kill the boys, but they actively aided them to live, by giving them food and water (BT?Sotah, loc. cit.). The midrash explains that if the midwives saw poor women, they would go and collect food and water from the houses of wealthy women, which they gave to the poor ones, thus enabling them to provide for their children.Va-tichayenah et hay’ladim – they caused the children to live.I’ve been thinking about this verse a lot this week, a week in which we witnessed four new babies within our congregational family. Thankfully, all of them are alive and we pray that each one will grow up to have a wonderful life, full of Torah, with meaningful relationships and the opportunity to do good deeds. While one of the babies is still in the hospital, his mom explained to me that it was because of a condition that was discovered in utero – and with the wonders of today’s medical advances, was treated at that time. God-willing, he too will go on to live a long and healthy life.But it wasn’t because of these births that I was thinking about this verse, but rather because of a loss – a tragic loss that has impacted so many members of our community.I am speaking, of course, of the plane crash in Costa Rica on Sunday, that robbed us of two families, both of whom were active members of the Jewish community. Bruce and Irene Steinberg, their sons Matthew, William and Zachary, were active members of Westchester Reform Temple in Scarsdale, actively involved with Federation. William was a freshman at Penn, Zach a sophomore at Johns Hopkins; I imagine Michael, 13, just celebrated his bar mitzvah. Williams love of Israel prompted him to become active with Seeds of Peace, which promotes peaceful conflict resolution. Several people have told me of their connections with the Steinberg family – one who went to college with Bruce (the father); another whose child knew William at Penn. And there was the Weiss family. Here in this area, it feels that everyone I speak with was either directly connected or one step away from knowing them. Lesley and Michell were both doctors, they lived in Elkins Park for many years before moving to Florida. Their son Ari was a beautiful musician and loved to play his guitar at Ramah Darom. And Hannah. Hannah, whose love of Judaism led her to Camp Ramah, to Israel on Ramah Seminar, to USY International Board and to List College, the joint program of Columbia and JTS. If there ever was a poster child for the Conservative movement, she would be a strong candidate. So many of our teens knew her – from the home-at-home camp visits that our Ramah Poconos Gesher campers have with their peers at Ramah Darom – or from their involvement with USY or because they are students with her at List. Her death, and the death of all of them, cut deep into our community. It was not only the activities she did, but the way she did them. After returning from her summer on Ramah Israel Seminar, Hannah was asked to give a D’var Torah about her experience. My daughter Elianna found a copy of this speech through a mutual friend. Hannah’s words were beautiful in any context but are particularly poignant today. In writing about the Polish landscape, which she describes as “lush countrysides, rolling hills and blooming dandelions,” She goes on to say that for her, the beauty lay beneath the aesthetics and it was uncovered through the pure strength of the Jews to rebound in a place where so many deaths occurred. Ramah brought Jewish life back to Poland in ways I thought unimaginable.” She had the ability, even in the darkest of places, to find the light and to share it with others. She was devoted to working to make the world a better place, not just through words, and not only through actions, but through her very essence.One of Hannah’s friends wrote on Facebook that “So often when someone dies too young we ask ourselves, “what could have been.” He then goes on to describe her focus on human dignity of each person, and the way she impacted his life. And he closes by noting “Hannah’s legacy will live on through me and through the thousands of people she touched throughout her life. So when anyone tells you that Hannah Weiss could have changed the world, make sure to correct them and tell them that she already did.”And this is where we come full circle. Vatichayenah et HaYeladim – and they caused the children to live.Any midwife, any ob-gyn, any delivery nurse can tell you that for all of their wonderful moments in helping to bring babies to life, it is inevitable that there will be some babies and moms who will not survive. But that doesn’t mean their lives, however brief, lack meaning. It means that those of us who survive must pick up the charge l’hachin et haYeladim – to ensure that the lives of these children will have meaning.Earlier in the week, I spoke with someone who pondered why this incident hits so much closer to home than a similarly tragic crash of people who were not Jews. I believe there are two answers. First, when we look at the Weiss family and the Steinberg family, we are also looking in the mirror. How many families do we know who traveled to warm places over the winter break? How many times have we boarded a plane assuming that everything would be fine? But as safe as flying is today, just like the birthing process, we know that what we are doing comes with some very big inherent risks. Those risks don’t stop us – and nor should they – otherwise, we are like Amram, Moses’ father, who the Midrash tells us didn’t want to have any children for fear that he would have a son who would be killed at birth. His daughter Miriam, who perhaps my be Puah, is the one who tells him that doing so would make him worse than Pharaoh, for Pharaoh was destroying the potential for the boy’s lives, but refusing to have any more children would also negate the possibility of the daughter’s lives.The second reason, I think, that so many people in our community have been touched by this story has to do with something else Hannah wrote in describing Poland. She explained that “what is truly amazing, though, is that despite all of these atrocities, Jewish people have been able to band together in miraculous ways. Its funny how here, I’m able to hold hands with someone who lives in Jerusalem and someone who lives in Chicago, walking around Poland, learning about an old truth. We are all here from different places, but have come for similar reasons.At the beginning of our Parasha, we are told the names of the B’nai Yisrael – the sons of Jacob – who came down to Egypt from Canaan. A few short verses, Pharaoh uses this same phrase – b’nai Yisrael, to refer to us as the nation, a united and strong community. This is part of the reason that people like me, who never even met anyone from either family, feel the pain of this loss. It is our loss too because we are not just b’nai Yisarel, a collection of individuals, but B’nai Yisrael, a strong and united community and so when one part hurts, all of us hurt.So how can we cause life to go on for these yeladim – and here, I mean not just the literal children, but all of the family members who perished far too young?Here, I will once again quote from Hannah, who concluded her d’var Torah by saying “I have a mission – to revive the Jewish culture in places where it has been lost and to show the world the unique kind of light and love we bring.”Hannah will not be here physically to carry on this work. But I hope that by sharing some of her words, each of us can consider the ways that we can take some of her light and use it to share the love that we bring.Shabbat shalom ................
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