blogs/rabbi-huberman

Last evening, an important event occurred at Boston’s TD Garden. The best of Canada and the United States faced off to determine world hockey supremacy. Canada won.

This morning, several hockey fans from our congregation texted me with reluctant congratulations. Although I have been an American citizen for more than four years, I was raised in Montreal, where hockey is a sacred pastime—almost a religion.

And although Canada was the victor—reaffirming its role as the cradle of hockey—I would like to share that this morning, I was actually sad.

As I watched the teams line up prior to the opening faceoff, and Canadian Grammy winner Chantal Kreviazuk began singing an altered version of O’Canada, the arena—ironically named after the Toronto Dominion Bank—echoed with boos. 

Canadians are not angels in this regard. Earlier this month, with tariffs looming, the United States national anthem was booed at sports events across Canada. 

What has happened to us? In Canada, I grew up cherishing America: Sandy Koufax, Neil Armstrong, John F. Kennedy, Peter Paul & Mary. 

I thought perhaps that someday I could live in the United States.

Indeed, these are difficult times. People are divided. Civil conversations—L’Shem Shamayim (in the name of heaven) have been replaced by dueling voices. Families and friendships have been fractured.

In a country that cherishes free speech, so many are now afraid to speak.  Yet, we as Jews have never been afraid to speak, and this week’s Torah portion speaks volumes. It is, perhaps, one of the most significant within the entire Torah.  

Fifty-three of the 613 mitzvoth (commandments) are listed, and most relate to taking care of the poor, the orphaned, the widowed—and perhaps most importantly—the stranger.

The Torah talks about finding ways to find peace with our enemies—whether that be a nation, a family member or a neighbor. It reminds us never to prey upon the vulnerability of others.

Yet, in recent years, it seems the world has lost that focus.

The other day, while watching television, a promo came on advertising a new fantasy series. One of the featured characters uttered these words, “The lie has become the most lethal weapon known to humanity.”

I’ve been thinking about that. During World War II, lies were told about the Jews, and no one stood up to challenge.

A specious, anti-Semitic document, known as The Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion—written by Russian propagandists in 1903—continues to circulate within the world under the guise of truth.

I have had numerous arguments with young people of all religions and backgrounds, who believe that October 7 never happened because of what they have seen on TikTok.

What has happened to truth? Worldwide, we are witnessing an abdication of individual responsibility. We have become spiritually lazy. We are glued to the Internet for our perspectives, and the Internet is skilled at turning our fears into profit.

Better to hand responsibility off to a leader, than to hold our representatives accountable to uphold our truths. Justice, compassion, wisdom, kindness.

That is what Judaism, and especially this week’s Torah portion, are about: We are commanded to work with God to achieve Tikun Olam—the repair of this broken world.

It is not easy these days. The concept calls upon each of us—as we interact with our children, grandchildren, neighbors, co-workers and friends—to call out lies whenever we see them, and to take personal responsibility for our choices and opinions. 

A teaching in the Talmud forbids us from visiting a store and handling the merchandise, if we have no intension of buying.

The specifics of the story are not as important as the moral message: Never deprive the shopkeeper of hope.

One of the most famous Israeli songs, Al Kol Ehle, reminds us Al Tishkach et Hatikva—"never forget the hope.”

The Israeli national anthem is titled Hatikva—the hope.

Through all we have experienced as a people, as we’ve witnessed tyrants and empires rise and fall, hope has enabled us to persevere.

We must stand with Israel. We must look at the complex issues which face our country, not through divisive lenses, but rather through the filter of Jewish values.

Hockey games are just that—games. But life itself has higher stakes. We are instructed in the Torah to, “Respect others the way we wish to be respected ourselves.”

As this week’s Torah reading reminds us, “Do not wrong or oppress a stranger…for you were once strangers in the land of Egypt.” (Exodus 23:9). We as Jews, perhaps above all other people, know what it is like to be attacked, ostracized and persecuted.

Let us use that sensitivity—as this week’s parashah teaches us—to protect and uplift the stranger among us. At one time, those strangers were our parents, grandparents—or even you or me.

Earlier this week, I was invited to participate at the Holocaust Memorial and Tolerance Center of Nassau County at a service this Sunday to support Ukraine.

At first, I winced. I am not a big fan of protests and demonstrations. I find that, ultimately, they achieve little.

But there came a point, as I reflected upon world events, that I reminded myself that sometimes each of us must stand and be counted. And then, in its time, we must follow up with action.

I stand for truth and justice. It’s what the Torah instructs me to do. It’s what I learned from my parents and grandparents.

And this Sunday, I will pray for a better world. In so doing, I will reclaim one of the most important assets lost by so many these days.

Truth, conviction and, most of all, hope.

Shabbat shalom, v’kol tuv.

Rabbi Irwin Huberman