Installation Sermon December 5 2009 - Shir Tikvah

Hagbahah: Go out in joy & be led forth in peace
Rabbi Michael Adam Latz
Shir Tikvah Congregation
Installation D’var Torah
Shabbat Vayishlach 5770
“Vayiftach Ezra HaSefer l’einei kol ha-am…u-phit-cho amdu kol ha-am.
Ezra opened the Torah before the eyes of all the people… as he opened it, the people stood up.
Vayikr’u va-sefer b’Torah ha-Elohim m’forash v’som sekhel vayavinu bamikra.
They read from the Sefer Torah, the Teaching of God, translating it and explaining it and giving
it sense, so that every person gained wisdom and understanding from the reading [Nechemiah
8:5-8].”
These verses, tucked away near the very end of the TaNaKh, are treasures to be mined, insights
to behold. This is the Biblical grounding for raising the open scroll, hagbah, so the entire
congregation can bear witness to the words of Torah.
For more than two millennia, Jews have raised the Torah scroll high in the air for all to see. For
Ashkenazi Jews, this happens after the reading; for Sephardi Jews, it is before. In our
congregation, as we sing the words “v’zot HaTorah asher sam Moshe lifnei b’nei Yisrael”—this is the
Torah, given to Moshe before the people of Israel—we lift the Torah before the entire
congregation.
The person who is honored with the lifting, who raises the Torah, is called the magbiah—
literally, the one who lifts. It is a ritually precious role and several rabbis across the generations
have proclaimed this to be as worthy as all the previous aliyot combined. The magbiah is
requested to lift the Torah wide enough to see three full columns. In some congregations, the
tradition is to raise the edges of the tallit toward the open Torah and then kiss the tzizit (Ronald
L. Eisenberg, MyJewishLearning.com), creating an intimacy between the ink on the scroll and
worshippers participating in this ancient rite.
Embodied in the ritual of hagbah is much of how I understand my role as a rabbi: Lifting Torah
to make it accessible for all to encounter. Talking about Torah, opening Torah, teaching Torah,
translating and commenting upon and seeking wisdom from Torah, hearing God’s thunderous
commands and call to justice in Torah. The vulnerability of holding the ancient scroll, of fearing
for it—for us—for being vulnerable before the entire community of Israel so publicly… trying
fervently, in but a few short moments, to access on the ancient parchment and in our
contemporary sensibilities, a space, a key, a note, a word, a letter, that might open a single heart
and lift Judaism into the next generation.
This is some heavy spiritual lifting. It cannot be done alone. The words are too heavy, soaked
with centuries of meaning and questions, stained with anguish and hope. Hagbah is not done in

private; Torah is lifted before the congregation, in community. So, too, with us. We must lift
each other. We must support each other as we try the heavy lifting of study, tradition, ritual,
and the pursuit of justice. In our holy congregation, we must also create space for others to see
the uplifted scroll, to move to the side or adjust ourselves, so others, too, might see their own
reflection in the radiance of Torah. The 19 th century Hasidic rabbi, Menachem Mendl of Kotzk
— known as the Kotzker Rebbe—taught, “The giving of the Torah took place in the month of
Sivan, but the receiving of the Torah takes place every day. The giving of the Torah was the
same for everyone, but the receiving is different for each person according to his ability to
understand.” (Emet Ve-Emunah).
Hagbah is a call to each of us: to expose the treasures of our tradition for all to share, to learn, to
seek inspiration and comfort and guidance in a world that is ever more spiritually sublime and
morally complex.
As a rabbi in the 21 st century—nearly 2000 years since the first rabbi was ordained—my central
religious task remains as precious as it was for the students in the first seminary in Yavneh two
millennia ago: To cultivate a community committed to lifelong Torah study and spiritual
inquiry, to ethical and compassionate living. As our congregation’s spiritual leader, my
responsibility is to call us to examine in a very practical way, how we organize our congregation,
our learning, our priorities, and our resources, to lift up Torah for every soul who wishes to
encounter it, who seeks a Jewish life of promise and purpose.
My prayer is that our engagement with Torah will inspire great Jewish self confidence, an
increased passion and commitment to lifelong Jewish learning, a smoldering prioritization to
connect with community, and an unyielding commitment to justice and righteousness. As we
breathe Torah to life when we chant its words, we make manifest the central mitzvot of our rich
Jewish tradition and heritage: the observance of Shabbat and holy time; the Oneness of the
universe and the embracing Divine Presence; the mystery of human relationships; the clarion call
to care for the widow, the orphan, the poor, and the strangers in our midst. As we gather on
Shabbat and raise the Torah, we proclaim a Jewish future robust with vigor and vitality. For Rav
Kook proclaimed, the old shall be renewed, and the new shall be made holy.
This probing study and observance of Jewish time is not merely because it enriches our souls
and gives our lives meaning—though it certainly does that! Over the past two decades, led by
the indefatigable Rabbi Offner, Shir Tikvah created an expansive community of radical
inclusion. When asked the timeless question: Are we our brother and our sister’s keeper? Shir
Tikvah repeatedly answered without equivocation, “YES! We are our brother’s keeper. We are
our sister’s keeper!” Time and again, on the great moral and social issues of the day—from
Darfur to the treatment of Somali Refugees here in the Twin Cities, from AIDS to homelessness,
from Domestic Violence to Environmental Justice—Shir Tikvah has led the way for justice. Our
prayer and our study compel us to act in the world, to make God’s mitzvot and the Prophet’s
vision real: to make justice roll down like waters and righteousness as a mighty stream!
In our parsha this Shabbat, in the dark of night, Jacob wrestles with beings Divine and human.
Confronted with the demons of his past and the truths of his life, Jacob becomes Israel. We do
not become without struggle. Pain and suffering are seemingly part of the bargain for being
human. An authentic religious enterprise seeks to end the suffering of God’s creation where

possible; and where it is not possible, then our Jewish tradition and community must seek to
offer comfort and make the suffering sufferable. This is what a holy community is tasked to do:
Build relationships of mutual care and affection, of growing support and tenderness. When one
arm is unsteady, we raise ourselves up to stand beside and hold.
This is our great task together in the days and months and years ahead: to create a holy
community together where we receive Torah—each one of us—each and every day; to grow our
understanding, to gain wisdom, to build a world together where God’s vision of equality and
justice are normative and pervasive.
Just as we lift Torah, so too, are we lifted, held, and strengthened by our communities of loved
ones.
For holding me in the past, for lifting me today, for continuing to call me to raise my sights
beyond the horizon, I am grateful this Shabbat as I am formally installed as Shir Tikvah’s rabbi:
To Shir Tikvah’s Installation Committee, Transition Committee, and Judy Hollander and the
Rabbinic Search Committee, and Jane Newman and the Board of Trustees, I offer my thanks and
deepest gratitude for your support and your trust in me for this exquisite honor. Thank you.
To the Shir Tikvah staff—John, Judy, David, Holly, and Rebecca—with whom I am privileged to
work each day, I give thanks and the promise of weekly staff meetings for time immemorial.
To my dear friend, Nanette Robinson Goss, who came from West Seattle and who has
supported my rabbinate for the past decade and helped me soar, thank you.
To the rabbis present: Rabbi Saks, my friend and beloved chevruta (study partner), who walks
Torah and teaches integrity; Rabbi Offner, my predecessor, teacher, exemplar, and inspiration;
Rabbi Stiefel, a friend for nearly 20 years whose tender leadership and wise counsel lifted Shir
Tikvah to new heights; and Rabbi Zecher, the one who showered upon me a love for the
congregational rabbinate, exposed me to the mystery and wonder of Jewish liturgy, and who
called me to trust my soul and find my voice—your words are forever upon my lips; for you, my
teachers and friends, I give thanks.
To my dearest friends, Ann Kaner-Roth, Marc Roth, and Marla Eisenberg, and their families,
who were as big a draw back to the Twin Cities as I could imagine, whose support over a
quarter century has shaped my dreams, and whose love has enabled me to realize my visions, I
offer praise and thanks.
To my entire family present, most especially my parents, Larry & Judi, and my brother Benjamin
& his fiancé, Brian, I’m so happy to be back and grateful for the love you’ve showed me; for
teaching me that there is always enough room at the table for one more guest, that there is
always enough food for one more person, always enough love to be shared, thank you.
Many of you know that I was a single dad for a number of years; Noa was born during
Chanukkah, as the light of a past relationship flickered and was extinguished; Liati arrived on
Erev Shavuot, as the sun was setting in the Santa Monica sky and a new moon in our lives
illuminated our future as a family. Life as a single, gay, rabbi, father was just about as full and
complicated as you might imagine. And then Michael came into our lives, gently, with quiet
commitments of affection, trust, and love. Waiting for you, my Michael, taught this very

impatient soul how magnificent life and love can be. Zeh dodi, zeh rei-i: Forever in my heart, you
are my beloved and my friend.
To our beloved daughters, Noa and Liati: I cannot remember what my heart felt like before you
grew inside. I am awed by your love and grateful every waking hour for your sticky fingers and
demand of your tired dads to read one more story and watch one more movie, sing one more
song and give you just one more hug before bedtime. Nothing makes me prouder than being your
dad. Thank you for teaching me what it means to be fully alive.
Finally, to you, the members of Shir Tikvah, for the honor of being your rabbi, I am grateful and
humbled. I pledge to you today and every day to honor the traditions and past of this holy
community as we move forward and write new songs of hope for the future.
A Rabbinic Installation at its ikar—at its core—is about hope, about the blossoming
relationship between rabbi and congregation, about pausing at this moment to celebrate our
shared commitment to move forward and continue shaping our holy community. Together, we
are building upon a foundation of 21 years of tenderness, compassion, integrity, and vision. And
there is still much work to be done. To secure a vital future, every one of us will be called to open
our hearts, lift up our hands, share our resources, and renew the faith of Shir Tikvah’s vision.
Our ancestor Jacob, in the dark night of the soul, begged to be blessed, pleaded for life from an
elusive encounter with the Divine.
There is no such pleading here at Shir Tikvah; we have an abundance of blessings for one
another and the world. We are here, gathered together in this holy congregation, with the
purpose of reaching out and blessing one another’s lives.
Today is a celebration: out of many, we are one. God willing, when we look back on this season a
in generation or two, I pray we will tell stories of how members of Shir Tikvah served as God’s
agents, Divine messengers for justice and equality and peace; that when history called upon us to
be a transformative force for good in the world, we answered in the affirmative; that we
embraced every opportunity to alleviate suffering; and that we were lifelong students of Torah
and beacons of hope for ourselves, our loved ones, our community, and our world.
On this Shabbat, let us recommit ourselves to Shir Tikvah’s exalted vision: to be an inclusive,
welcoming, dynamic, progressive synagogue community, rooted in tradition, with branches
lifting us toward the heavens. Let us make a congregation and a world renewed with the vitality
of Divine promise as we sing Isaiah’s hopeful melody: You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the
mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands.
Keyn Y’hi Ratzon.
Shabbat Shalom.