One quiet Shabbat morning in August, a long-time member comes in and says, Rabbi, I turn 93 today. Can I have an Aliyah? I said of course. We’d love to give you an Aliyah. Just want you to know one thing. You are a youngster.
A youngster? I’m turning 93 today. How is that a youngster?
I pointed in the direction of a woman who was sitting with her children, grandchildren and extended mishpacha. I said we are doing an Aliyah today for that woman surrounded by her family because she just turned 103.
Without skipping a beat, he says: Is she single?
That’s what I want to talk about today. The good stuff. The lightness, the laughter, the loveliness, that have been so hard to come by this past year. There has obviously been a deep heaviness all year. And we are not done with that heaviness. The wars are ongoing. Our worry is ongoing. The heartbreak caused by Helene and Milton is ongoing. And yet, we are not wired to live in heaviness indefinitely. We cannot live in heaviness indefinitely. We crave hope. We crave uplift. Even now. Especially now. And so I want to talk about finding hope, but with a particular angle. How do we find hope when it sometimes feels like hope is gone? What can I do, what can you do, what can we each do to make our world a more hopeful world?
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