Dear Friends,
 
For many of us here in Boston, we’re transitioning between summer activities and a new school year, which always brings a combination of trepidation and anticipation. We certainly feel this in my house with our oldest child heading back to college, our two middle children preparing to leave for Israel (one in college and one on a gap year), and our youngest in high school. 
 
In Israel, we continue to follow the tensions with bated breath, including the daily rocket attacks from Hezbollah in the north, a possible retaliation from Iran, and the interminable suffering of the hostages, for whose return we pray.
 
This time of year is full of unknowns, transitions, and liminal spaces. On the Jewish calendar, we’re approaching the new month of Elul, a time for introspection and reflection before the High Holidays. 
 
We recently began reading the fifth and final book of the Torah, Devarim (Deuteronomy). Devarim itself is a liminal book, consisting of no new narratives but rather of Moses’ final speeches to the Israelites as they stand on the banks of the Jordan River. After 40 years of wandering in the desert, they are getting ready to cross over into the Land of Israel to actualize the purpose of their journey: to build a model society in the Promised Land based on the values, teachings, and spirituality of the Jewish story and Jewish tradition. 
 
What do you tell a community at such a profound moment of transition and change, and what might this mean for us and our lives? 
 
One phrase resounds throughout this week’s parsha speech and the entire book: “Zachor, al tiskach — remember, do not forget.” There are so many ways to interpret this. 
 
When the ground underneath us is shifting, when we’re leaving or going, when we’re crossing over, especially to an unknown future, there is a risk of forgetting — of losing our bearing, our way, ourselves.
 
Precisely in moments like these, the charge is to remember: Remember where we come from and where we’ve been. Remember the successes, the failures, and the challenges we’ve overcome along the way. Remember the people on whose shoulders we stand and who have helped form us into the people we are today. Remember what matters most, and the values that should guide our actions and decision-making. Remember our purpose and highest calling, for which we continue to aspire and strive. Remember that we are never alone because we journey together, and because God has been with us — and will always be with us — every step of the way.  
 
To me, this obligation to remember means different things at different times. But it is always a comfort, an anchor, and a north star, especially in times of change and when things feel as precarious as they do right now.
 
I feel so grateful to remember that I’m part of this extraordinary community and that I am crossing over into a new year with all of you.

Shabbat Shalom,  

Rabbi Marc Baker

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