What If I Don’t Believe in God?

 (In loving memory of Jampa Williams)

The Torah assumes that God exists, and the concept of a single, good caring God who wants us to use our talents to make the world a better place.

But what of those who don’t believe?

In Noah Gordon’s novel, The Rabbi, young Michael Kind intervenes to rescue Rabbi Max Gross from a New York City mugging.  The encounter with the Rabbi stimulates in Michael questions about his own beliefs.  He returns to the Rabbi’s apartment and says:

“‘Tell me about God.’

‘What is it you want to know?’

‘How can you be sure that man didn’t imagine God, because he was afraid of the dark and the lousy cold, because he needed the protection of anything, even his own stupid imagination…. I think I’ve become an agnostic.”

‘No, no, no,’ Rabbi Gross responded.  ‘Then call yourself an atheist.  Because how can anyone be certain that God exists …. Do you think I have knowledge of God?  Can I go back in time and be there when God speaks to Isaac or delivers the Commandments?  If this could be done there would only be one religion in the world; we would all know which group is right. Now it happens to be the way of all men to take sides. A person has to make a decision. About God, you don’t know, and I don’t know.  But I have made a decision in favor of God.  You have made a decision against Him.’

‘I’ve made no decisions,’ Michael said a bit sullenly. ‘That’s why I’m here. I’m full of questions.  I want to study with you.’

Rabbi Gross touched the books piled on his table.  ‘A lot of great thoughts are contained here,’ he said.  ‘But they don’t hold the answer to your question.  They can’t help you decide.  First you make a decision.  Then we will study.’

‘No matter what I decide?  Suppose I think God is a fable, a bubbeh-meisir.’

‘No matter.’

Outside in the dark hallway, Michael looked back at the closed door of the shul.  Goddamn you, he thought.  And then, in spite of everything, he smiled at his choice of words.”

 

Like young Michael, many of us do not believe in God. Many of us do not believe in a God who judges us.

Our Holy Days of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are ten days apart on the Jewish calendar.  The holy days, and the days between them, are a time for introspection and contemplation of one’s life and actions during the past year – a time for reflection, and repentance.

The most stark – and, for many – most difficult prayer of the High Holy Day season is the Unetaneh Tokef, which we pray at the morning service on the Holy Days:  The words “Unetaneh Tokef”mean, “Let us acknowledge the enormity (of this sacred day.)”

“On Rosh Hashanah it is written and Yom Kippur it is sealed

How many shall pass on and how many shall come to be;

Who shall live and who shall die;

Who shall see ripe old age and who shall not;

Who shall perish by fire and who by water;

Who by sword and who by beast;

Who by hunger and who by thirst;”

But, the prayer concludes,

“Repentance, Prayer and Charity temper judgment’s severe decree.”

I certainly do not believe, and no one I know believes, that those who died in the past year died because they were deficient in repentance, prayer and charity.

None of us knows who shall live and who shall die in the coming year.  To a great degree, how long we live is beyond our control, but how we live is up to us.

We can unlock the door of unbelief that stands between many of us and the prayers of this day with a single Hebrew word: כאלו K’eeloo, and it means, “as if”.

It is a simple concept.  Whatever our beliefs, if we can act – K’eeloo– “as if” we stand this day under God’s scrutiny, we shall make a giant leap forward.

The word Israel – in Hebrew, Yisrael– means, “One who struggles with God.”  It does not mean, “One who believes in God”, and it does not mean “One who is always comfortable with God.”  The High Holy Days invite us to serious struggle and effort.

The Unetaneh Tokefprayer is one of the best “struggling tools” ever.  It has the power to change our lives.

Once, during the Russo-Japanese War at the beginning of the 20thcentury, wrote S.Y. Agnon in Days of Awe,

“A committee of Jewish soldiers passed through all the hospitals, and announced there would be public prayer” for the Holy Days.

It was an awful sight.  Many of those who came were incapacitated, gloomy, and lean as corpses; many…were armless, lame, leaned on crutches, were armless, lame, leaned on crutches, were blind, and bore wounds of every description….

During the Unetaneh Tokef prayer no words were heard in the House of Prayer; only tear-choked voices filled the atmosphere of the little house.  The cantor’s voice became stronger and stronger and struck sparks in the air:  ‘Who will live and who will die, who in his time, and who before his time.’  Those were terrible and awful moments.”

How many of these men were believers?  I do not know, but the real possibility of imminent death gave urgency and meaning to their prayers.

The purpose of this day of Yom Kippur is to imagine our imminent death.   On this day we separate ourselves from bodily pleasures.  We imagine that we have died, and we envision ourselves trembling before the throne of a God who calls us to account for our actions.

Even if we do not believe in God, is not well for us to try to answer the questions our tradition ascribes to God?

How did we use the time we had?

Did we use our abilities simply to provide for ourselves, or did we work to make the world a better place?  What did we do last year that we wish we could change?

Actions in the Jewish religion are more important than beliefs.

The Jerusalem Talmud ascribes the following quotation to God:

“Would that My people forsake Me, but keep My commandments!”

Elie Wiesel was a young journalist living in Israel when he published his first book, Night, in 1958.  Once, he had been a budding Talmud scholar, an ilui, a gifted one, a genius.

He was, in the words of Francois Mauriac, “One of God’s elect.  From the time when his conscience first awoke, he had lived only for God and had been reared on the Talmud…dedicated to the Eternal.”

But then, during the Holocaust, he watched “his mother, a beloved little sister, and all his family except his father disappear into an oven fed with living creatures.”  He watched the slow agony of his father’s tortured death from exposure, exhaustion and dysentery after a merciless midwinter march from Gleiwitz to Buchenwald.

Never…” Wiesel wrote, “Never shall I forget those moments which murdered my God and turned my dreams to dust.”

No one who has read Nightcan ever forget Wiesel’s description of the scene where the Gestapo hanged a small child.

‘For more than half an hour he stayed there, struggling between life and death, dying in slow agony under our eyes.  And we had to look him full in the face.  He was still alive when I passed in front of him.  His tongue was still red, his eyes not yet glazed.

Behind me I heard a man asking:

‘Where is God now?’

And I heard a voice within me answer him:

‘Where is He?  Here He is – He is hanging there on the gallows.’

Out of the broken pieces of his life and his faith, Elie Wiesel forged a remarkable career that ranks him among the greats of Jewish history and earned him – among many honors – the Nobel Prize for Peace in 1986. He may have stopped believing in God, but he acted as if a God of love, mercy and justice watched and judged his every action.

The Talmud teaches us (B.Kiddushin 40Bthat we should approach Yom Kippur thinking our good deeds and our bad deeds balance each other on the scales.  Therefore we should go through life alert to any opportunity to do good that will tip the scales in our favor.  Who knows what the impact of that next mitzvah will be?

Once, a rabbi was missing from his synagogue on the holiest night of the year.  The worried elders searched for him all over town.  Eventually they found him in a small house close to the synagogue holding a small baby in his arms.

“What are you doing here?” the dumbfounded elders asked the rabbi.

“On my way to Kol Nidre services, I heard a baby crying. Seeing no one in the house, I stopped to comfort him.
For Jews, what we do is more important than what we believe or how we pray.  Comforting a crying child is a more sacred act than the holiest of prayers.

As Rabbi Max Gross told Michael Kind, “About God you don’t know and I don’t know, but it is in the nature of human beings to make a choice.

Personally, my choice is for God.  My faith strengthens me in times of trouble; my faith enhances life’s joys.  For me faith in God is a precious gift.

That gift, though, is not one that everyone has or wants. But even for those who do not believe, the Jewish holy day of Yom Kippur holds hope and promise.

Even if we do not believe in God, we can choose to act – K ‘eeloo– as if we do.

Even if we do not believe in God, we can act as if our fate rested on the merit of our actions.

And even if we do not believe in God, we can choose life and blessing – for ourselves and for others.

 Is not that the choice that really matters?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fragile … and Frightened

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The New Year creeps ever closer. On this last Shabbat of 5778 I feel fragile and frightened. 

Since our return from Germany in June, my summer has been dedicated to deciding to have shoulder surgery, anticipating surgery, having the surgery and recovering from it.

Six weeks post op, I still deal with pain and the inability to use my right arm at all.

The good news — and it is VERY good news — is both my surgeon and my physical therapist say this is normal. The operation was “massive” but successful. With time, patience and lots of physical therapy I can look forward to a full recovery.

I am working hard on that in therapy and at the gym.

But in the meantime …

  • Tonight I shall conduct Shabbat services for the first time since my surgery.
  • I feel fragile and frightened.
  • My strength and energy are not nearly 100%.
  • I cannot even think about holding or carrying the Torah, let alone lifting it high above my head after the reading as I so love to do.

The congregation will surely understand my limitations. But will I?

At my very best, the Days of Awe require an enormous outpouring of emotional, spiritual and physical strength.

And so I turn to you O God!

Be gracious to me, for I need Your help.

Although months from now, I can hope for a complete physical recovery, I must stand and deliver meaningful spiritual guidance TONIGHT and during the holy days of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur just ahead.

Although I feel fragile and frightened, let me act as if I am not.

Help me, Eternal One, to serve You and the people who are counting on me in ways that will find favor in Your sight.

Amen

More Thoughts for the Month of Elul

One of my most precious possessions is a copy of the Talmudic tractate Kiddushin printed in Munich in 1946 on presses once used for Nazi propaganda.

A Talmud printed on an erstwhile Nazi printing press is a powerful symbol of our privilege to use our time, our talent and our material resources to help replant vibrant, progressive Jewish learning and living in the places where the Nazis tried to destroy them.

In this volume (page 40B) we find one of the most uplifting of rabbinic teachings whose message is particularly appropriate during the last month of the year, the month of Elul: Each of us should see ourselves as half innocent and half guilty, as though our good deeds and our bad deeds completely balance one another.  If we then commit one good deed, we tip the scales in our favor!

What a marvelous metaphor! How wonderful a place would our world become if each of us went through life committed to making our next deed a good one.

My late and beloved Ulpan teacher in Israel, Sarah Rothbard, used to say, “It is not just a gift for Jews that we created a Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur) and the forty-day period (starting at the beginning of the month of Elul) leading up to it. It is a gift for all humanity.

Most of us were not given the talent to cure cancer or bring about peace in the world. But we each have talents and abilities

Our goal—particularly during the days of Elul—is to ask ourselves, “What particular talents and abilities do we possess? Are we using them only for our own enrichment and enjoyment? Or do we—and if not can we—find ways to use these gifts for the benefit of others?”

Without doubt these are hard questions.But if each of us grapples with them seriously, we will leave future generations with a better world.

 

 

 

 

How I Think of God

As the Hebrew month of Elul, the month before Rosh Hashanah begins, our tradition urges us to turn our thoughts toward the spiritual realm of life. Toward that end I want to share with you the way I think of God and the role the Eternal One plays in my life.

I understand God in two specific ways:

  • God is the invisible, incorporeal force Who initiated the process that led to the evolution of the world, as we know it. The process was orderly and purposeful. I believe God created humanity to be in charge of and responsible for God’s world.
  • God is a Force that lies in potential within each of us that wants each of us to use the talents with which God has blessed us to make the world a more just caring and compassionate place.

We have free will.

In many ways the aspect of God inside of us is like a muscle. We must cultivate and strengthen that muscle if it is to be useful to us.

We humans are not puppets.

God wants us to do good, but God does not make us do good.

There is both good and evil in our world. We can choose to incline our thoughts and actions in either of those directions. God wants us to use the minds with which we are blessed, to analyze the ramifications of choices we make, and choose to perform acts of kindness and caring that make a difference in the lives of others.

There is much about God that we cannot understand, that we will never understand.

As humanity continues to solve the mysteries of life and gain greater mastery over the forces of nature, the possibilities for both good and evil multiply.

A prime example is the internal combustion engine. The invention allows us to get from point A to B at speeds unimaginable even100 years ago. Yet no one can deny that invention has claimed the lives of millions of people.

Two things are clear to me as we continue to unravel life’s mysteries:

  • The gap between what we know about God and what we cannot understand will always be infinite.
  • The consequences of our choices for good or for evil will escalate dramatically.

At the end of the day, though, God’s desire for us today and forever is the same as God’s desire for humanity at the time of creation: to use our talents to make a more just caring and compassionate society. Each of us must choose whether and in what ways we wish to work toward that goal.

 

 

 

 

 

I Will Stay on Facebook

While I remain incensed by Mark Zuckerberg’s decision to leave the Facebook microphone open to those who spout the venomous lies of Holocaust denial, I am not closing my FB account.

I am most grateful to the many of you who urged me not to leave the field open to Holocaust deniers without providing my counter voice. Your arguments have persuaded me to remain

My recent shoulder surgery, as did my serious illness in 2016, reminded me once again of the great value of this forum The best explanation of why FB is so important to me I can offer is to repost my essay, “Saving Facebook,” that appeared in The Jerusalem Poston February 3, 2013:

 

Rabbi Fuchs to Have Open Heart Surgery,” read a late-June 1996 headline on the first page of the local news section of The Nashville Banner.

While I had neither hoped for nor wanted such publicity surrounding my surgery, the headline symbolizes the difference between the surgery I underwent at Vanderbilt University Medical Center in Nashville back then and the more complex open-heart surgery I underwent at the Cleveland Clinic on November 29, 2012.

In Nashville, because I was known in the community, my surgery to replace a congenitally defective aortic valve attracted more attention, advice, visits and support than I could ever imagine.

By contrast my surgery in 2012 was in Cleveland where I knew almost no one.

My Connecticut cardiologist encouraged me to have my much more complex 2012 procedure done in a major heart center where they do lots of these atypical procedures.”  With his encouragement, we settled on the Cleveland Clinic.

It was a great choice.

The surgeon, Dr. Lars Svensson, is world-renowned, and the medical, nursing and technical care were all superb!  The problem was that except for one incredibly wonderful and supportive family with whom we are very close and a couple of very gracious and concerned rabbis, we knew no one in Cleveland.

The love and care I continue to receive from my wife Vickie is priceless, and my three adult children all interrupted their very busy lives to fly in for the surgery from both coasts.  But after a few precious days, my children – as they should have – flew back to their spouse, children and professional responsibilities.

Into the breach in a surprisingly meaningful way entered FACEBOOK.

When I travelled the world for an 18-month period as President of the World Union for Progressive Judaism – making 65 visits on five continents and living both in Israel and in New York City – I checked in on FACEBOOK only occasionally and posted even less frequently.  Since my surgery, I have been a frequent contributor.

Why?

I repeat the words I posted from Cleveland two days before my operation with even more feeling than when I originally wrote them:

“FB friends, if ever you wonder whether the short messages of encouragement and support you are thinking about writing to people facing difficult challenges in the lives (illness, surgery, loss of a loved one or a job a few examples) do any good, trust me they do.  My FB contacts have made the surgery I face Thursday and the events leading up to it much easier to deal with, and I am very grateful to each one of you who has reached out …”

One of the first things I did when I returned from intensive care after the operation was to post the following: 

“Dear FB friends, it is still difficult for me to type, but I have read with deep gratitude (and will surely read again and again) each and every one of your messages to me.  I cannot express how much they mean. Although I feel as weak as a kitten, your prayers, thoughts and good wishes have given me strength…”

It was strength I needed.  People I knew in elementary and high school, college and grad school, in the three communities I served as rabbi and in my travels for the WUPJ have lifted me up.  Some I knew intimately; some I had never met in real life. I have tried to pay it forward because lifting the spirits of another is a huge return on an investment as small as typing a few short words or even simply clicking “LIKE.”

 

As I anticipated my recent cataract procedures many people told me, “Oh, cataract surgery is nothing.” For me the thought of somebody cutting on my eyeballs was far from, “nothing.” Although it did not reach the level of my two open-heart procedures, my anxiety level was high. Once again, the support I received from people at every station and locale of my life was so comforting. Today, I repeat with more fervor than ever:

Clicking LIKE matters and encouraging comments matter even more!

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Lead Me to the Rock that is Higher Than I”

“Lead me to the rock that is higher than I .” (Psalm 61,verse 3)

Since I was ten years old, Psalm 61 has been a favorite of mine.

In those days we read a Psalm each morning in public school. I am glad that practice is now unconstitutional, but I am also glad the experience taught me the beauty of our people’s first prayer book.

Today, one of the mainstays of my personal spiritual practice is to study a Psalm each (well almost each), morning. I move progressively through the book’s 150 chapters from day to day.  Sometimes I spend two or three days on a given Psalm if the Hebrew is difficult or I want to ponder it further.

Since I retired as Senior Rabbi of Congregation Beth Israel in 2011, I have been making my way through the Book of Psalms and starting over when I finish

When I was a ten-year-old camper at the New Jersey YMCA Camp Minnisink, we had Cabin Prayers every night before lights out.  Our counselors or one of the campers would lead the prayer, saying anything he wished.  I really admired our bunk’s senior counselor. His name was Ray. But through the summer, Ray never led the cabin prayers … until the very last night of camp.

 Then he explained he would read his favorite prayer, Psalm 61.

 When, in front of the whole congregation at my Bar Mitzvah three years later, Rabbi Avraham Soltes asked me what my favorite Psalm was, I answered, Psalm 61.  Then he asked me to quote it from memory, and I did.

Because it has remained my favorite, I think it more than a coincidence that as I face rotator cuff surgery tomorrow morning, Psalm 61 has come up once again in my rotation.

My favorite line is:

B’tzar ya-room mi-meni tan-cheri – Lead me to the rock that is higher than I. (Psalm 61, verse 3).

When I was ten, the main reason I liked Psalm 61 was because the counselor who I looked up to liked it. Now it speaks to my heart, especially the prayer of verse 3.

To me it expresses the hope that if I try my best to do what is just and right, God will lead me to a higher level of ability to do just that.

 As I face surgery tomorrow, I pray, perhaps selfishly, as the Psalm begins:

“Hear my cry, O God, attend unto my prayer.”

Please:

  • Let this surgery be successful.
  • Let me be pain free
  • Let me rehab successfully and return to the tennis court
  • But most important, “Lead me to the rock that is higher than I.” Let me continue to learn, grow, serve our people and do what little I can to make a more just caring and compassionate society on earth.

If each of us strives — in whatever way our talents and interests dictate –- toward that goal, we will have a better world.

And, “Make a better world, ” has been, I believe God’s most important charge to all of us since the time of creation.

 

 

How Should Reform Jews Observe Tishah B’Av? (published on URJ.ORG)

BY RABBI STEPHEN LEWIS FUCHS

I had never even heard of Tishah B’Av until I was 12 years old and participating in the inaugural season of the Camp Institute for Living Judaism (later to renamed URJ Eisner Camp) in Great Barrington, MA. Since then, I have struggled with the significance of this day for me as a Reform Jew.

On Tishah B’Av, traditionally observant Jews fast in memory of the two magnificent Temples of Jerusalem destroyed by the Babylonians in 586 BCE and the Romans in 70 CE. The day also commemorates other historical tragedies. For example, it is said that the beginning of the first Crusade in 1095, a time of persecution and slaughter of the Jews of Europe and in 1290 the expulsion of Jews from England both took place on that date. Tishah B’Av also coincides with the expulsion of Jews from Spain in 1492 and the outbreak of World War I in 1914.

The destruction of the two Temples and the exile of Jews from our sacred land that followed were occasions of death and suffering, so sorrow is an appropriate means of commemoration. Certainly, all the other historical tragedies associated with that date are important to remember, too.

On the other hand, the destruction of the Temple ended the control of a hereditary priestly class over Jewish life and ended animal sacrifice as our chief way of communicating with God. Today, only ultra-Orthodox Jews would like to see the restoration of the Temple and the practices associated with it.

How can we reconcile the remembrance of genuine tragedy with the growth and development of the Judaism that the destruction of the Temple made possible?

I observe a fast on Tishah B’Av until midday, when I study the traditional text for the day, the biblical Book of Lamentations. Then, at 1:00 p.m., I partake of a midday meal in which I express gratitude for the Judaism that has been bequeathed to us over the years, a Judaism that no longer slaughters animals and sprinkles their blood as a sign of gratitude or as a petition to God. I celebrate the fact that a Judaism without the Temple and its hereditary priestly class has been replaced by a Judaism that, through study, prayers and acts of kindness, calls on each of us in our own way to make the world a better place.

Tishah B’Av, for me, is also the day when I begin preparing for the period of introspection culminating in the rituals of Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur. Impetus for beginning the process of repentance comes from the middle of the book of Lamentations: “Let us search and examine our ways and return to the Eternal One!” (Lamentations 3:40)

For Reform Jews, Tishah B’Av can be both a day of mourning and a day of joy. We mourn for the destruction of the Temple, but we rejoice that we have developed strong and resilient ways to thrive as Jews. Mourning the tragedies of the past we let us search and examine our way forward and face the future with hope and courage!

 

About the Author
Rabbi Stephen Lewis Fuchs is the Rabbi of Bat Yam Temple of the Islands. He is the author of “Who Created God,” “What’s in It for Me? Finding Ourselves in Biblical Narratives” and three other books. He is the former president of the World Union for Progressive Judaism and rabbi emeritus of Congregation Beth Israel in West Hartford, CT.

 

Heading for the Six-month DL

Aside from my work as Rabbi of Bat Yam Temple of the Islands, my greatest joy in Sanibel last season was playing as a member of the Beachview Tennis Club Blue team. I played in the number one spot, compiling a 13-1 record with two different partners.

The guys on the team are really great, and I looked forward to every match and practice. I particularly loved the “tough love” clinics that the club’s terrific pro, Toni Halski, conducts early in the morning. Those sessions were wonderfully helpful.

My right shoulder has been problematic for a number of years. I have done everything I could to avoid surgery:  cortisone injections from time to time, several rounds of physical therapy, and ample doses of painkillers. I probably should have purchased stock in the KT Tape Company.

Unfortunately, playing competitively last season, even though I mostly just dumped my first serve into the box, pushed me over the edge. Since the season ended the pain has been constant.  Tests reveal three different significant tears in the right rotator cuff, and I am scheduled for surgery this coming Thursday, July 26.

While my carefully chosen surgeon says there is no guarantee the procedure will be successful, I am hoping for a full recovery and to be back to playing tennis once again. If I should be so fortunate, though, it will be at the end of an arduous six-month process of physical therapy and rehabilitation.

Aside from the fact that I still love the game, why is a 72-year-old man so eager to be back on the courts?

During my life I have had many years of formal education, but without doubt I have learned more about people, teaching and life in general from the competitive tennis I have played and from the five summers I spent as a teaching pro while in school.

So, I head for the (at least) Six-month Disabled List with genuine regret that I will not be able to represent Beachview next season but with the hope that there will be more seasons in the future for me to feel the joys and frustrations of the game I so love.

 

Saying Goodbye to Our Home After 21 Years

We are no longer Connecticut homeowners. Today we closed on the sale of our beloved West Hartford, Connecticut home.

Last year I accepted an offer to serve as the seasonal (September through April) rabbi of Bat Yam Temple of the Islands in Sanibel, Florida. We moved in immediately after people could return to the Island after Hurricane Irma. We held the Selichot service and discussion that precedes Rosh Hashanah in the home we rented that very evening.

Vickie found the place on a trip last spring, and I moved in sight unseen. The minute I looked around and sat down, I said, “I could live here forever.” Because the Temple community, our neighbors and the friends we made at Beachview Tennis Club have been so welcoming to Vickie and me, we decided to purchase the home we rented and sell our home here. Fast forward to today.

Our Florida home is little more than half the size of our home in Connecticut. So the move involves a major downsize. After all the emotional angst about leaving our home, and all the physical angst of clearing 21 years of accumulated clothes, books, appliances and everything else imaginable from our CT home, we are Florida homeowners.

This morning Vickie and I took a long last look as we walked through the home we have loved. We will miss our quiet cul-de sac-neighborhood. We will miss the charming stream that flows behind the house, and we will miss all our friends at Congregation Beth Israel, and the friends we have made outside the synagogue as well.

All credit goes to Vickie who did 90% of the work involved in getting us to this point.

Currently we are camped out in the lovely home of our son, Ben, his wife, Kristin and their children, 4-year-old Flora and 1-year-old Logan. The kids are treasures, and we love being together.

Since my contract in Sanibel runs from September to April 30, we hope to spend considerable time in the warm weather months here in Connecticut. This coming Sabbath Eve (at 7:30) I will speak at Beth Israel about our experiences during the five weeks we spent in Germany this spring, and I will lead Torah study on Shabbat morning this Shabbat, next Shabbat and August 4.

Even though I am away most of the year, I consider being Rabbi Emeritus of Congregation Beth Israel to be both an honor and a responsibility to help out there whenever I can. I am glad to be able to give our wonderful rabbis, Michael Pincus and Andi Fliegel, a little relief.

When I decided to retire as Senior Rabbi of Congregation Beth Israel in 2011, I had no idea of the world wide adventures that awaited me. The past seven years have been like a dream. Serving Bat Yam Temple of the Islands in Sanibel has been icing on the cake. I feel very blessed, and I only hope my efforts are a blessing to others as well.

President Trump: Donate Mar-a-Lago As a Refugee Center

It would not completely solve the problem of refugees, but what a magnificent symbolic gesture it would be!

Mar A Lago is a 20-acre estate with a 126-room, 62,500-square-foot mansion. It would make a great center for welcoming refugees to our great country and helping them adjust to their new home.

There they could receive nutritious food, decent clothing, and quality medical care. A cash donation from the President would enable these services

While they are at Mar-a-Lago, officials could carefully vet the refugee residents. All of those found to be drug dealers or other types of miscreants could be sent home.

 What a game changer such a donation would be for Donald Trump! In one masterstroke he could change his image from venal to venerable. He could become the president with a heart of grandeur instead of greed. It would gain him millions of votes in the 2020 election.

Who knows how many future doctors, social workers, teachers, scientists, musicians and others contributing to the greatness of society would look back with gratitude at the chance for a better life they received at Mar A Lago?

Mr. Trump, you can always buy another place for your vacations. And Camp David is already at your disposal. There’s no reason to delay.

So, make the gift! You can save many lives and take a big step in fulfilling your promise to “Make America great again!”