Rabbi Arthur Weiner

One of the most familiar prayers of the High Holiday season is Avinu Malkeinu — “Our Father, our King.” The words are so familiar that we can easily say them without stopping to consider what they actually mean. Avinu — our Father. Malkeinu — our King. We speak of God in two very different ways. God is close to us, like a parent. But God is also sovereign, and   commanding, like a King. And if God is our Father and our King, then what does that make you? About 20 years ago, I read a story that challenged me to think about that question in ways I had never considered before. It was about a woman named Sarah Jane Culberson , who discovered the answer to that question in a way that few people ever will. Sarah had been adopted as a baby and raised in West Virginia. She knew very little about her biological parents. For years she wondered where she had come from and who they had been. Finally, when she was twenty-eight years old, she decided to search for her biological fathe...

One of the most heartbreaking stories in the news these past two weeks has been the publication of new details surrounding the kidnapping and presumed murder of the mother of television journalist Savannah Guthrie. Like millions of Americans, I have followed the story with sadness. I have no interest in second-guessing the investigation itself. I am not a criminologist, nor am I a law enforcement professional, and it would be inappropriate for me to pretend otherwise. What caught my attention, however, was something entirely different. In a recent interview with The Wall Street Journal , Pima County Sheriff Chris Nanos responded to criticism of his department's handling of the investigation by suggesting that some of his earlier public statements had been taken more literally than he intended. That observation stopped me in my tracks. If not the sheriff's words, whose words are we supposed to take seriously? After all, a sheriff occupies a position of public trust. When...

When I speak to our synagogue on Shabbat, or send Shabbat messages to the community, I don’t often dwell on the haftarahs , the sections from the Prophets that we append to each of our weekly and holiday Torah readings.   But the haftarah we recited last Shabbat morning, and those we will recite over the next six weeks, teach us something important.   They remind us that this period in the calendar, from the observance of Tisha B’Av to Rosh Hashanah can and should be understood as the pre-High Holiday period.   Normally, we think of Elul , the Hebrew month that precedes Rosh Hashanah, as being the official beginning the High Holiday season.   But the entire season needs to be understood in this context as well.   The three weeks that preceded Tisha B’Av are known as “The Three Weeks of Rebuke.”   Liturgically, we prepared for Tisha B’Av, the saddest day of the Jewish year , with three special haftarahs read on each of the three Shabbats that precede Ti...

Every Friday evening, before we conclude our Kabbalat Shabbat service, I offer a prayer for the health, safety, and speedy return of the members of the United States Armed Forces serving throughout the world. I've done so during times of war. I've done so during times of peace. And I've done so for many years. Most synagogues don’t. Some of you may have wondered why. Part of the answer is personal. Years ago, I served as an officer in the United States Navy Reserve from 1984 -1991. My time in uniform was one of the great educational experiences of my life. While I would never claim to know what it is like to serve in combat, I learned enough about military life, deployment, and sacrifice to understand that the men and women who wear our nation's uniform carry burdens that most Americans will never experience. But there is another reason I continue to offer that prayer every week. When I was growing up, almost everyone knew someone knew someone who was serving or...

The death of Senator Lindsey Graham on Saturday night was met with an extraordinary outpouring of grief throughout the Jewish community and the State of Israel. That grief was genuine and deserved. Senator Graham was a true friend of Israel and the Jewish people. He recognized the danger posed by Iran and by other violent and destabilizing regimes in the Middle East. He spoke clearly about terrorism, without euphemism or apology. He understood that Israel is not merely another small country somewhere on the other side of the world, but a vital democratic ally of the United States. For the Jewish people, he was something increasingly rare these days. He understood antisemitism. He did not minimize it, rationalize it, or explain it away. When Jews were threatened, Senator Graham was prepared to say so. When Israel was unfairly singled out, he was prepared to defend it. When others equivocated, he spoke with clarity. For that, the Jewish community owes him gratitude. And yet, ther...

In recent days, the political world has been consumed by the implosion of the Senate campaign of Graham Platner of Maine. The allegations against him are serious, disturbing, and, if true, deeply disqualifying. It is entirely appropriate that they be investigated thoroughly and that there be accountability where accountability is warranted. Yet as I have followed this story, I have found myself thinking less about Graham Platner and more about us. Because this story is not really about one candidate. It is about a dangerous habit that has become increasingly common in American political life. For months, credible allegations about Platner's treatment of women circulated in news reports and public discussions. Yet only Senator John Fetterman of Pennsylvania and some Maine party leaders questioned why Democrats were rallying behind him despite documented issues and controversies. His many supporters, including leading Democrats dismissed them, ignored them, or explained them away...