Clergy Sermons

Have you ever had a moment or experience where you felt like there simply was not a good alternative for what you faced? You couldn’t think of a different way to do something, or no alternative made sense. And then, either in the moment or in retrospect you realize that there in fact is/was a different way. It requires breaking free of what you thought the rules might be, or veering from conventional wisdom – and it may be one of the most important lessons to learn.

Our forefather Isaac had just such a moment and his ultimate response has much to teach us. Think back to the famous story of great deception. Isaac thinks he is coming to the end of his life, so he summons his eldest son Esau to go hunt game, return and prepare it and Isaac promises to give him bracha nafshi – his innermost blessing of the soul. Overhearing the instructions, Rebecca decides that Jacob must take the blessing and convinces him to pose as Esau with food she has prepared. The ruse works despite Isaac’s repeatedly expressing doubts and misgivings.

When Esau returns and discovers the blessing has been stolen, he is bereft. Look at the text – Gen 27:34 (p. 158): He burst into wild and bitter sobbing, saying bar’cheni gam ani avi – “Bless me too father.” It is impossible to read this text and not to feel sympathy for Esau. We rarely come across a description like we just read of someone “bursting into wild and bitter sobbing” in the Torah. These words pull us into Esau’s anguish as he is cheated out of what was rightfully his.

But Isaac feels his hands are tied – there is nothing to do. Look at his response (vs. 32): “But I have made him master over you: I have given him all his brothers for servants and sustained him with grain and wine. What, then can I still do for you, my son?” There seems to be no other way. He is utterly powerless. Esau begs him again, “Have you but one blessing avi – my father? Bless me too – avi – My Father!” Rabbi Jonathan Sacks of blessed memory writes: “The scene of the two together, robbed of what should have been a moment of tenderness and intimacy – son feeding father, father blessing son – is deeply affecting.” It is indeed painful to read.

And then something unexpected happens – Isaac finds a blessing for Esau! He is able to adapt, pivot and finds that what he thought did not exist – was in fact right there. Finding that blessing is a piece of Isaac’s powerful legacy to us. We too can find blessing when none seems to exist. We can find another way.

Isaac blesses Esau with “the fat of the earth and the dew of heaven.” There is enough for both sons. Then in an extraordinary line he says that “when you grow restive, you shall break his yoke from your neck.” Think of the implications – Esau can choose to free himself. Jacob will rule over him only as long as Esau allows it. Esau can choose to hold onto anger, be bitter the rest of his life, mourn Jacob and Rebecca’s betrayal each passing day – OR he can choose to be free and make his own blessing. It is up to him. More is in our hands than we realize.

Two powerful, interrelated lessons: there might be another way – we have to open our hearts and minds to the possibility, and we might have more choices than we think we do. I want to share with you an inspiring example of these lessons – Dr. David Hasan. Dr. Hasan is a renowned neurosurgeon at Duke University. I had the privilege to learn from him at the Z3 Conference two weeks ago. (The information, quotes, narrative taken from J. Weekly article written by Dr. Hassan.) Dr. Hassan is a Palestinian American who moved to America as a teenager and chose to pursue the American dream. He was ambitious and in his words: “I dedicated decades to becoming one of the premier experts in the field of neurosurgery on the world stage. My focus was singular: professional excellence and personal advancement.” And he succeeded.

He shares that his family lived in a neighborhood where he developed cherished friendships with Jewish classmates – feeling like part of the family in their homes. The friendships endured over the years. He was never particularly political, but shared that on October 7, he felt the ground shift beneath his feet. He reached out to some Jewish friends to check in, knowing they were traumatized – and did not receive response. Friendships he felt were unbreakable were tested by collective grief and suspicion. He writes: “Trust dissolved. I saw in the eyes of friends not familiarity but fear. My heritage became a barrier. For the first time, I experienced what it meant to be judged not by who I am, but by where I come from.”

Rather than withdraw or throw his hands up in sadness and frustration – Dr. Hassan doubled down on compassion and understanding. He made a vow to reject despair and devote his efforts to rebuilding humanity. He writes: “My North Star became clear: to provide immediate relief and to build bridges of hope in a world pulling itself apart.”

So, what did he do? He traveled both to Israel and to Gaza. He felt he needed to understand the pain of his Jewish friends, who, like many of us, turned inward in own anger, sense of abandonment, shattered truths and trauma. He visited the ruins of a kibbutz and the site of the Nova music festival. He wanted to truly understand our pain – then we could be seen, and relationship could sustain. He heard the anguish over Jewish hostages and the terror and helplessness of October 7. He turned his heart to our pain.

And in December 2023, he crossed into Gaza in the first medical convoy permitted to enter the war-torn area to be a healer and work in hospitals. Listen to his words: “Crossing that border was like stepping into another realm, one where time was scarce. The cries of injured children echoed through corridors that had once been schools and homes. I operated on dozens of severely wounded children, many of whom had lost their entire families. No medical training prepared you for the moment when a child wakes from surgery asking for a mother you know will never come.” He described horrific and unimaginable scenes – thousands of people stuffed into a space that could not accommodate everyone. They were in every corridor and stuffed in closets and bathrooms. He operated in unsanitary conditions without proper instruments. He did what he could – he saved many lives and many died.

He returned in April 2024. The conditions were even more dire. Yet even amid suffering, he witnessed something extraordinary: resilience. Children who had next to nothing still shared what little they had. Strangers comforted one another as kin. It was in those moments that he understood that war can destroy buildings, but it cannot extinguish the human capacity for love. He reminded me of our shared humanity. Knowing the anguish that Israel and captives suffered, he did what he could to find out information. He would ask questions and pay from his own resources for local Palestinians to help search for Israel’s hostages. At Z3 he shared that when you give kids candy, they have lots to share. His information helped rescue two hostages.

Compassion and care breed vision. Isaac’s love of Esau allowed him to see another way. Surrounded by so much death, Dr. Hasan chose to imagine life. He imagined a village not for one people, but for all children – Palestinian and Israeli orphaned by this conflict. He imagined a place of healing, education, joy and safety – a village that would say to the world: We refuse to raise another generation on the narratives of hate.

There is another way! This bold idea of a village included a school, a pediatric field hospital, rehabilitation centers, therapy services and a community where each child would be treated not as a symbol of war, but as a promise of peace. As he shared the ideas with potential partners: NGOs, UN agencies, government officials; no one could imagine it – just like Isaac could not initially imagine a blessing for Esau.

But he persisted. He began to muster one by one a network of Israelis and Palestinians who, behind the scenes, away from politics and cameras believed in something greater than revenge who helped him move from dreams to reality. On July 26, in Deir al-Balah in central Gaza, they opened the Academy of Hope that now provides holistic care to 600 orphans, with education, daily hot meals, medical treatment and psychotherapy. They not only learn math and language; they learn play, laughter and possibility. They are not spoken to as victims, but as future leaders. They learn of Israel as a sovereign country with its own pain, rather than as oppressive villain.

The success of the Academy of Hope ignited a movement. Thousands of Israelis and American Jews joined in partnership to construct a second academy – this one for 1,500 orphans. Other organizations like World Central Kitchen and Longer Tables joined forces with them. They are building two more academies that will open soon – hopefully this month – to serve over 6,000 orphaned and vulnerable children.

Dr. Hasan sees what might be and the efforts continue to expand. They are delivering baby formula, medicine and pediatric supplies. They have rescued zoo animals to be integrated into therapeutic programs for children. They have acquired a hospital and are converting it into Gaza’s only multispecialty hospital.

Here is his motto: “We are better together.” There is an antidote to hate, and it begins with a vision of connection that does not allow the extremists to define the agenda. We look at one another through the eyes of compassion and find there are people looking back at us finding a different way. Ultimately, after many years, Esau and Jacob came back together with Jacob saying: “To see your face is to see the face of God.” When we see the face of God in those we saw as enemy and vowed to kill – rays of light and hope begin to pierce the darkness of war and conflict. Let’s join in the effort that sees a new and different way. That is the gift of Isaac as he finds blessing for Esau. It is our precious legacy to embrace.