Post-Election: Is the Castle Burning or Illuminated

Following Tuesday’s election some of you are celebrating and some of you are commiserating.

Sermon Notes

Following Tuesday’s election, some of you are celebrating, and some are commiserating. Regardless of how you feel about the outcome, Aaron Dorfman from A More Perfect Union — The Jewish Partnership for Democracy — offered an important reminder: let us take a moment to express gratitude for the ability to choose our leaders. This is a remarkable responsibility and power that many people around the world do not have. As we appreciate and celebrate another free and fair election, it is important to remember that a healthy democracy requires more than just free and fair elections. Many authoritarian governments have come to power through elections.

Tonight, I do not want to talk about political parties, personalities, policies, or philosophies — there will be plenty of time for that over the next four years, just as I have done for the past 22 years. Instead, I want to share a teaching from this week’s Torah portion.

In the opening verses, God tells Abraham to “go forth from your native land.” This moment marks the beginning of the Jewish people. Abraham is summoned to leave his homeland in Ur, a place of comfort, to journey into the unknown. This land is not merely unfamiliar in terms of language, culture, geography, or climate — it is a land God does not even name. God simply says, “Go to a land I will show you.” Imagine the fear and uncertainty Abraham must have felt, being called into an unknown future.

A parable from Jewish tradition offers insight into Abraham’s journey. In Genesis Rabbah, Rabbi Yitzchak tells a story of a traveler who sees a brightly illuminated palace. He wonders, “Is it possible that this palace has no one in charge?” The master of the palace looks out and says, “I am the owner of this palace.” Similarly, Abraham saw the world and questioned whether it had a master. God then revealed, “I am the master of the universe.”

Traditionally, this midrash suggests Abraham discovered a theological argument for the existence of God — that such a beautiful, ordered world must have a creator. However, the brilliance of the text lies in the Hebrew term for “illuminated palace,” *birah doleket*, which can also be translated as a “palace on fire.” In this interpretation, the traveler sees the palace burning and cries out, “Where is the master of this palace?” The owner appears and says, “I am the master.” This midrash transforms from a serene metaphor to one of horror — Abraham perceives the world as aflame and wonders if God has stopped paying attention.

Many of you may feel similar fear and concern about the future. You see America as a burning palace and ask, “Where is the master?” Your question stems not from contemplation but from anguish. Perhaps you long for God to reassure you, saying, “I’ve got this.”

Others, paraphrasing Ronald Reagan, may see America as a shining city on a hill — a place of hope. Like Rashi, you see the light of the stars and the moon as a reflection of divine order. You trust that someone will tend to the palace.

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, in *God in Search of Man*, taught that ultimate questions arise in both moments of wonder and moments of despair. It is the grandeur and misery of life that sensitizes humanity to these questions. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks reflected on this midrash, emphasizing that what haunts us is not just Abraham’s question, but God’s enigmatic reply. God declares, “I am here,” without extinguishing the flames. It is as though God calls for help — humans set the fire, and only humans can put it out.

Thus begins a dialogue between Earth and Heaven that has endured for millennia. God asks, “Why have you abandoned me?” Together, humanity and God must work to extinguish the flames.

Consider Moses, who encountered a bush ablaze but not consumed. He turned aside to look, and God called to him, “Moses, Moses!” Moses replied, “Here I am.” Whether you see America as a palace illuminated or aflame, the questions for this moment are: how can I say, *hineni* — here I am, ready to serve? And how can I have faith that even if I see fire, it will not consume us?

Shabbat Shalom.

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