July 3, 2026 – B’nai Israel – Boca Raton
In our parasha this week there is a lot of really typical and expected Torah stuff in it. There are the census lists that the community needed to know how many people there were for defense. There are the inheritance laws which were the economic foundation for a rural society. And there is the festival calendar. Again, a vital part of a rural and agricultural society. But among all the laws and guidelines, lies the emotional heart of the parasha.
Moses is told by God to ascend Mount Abarim and look out over the Land of Israel — the land he will never enter. He is being shown the destination he guided his people toward for forty years, but he will be permitted only to see it from a distance. We know that he was disappointed and probably frustrated and angry since he could not enter the Land he had dreamt about for decades. If we were in the same situation, we might lash out and argue with God. But Moses doesn’t. Instead at that very moment, doesn’t grieve or argue or even express frustration. He turns to God and says:
יִפְקֹ֣ד יְהוָ֔ה אֱלֹהֵ֥י הָרוּחֹ֖ת לְכָל־בָּשָׂ֑ר אִ֖ישׁ עַל־הָעֵדָֽה׃
“May the Lord, the God of the spirits of all flesh, appoint someone over this community.” (Numbers 27:16)
There is something extraordinary in his response. Moses’s first concern is not himself. It is the community. It is us. It is you.
The phrase Moses uses is surprising and beautiful: אֱלֹהֵ֥י הָרוּחֹ֖ת לְכָל־בָּשָׂ֑ר — “The God of the spirits of all flesh.” The classical commentator Rashi comments by asking a question about this expression which is unusual.
Here is what he says:
Why does it not state simply ‘the God of all flesh’? Rashi then answers his own question and says it is because Moses said to God, “Lord of the Universe! The personality of each person is revealed to you, and no two are alike. Appoint over them a leader who will relate to each person according to his individual character .
This is a very insightful commentary. Moses knows what good leaders know: each person is different and a leader must be able to work with everyone.
Another commentator takes this even further. He teaches that Moses was asking for a leader who would not project his own spirit onto the community, but would instead be attuned to theirs. Not a leader who says “follow me because I know the way,” but one who listens first, who understands that every person carries a unique divine spirit worth honoring.
Tevye was right: in our little village of Anatevka there are many kinds of people. Moses’ successor would need to be able to work with everyone. And, as my philosophy professor once told me, if you want to learn about leadership, look to Moses. And, on this my first Shabbat as your interim, I am looking to Moses once again for guidance on leadership.
I have been a rabbi long enough to know that this is the most important part of leading a congregation. It is far easier to speak than to listen. It is far easier to teach than to learn. It is far easier to say, ‘Trust me, I know what I’m doing so follow me,’ rather than, ‘Let’s forge this path together and create a partnership of souls and shared vision.’ And yet our tradition insists, in this very moment in the Torah, that a true leader is first and foremost a student and a builder with the people.
We see this in the parasha already. The daughters of Zelophehad who lost their father came to Moses and asked, “What now? Why should our father’s name be lost to his clan just because he had no son?”
And God responds: “The daughters of Zelophehad are right.”
There is so much to learn from these five women for both B’nai Israel and for its rabbis. They did not wait to be invited. They did not whisper their grievances among themselves. They came to the threshold — to the entrance of the Tent of Meeting — and they spoke. They trusted that the system could grow and change for the better. They trusted that if they brought their truth forward with dignity and evidence, they would be heard.
And they were right.
At the beginning of a new rabbinic year, we must remember these daughters of Zelophehad and what they represent to all of us. They are us and we are them. We need to speak clearly and with conviction but always, always remember that whatever we do together, whatever feedback and critique, issue and problem, praise and celebration, we must do it for what’s best for the temple, not just for our own selves.
I stand before you today at my own threshold together with amazing colleagues in Rabbi Rozenkrantz, Rabbi Silvers, and Cantor Muchnick. They are as vital to this interim year as anyone.
And I want to say that I have been honored beyond words to be asked to be your interim rabbi. And, as a hospital chaplain, I learned that we never have any idea what is on the mind of any patient at any given moment. The chaplain’s job is to listen, not tell an ill patient how to get better and not to feed them platitudes and empty promises. And so, in that vein, I want to be honest with you about what being your interim for this year means to me.
The word “interim” sometimes carries a shadow of impermanence, as if to say: Rabbi Stanway is just a placeholder, a pause between what was and what will be. I personally could never be a placeholder. I have too much energy and too much focus on a magnificent future for B’nai Israel. In other words, my sense of internship is not one of pause between two rabbis. I am not a cup of coffee! Rather my sense of being an interim is a combination of energy and enthusiasm, reflection and recognition, vision and direction. B’nai Israel may be between rabbis but that doesn’t mean we are stagnant. In fact, it is just the opposite.
This year will not be a comma in the life of our congregation. A year contains Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, Chanukah and Purim, Passover seders and Shavuot nights just to name a few holy moments. A year contains b’nei mitzvah and weddings, illnesses and healings, losses and births. There will be 52 Shabbatot between me and the next rabbi. There is so much learning and teaching to be done. This year is a whole year filled with Jewish life.
I am not here to hold the seat warm. I think those who have already met me have the correct impression that I don’t lack energy. Never had. Moss doesn’t grow on a rolling stone and it sure doesn’t grow on an interim ready to be a part of the congregation and a leader to help you forge a future.
I am here to learn from you, to teach with you, to celebrate and to mourn with you, to wrestle with your vision for B’nai Israel. You will determine the vision: I am here to help you bring it into focus. You are here to build: I am here to provide the tools. You are here to determine your next settled rabbi: I am here to help you figure out what that rabbi should look like.
I want to say something that rabbis do not always say plainly enough: I am joyful to be here. Not happy because I have a job. Rather, joyful because I get to do with B’nai Israel a simcha shel mitzvah — the joy that comes from doing something that matters. Maybe the Rabbis were right when they taught that the Shekhinah, the divine presence, rests only where there is joy. Not forced cheerfulness. Not performance. But the deep, grounded joy of people who know why they are gathered and who are grateful for one another.
I feel that joy tonight and pray that we feel it together through this year. I wish for all of us the joy of purpose, the joy of connection, the joy of knowing that somewhere in this congregation, there are daughters of Zelphodhad and leaders like Joshua. Personally, I hope to find joy in a child here who will ask me a question I cannot answer or in an adult ed class that will give me an insight I never had. This next interim year is going to be one of authentic Torah. And what is Torah? Torah is the process not just for giving us some answers, but to make us better at asking.
And, one thing the Torah always is is forward looking, always preparing the community for what comes next. How appropriate a lesson for our first Shabbat on our year long journey together.
We, too, are looking forward. I am looking forward. And I am so glad — truly, genuinely, joyfully glad — that we are doing it together.
Shabbat Shalom.
שבת שלום
