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Dear Friends,

What is there for me to write on a day like this? There are no magic words that will erase the pain left in the wake of these treacherous days. The only thing that we can do is work hard to keep our hearts open, even as the violence in the world conspires to force them closed. Without thinking, we protect ourselves by sealing off our hearts, by burying hope and optimism alongside each tragedy, each terror attack- whether on the streets of Dallas, Jerusalem, or today in Nice- alongside each undeserved shooting in our country, there is a trail of buried dreams that has seeded fear and increased despair.

As I sit down to write this note at my sister-in-law's home in Lehavim, Israel, the silence of the Negev Desert feels so far away from the violence that continues to erupt throughout the world. I have been in Jerusalem for the past two weeks, studying with some of the greatest scholars in Jewish academia and exploring modern questions of identity through ancient texts. This has been a true privilege. Yet as we study, we are all aware of the ways in which American streets have been enflamed with anger and senseless hatred. And today, for the third time in nineteen months, France is encountering yet another gruesome terror attack.

The contrast of all of this pain with the quiet in this part of Israel is stunning.

Real courage is expressed when we remain openhearted despite the instinct to hunker down and give up on humanity, while at the same time, acknowledge the intense anger that we feel. We somehow hold both of these experiences together simultaneously. To remain openhearted in times like this means that we don't skip over the pain and sadness triggered by a world gone mad. It means that we allow ourselves to tell our friends the truth when they ask how we are doing. It means that we allow ourselves to cry for the loss of life and for the families forever changed. And it means that while we focus on creating strong policies to protect ourselves, we do not scapegoat innocent people just because it gives us the false sense that we can stop every evil person who seeks to destroy innocent lives.

None of this comes easily, but this is life in the 21st Century, and we need each other in order to do this.

We will soon gather in synagogue for Kabbalat Shabbat and proclaim the words of the ancient Psalmist: "Sing a new song to Adonai." Rashi suggests that this shir chadash, this "new song" is a song about the future, about a time in which God will rule over the entire earth with justice and faithfulness. I don't think we can wait any longer for God to do this. Perhaps the new song that we can sing is one of the audacity to respond to all of this pain with openheartedness and courage rather than despair and futility.

I will be thinking of all of you this Shabbat, knowing that you have one another, knowing that you will be together to sing this new song. On top of this, we ought to pray that every family who is now utterly broken because of the tragedies of the past two weeks will find the strength to wake up each day and search for healing and love.

Yours, from the Negev-

Rabbi David A. Schuck