Dear Friends,

Last night I had the great honor of giving the benediction after Governor Maura Healey’s State of the Commonwealth Address. As a 4th-generation Bostonian, it was especially meaningful to me. I’m not sure that my great-grandparents raising their new American families in Chelsea, East Boston, and Lynn could have imagined it, but I was thinking of them and their legacy when I looked out at the chamber.

I spoke last night about this week’s Torah portion and the Book of Exodus, the story that taught the world the revolutionary idea of hope.

With everything going on in our fragile world just this week alone, I have also been thinking about the poignancy of Moses’ encounter with God at the burning bush.

Moses encounters a brush fire in the middle of the desert. In this case, miraculously, the fire does not destroy the bush itself. Yet how can we not think about fire’s destructive power, as our brothers and sisters in Los Angeles have experienced over the past two weeks? It is frightening and humbling to witness a natural disaster of biblical proportions in 21st-century America, and we should continue to keep them in our prayers.

For nearly 16 months, one of the most well-known refrains from this story, “let my people go,” has been at the forefront of our minds and in our hearts. For 469 days, we have prayed for the release of the hostages who have been in the living hell and literal darkness of the tunnels in Gaza. News of the deal this week, however fraught and precarious it might be, brings some hope that they will, at last, return home to their families where they belong.

The timeless messages of the exodus story feel too relevant right now, and it does feel like we are watching history unfold before our eyes.

It is precisely in times like these when we need to remember God’s calling to Moses and Rabbi Jonathan Sacks’ definition of hope. Hope does not mean looking at the world through rose-colored glasses nor believing that things are better than they are. Hope is the idea that we are never doomed by the past nor stuck in the present, and that the world can be better tomorrow than it is today. This brings with it the radical notion that we have the God-like power and the responsibility to make that happen. We are actors in history, writers of our collective story.

As we prepare to celebrate the life and legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. this weekend, I am also reminded of his famous definition of faith: “Faith is taking the first step even when you don’t see the whole staircase.” It can feel scary and overwhelming not to see our destination or even to know whether we will get there. The truth is, we don’t ever really know how things will turn out. But we can move forward, one step at a time.

Most of us will not have a miraculous encounter with a burning bush, lead a people out of literal exile, directly challenge Pharoah, nor speak to God face-to-face. But you don’t have to be Moses or Martin Luther King Jr. to take this message to heart. We can stay hopeful and stay open to the moments when we are called to act, to lead, and to make a positive difference on our future and our world.