Lech Lecha 5770 Lifelong Learning

Lifelong Learning

 

We are first introduced to Abraham at the conclusion of the book of Noach.  We are told very little about him.  It is striking, in fact, that when we are introduced to Noah he is called an "ish tsadik", a righteous man. But when we are introduced to Avraham there is no description at all. In fact, the first specific thing that we are told about Abraham is his age -- that he is 75 years old when he leaves his father's house for the Land of Canaan.  That seems rather old to be setting out to begin a new life!

 

Being old, it seems to me, is an issue of context, point of view and quality of spirit. Of context -- a professional athlete is considered old by the time he is thirty five and ancient by the time he is forty.  Yet a person elected president of the United States in his or her mid forties is considered quite young.  Of point of view -- My best friend's from childhood's mother died a few years ago. She was 95 and in poor health for a number of years.  I called my mother, who was 85 at the time, to break the news to her. 

            "Mom," I said, "I have some sad news.  Mrs. Newman died."

            "Oh my G-d, what happened?"  my mother exclaimed with shock and dismay.

            "Mom, she got old," I said. "She was 95 years old, you know."

            My mother paused. "Well," she replied, "They say that once you get over 90,         anything could happen to you."

            You see, to my 85 year old mother, "over 90" was what was old.

 

But becoming old is also a matter of spirit.  The story is told in the Talmud of one Rabbi Yehuda. One day, as he sat and studied, a pagan walked by his home and commented, "This man is either drunk or he has discovered a great treasure, because his face is so radiant."

            Rabbi Yehuda responded, "I never drink except when I recite the Kiddush, and I have not found a great treasure. I am a poor man."

            "Why then does your face shine with such radiance?" the pagan said. "Because I study all the time. My face is aglow with the pleasure of learning."

            Lifelong learning may be the fountain of youth.  Here are three keys to success in learning:

 

1)      Make learning a priority – The sage Hillel says, "Do not say, "When I have time I will study, for perhaps you will never have the time."  The sages advocated setting aside a fixed time for study. They knew that if you did not, you would find other ways to fill that time.

2)      Make educating yourself a fun, social experience. Learning in isolation can lead to misunderstanding what you are studying. Studying with a group can correct errors, and open your mind to different ideas. 

3)      Actively involve yourself in the learning process.  "Tell me and I'll forget; show me and I may remember; involve me and I'll understand," goes a Chinese proverb.

             

Perhaps, in retrospect, telling us Abraham's age tells us a great deal about him.  Despite their chronological age, he and Sarah were open to new experiences, to learning about new things, new places.  Their faith in G-d, as well as the community that they gathered around them, also protected them from the despair that often accompanies the infirmities of old age.  That speaks to the mission of our congregation -- to provide a connection to G-d, to create community and to foster lifelong learning.   

Shabbat Shalom

 

 

Can We Talk RH 5770

A rabbi is brought to speak before a congregation that is seeking a new spiritual leader. "What will you be talking about?" the president asks the rabbi as they walk to the synagogue.

"Sabbath observance -- the need for Jews to make this day truly holy, without shopping, without spending money."

"I wouldn't do that," the president warns. "The people here have very little free time; they must go shopping when they have the chance.  Isn't there something else you can talk about?"

"I can talk about Kashrut", says the rabbi.

"I wouldn't get into that, Rabbi.  Don't you realize how difficult it is to keep kosher out here?  Kosher meat is so much more expensive.  Then the family has to keep two sets of dishes and silverware, constantly worrying that they don't get mixed up. Can't you speak about something else?"

"Ok, how about Jewish education, and the need for children and parents to take religious school education as seriously as they take their secular education."

"Are you crazy Rabbi?  Our kids have so much homework from their schools, and along with their commitments to music lessons, dance classes, karate and basketball, it's unreasonable to expect that of them."

"I can't understand," said the rabbi. "If I can't speak about the Sabbath, about kashrut, or about Jewish education, what can I speak about?"

"Well, speak about Judaism, of course!"

This joke speaks to the frustration that many rabbis feel about talking to their congregants about Judaism's most fundamental values.  The challenge really isn't our values, which most of us can agree upon.  The challenge is how to put those values into action in our daily lives.  After all, Judaism is not a philosophical system where we sit around and contemplate what constitutes "the good". Judaism is not a religion that focuses primarily on how an individual can reach nirvana – that "perfect peace of the state of mind that is free from craving, anger and other afflictive states" as taught by Buddhism.  The quest to become a Tsadik is a part of Judaism, but I would say it is not the most essential element.  I mean, we are all about feelings and desire and conflict and ambition -- we don't really try to do away with them, we recognize them as part of the human condition.  We come on these High Holidays to ask forgiveness for them. We sincerely try to curb them and do better.  We are aware that most of us will never reach the level of the true Tsadik. No, Judaism is not primarily concerned with the achievement of perfection of the individual.  Judaism is primarily concerned with establishing a just society here on earth.  We read in the prophetic portion on Yom Kippur, the Holiest day of the year that G-d doesn't care about our fasting all day if we do not also:

"let the oppressed go free … break every yoke….  share your bread with the hungry, and take the wretched poor into your home…. when you see the naked, clothe him, and not to ignore your kin."

We at Congregation Beth Shalom cannot ignore what goes on outside the walls of our synagogue.  We cannot be satisfied with our bar mitzvahs and dinners, and dances, and baby-namings and weddings as if the synagogue is hermetically sealed from all the issues of the outside world.  The environment, health care, political corruption, war, racism, the economy, Israel – to name a few of the pressing issues of our day – cry out for a "Jewish response".   But just like the rabbi in my opening joke, rabbis are often warned to stay away from these issues. 

            But, what are we to do?  We come from a tradition that values debate -- that welcomes examining, analyzing and challenging of ideas.  The most important book of rabbinic Judaism, the Talmud, is filled with rabbis disagreeing and clashing with one another!  Our tradition understands that the way to achieve truth is through controversy – putting one idea up against another in the pursuit of leading a better life.  Seeking the truth through comparing and contrasting our ideas is, in fact, a holy endeavor.  G-d created each of us with a different perspective – we are each unique, and we do not look at every object, thought, or idea in the exact same way.  That is how G-d wanted it when G-d created human beings.

            In antiquity, the school of Hillel and the school of Shammai often had vigorous debates about Jewish practice.  In fact, the Talmud records over three hundred differences of opinion between the followers of Hillel and the followers of Shammai. Of all of those debates, the sages sided with the school of Shammai only eighteen times.  Yet Pirke Avot, describes these debates as "controversies for the sake of heaven" which had a "lasting value".  They had lasting value because they were controversies that were for the sake of finding the truth. They were for the sake of discovering how G-d wanted us to lead our lives.  They were for the sake of discovering what constituted fairness, and justice in a society.  The sages recognized that there are other kinds of controversies that do not have lasting value.  An example they gave was the argument of Korah and his followers, who rebelled against Moses.  In arguing with Moses, Korah wasn't seeking truth or trying to improve the community. His argument had only a selfish motive, to gain more honor and power for himself and to diminish Moses' authority. 

            Earlier on I said that the great issues of the day – the environment, health care, racism, war, the economy, Israel, to name a few – cry out for "a Jewish response."  By now it might be obvious that there is no one "Jewish response".  Hillel and Shammai, two great rabbis, could hold opposite views on many of the important issues of the day. But both of them were authentic "Jewish responses".  And because they are both authentic Jewish responses, both of them are preserved in our literature, and we read and study and revere their words to this day. 

            Yes, it is a daunting challenge to tolerate the tensions that some controversies elicit in us and still remain open to listening to one another.  But avoiding tension is not a good reason for fulfilling our Jewish mission. The 19^th century moralist Rabbi Israel Salanter, taught that on sending Abraham into the world, G-d said, "Lech-L'cha -- Go forth -- from your land and from your place of birth to the land which I will show thee … and you shall be a blessing." 

Abraham and Sarah were not sent off to a new Garden of Eden, to start a new kind of human being who would then live their lives in accordance with G-d's will.  They were sent out into the world as it was, to be a blessing to those around them, and ultimately to the world.  We, the children of Abraham and Sarah, must carry on their mission.  We can only do so if we can talk openly with one another – and even disagree with one another – about how to accomplish that mission in our day.

Shana Tova

 

 

RH 5770 -- Run As Fast As You Can!

In Pirke Avot – the Ethics of the Fathers – we find the following saying of Ben Azzai:

Run as fast as you can to do a minor mitzvah.. for one mitzvah leads to another. The Hebrew for "one mitzvah leads to another" is "mitzvah gorreret mitzvah".  In this pithy statement there is only one word you may not know, gorreret, which is sandwiched between a word you do know –mitzvah gorreret mitzvah.

I would have thought that the word between the mitzvahs would be the more common "goremmet" – to cause.  Mitzvah goremmet mitzvah --One mitzvah causes another mitzvah to follow.  But the word that Ben Azzai chose was the less common word, gorreret.  Hebrew words all have three letter roots, upon which the different tenses of verbs and masculine and feminine of nouns are built. The root of this word – garar – is an example of onomatopoeia.  As you remember from 5^th grade, onomatopoeia is the formation of words whose sound is imitative of the sound of the noise or action designated, such as hiss, buzz, and bang. The word "garar" means primarily "to drag" – "to produce a grating, scraping sound".  The word is found in the Talmud. For example – "one may, on the Sabbath, pull or push a couch on the floor."  In another place it is used to describe a door that drags along the ground when it is opened, or a matting which is moved by dragging, or, this intriguing snippet – geraruhu mekivro – they dragged him from the grave.  So the meaning of this text seems to be – If you do one mitzvah, that mitzvah will drag you, by the force of its weight, so to speak, to another mitzvah.  Even if you dig your heals in, and scrape them along the ground, it will drag you to another place. Ben Azzai also teaches that doing one sin drags one toward doing other sins.  Sin also drags you along, as if one sin pulls up the next one. 

Every RH service I recall a minor mitzvah that I ran to.  The year was 1982.  I was attending services at Smith College Hillel in Amherst, MA. At the conclusion of the services, Rabbi Yechiel Lander asked if there were those in the congregation who would like to participate in the upcoming Yom Kippur services.  I had not participated in any religious services since High School – but I had been educated to read Torah as a young child.  I had read the YK torah reading many times, although not in the past fifteen or so years. Still, I was sure I could do it.  So, following services, I approached the bima, introduced myself, and volunteered to read Torah for Yom Kippur morning. Although not aware of it at the time, this "running to a minor mitzvah" constituted a pivotal step that would take me down a path that would change my life.

The following year, I was the Torah reader for both Rosh Hashanna and Yom Kippur at the Smith College High Holiday services.   After YK that year, Rabbi Lander again called me to say there were 2 students at the local synagogue where he was the part-time rabbi who were having their bar mitzvahs that year. Would I be interested in teaching them?  Again, without being aware of where this was taking me, I gladly accepted.  Gerarrrrr

When the time came for their bar mitzvahs, Rabbi Lander asked me if I would read the Torah. Of course! And, would I be willing to help him out by serving as the Hazzan for the bar mitzvahs. Yes, I said, since I remembered the melodies for the Sabbath morning services of my youth. This process led me to become a leader of services at the synagogue. The next year there were another 2 bar mitzvahs. The following year four.  Then, ten. As the congregation grew, I was slowly being dragged into greater and greater participation in synagogue life.

A few years later, Rabbi Lander asked me if I would lead High Holiday services for Hillel.  His daughter Shira, who had been the Hazzan for the services for many years, would be off to Cincinatti for Rabbinic School and would have a student pulpit for the holidays.  Armed with a tape from Shira and the memories of the High Holiday melodies of my childhood, I eagerly took on this new mitzvah.  Gerarrrrr

One day, my wife Middy said to me gently, "You have a lovely voice, but you don't know how to use it."  That led me to seek lessons with a local voice teacher, who had me singing German art song and Italian arias.  After 2 years, I found Cantor Morton Shames who could work with me on the cantorial repertoire. We met in the music room of his synagogue. Each time I would enter the synagogue to meet with the cantor for our lesson I would think – why am I doing this?  Where is this leading me?  These lessons are expensive. Maybe I should stop.  But I continued to be dragged -- toward where, I had no idea. 

Where THAT led was to a position as the High Holiday cantor for a local synagogue in Western Massachusetts.  The following year, when that synagogue was in the middle of a search for a rabbi, the board asked me if I could be their interim "spiritual leader". 

Mitzvah Gorreret Mitzvah. One mitzvah drags you to the next. One Shabbat afternoon, after serving several months as the interim spiritual leader of this synagogue, I was asked by Rabbi Sheila Weinberg, Rabbi Lander's successor at the Amherst synagogue, how I liked my new role. "I'm having a ball," I replied. "You should become a rabbi," she responded. I was flattered. I had never once in my life thought about becoming a rabbi.  I told her this, and that with a child approaching college I could not possibly afford to quit my day job and go to rabbinic school for five years. She said that there was a seminary she knew that catered to adults in their second career, and if I wanted to know more about it, I should call her.  

I went home that afternoon, and in passing told my wife the flattering comment that Rabbi Weinberg had made. "Marc," she said, "That is just what you have been preparing for.  You have to call her tomorrow, and find out more about that seminary."

And so, every Monday morning for the next five years I literally dragged myself out of bed at 4:30 in the morning to make my 9:30 am class at the Academy for Jewish Religion in New York City.  That, of course, led me to stand before you today.

In a collection of rabbinic midrash entitled "Midrash Song of Songs" there is the following: "The Blessed Holy One said to Israel – you need open your heart only as wide as the eye of a needle, and I will make an opening for you through which carriages and wagons can enter."  My journey down this spiritual path began with a small opening of my heart – the desire to read the Torah on Yom Kippur.  Once I made that opening, I was pulled along a path that led me to stand before you today.

Who among us today will make that opening in their heart in the coming year?  When we look at the very first paragraph of the Shema, we see the words "You shall love the Lord your G-d with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might." But when we look at the second paragraph of the Shema, we see the words, "You shall serve G-d with all your heart and with all your soul". What happened to the words, "and with all your might"?  It has been suggested that the first paragraph of the Shema is directed toward individuals  who have not yet found their special passion, their unique talent or way of serving G-d that is the fulfillment of the root of the persons whole existence.  Then one must serve G-d in all the ways one can – bekhol meodecha – with all your might!!   But once one discovers their special talent or passion for serving G-d in a particular way, G-d wants a person to serve primarily in that way.  To specialize, as it were in a particular mitzvah – not to the exclusion of all other mitzvahs --  but you have discovered that special mitzvah that fulfills your entire being.   There is a teaching that just as each of us has a special mitzvah, each of us has a particular hisaron – a defect – for which the performance of that mitzvah serves a redemptive function. 

My special talent for serving G-d was becoming a rabbi. Your special talent will likely manifest itself in some other way. Opening your heart and running to an easy mitzvah might just put you on a path where you will discover that special mitzvah that will fulfill your entire being.

What path will you start on this coming year?  Are you sitting here today wondering whether you should finally make the commitment to join a synagogue?  Are you saying, "Perhaps I should finally learn to read Hebrew".  If so, you can begin with taking Barbara Bernstein's beginner Hebrew class this fall here at CBS.  Have you ever wanted to study the Talmud? Join me for my "Talmud with Training Wheels" class in October. Want to learn to read Torah? Chant Haftorah? Then you will contact Bernie Newman. Always wanted to sing in our choir? Contact the cantor.  Perhaps you would like to do the mitzvah of working on a committee to organize our community seder for the second night of Passover.  I am inviting you the same way I was invited in 1982 by Rabbi Lander – see me after services.  Will you travel to Israel with our congregation next June?  Call me, or come to the informational meeting on October 27. 

Gerarrrrrr

 

 

 

The Gift of Life

The Gift of Life

One evening a number of years ago my family was sitting at dinner when one of our sons asked my wife and I an intriguing question -- "If you and mom never met each other, whose child do you think I would be?"

Well obviously, if we never met he would be the child of neither of us.  He would never have existed.  Of course, that goes for all of us.  If our parents did not meet, we would never have been born.  Others would have been born, but nobody quite like us.  Each of us is unique. One of a kind. We have never been before and will never be again.

According to the Talmud, this uniqueness of each of us is a testament to the greatness of G-d.  When a government creates a coin from a single die, all of the coins are alike.  Not so when the Blessed Holy One created mankind.  All human beings are the descendents of Adam – the single die-- and yet not one of them is like his or her fellow.  Therefore, the Talmud teaches, "every person is obliged to say, 'For my sake was the world created." 

We are each the product of generations upon generations of men and women meeting one another and pro-creating.  Think of the odds against any one of us ever being born! Yet, our tradition insists that our existence is no accident.  It is part of the divine plan.  Our lives have meaning.  Each of us, in our own special way, completes the universe.  If we do not play our unique part, we injure the pattern of existence.  The Hassidic Rabbi Zusha illustrates this point in a story. "When I die and come before the heavenly court, if they ask me, 'Zusha, why were you not as great as Abraham?' I will not be afraid.  I will say that I was not born with Abraham's intellectual abilities.  If they ask me 'Zusha, why were you not like Moses?' I will say that I did not have Moses' leadership abilities.  But if they ask me, 'Zusha, why were you not Zusha? For that I will have no answer."

Yes, each life is a precious gift from G-d. But it is bestowed upon us for a relatively short amount of time.  Insignificant.  Every day we acknowledge this in our morning prayers – "the difference between a human being and beast is negligible, and everything is vanity." The prayer "unetaneh tokef" puts it poetically:

We are like broken pottery,

Like grass that withers, like flowers that fade,

Like a fleeting shadow, like a vanishing cloud,

Like wind that rushes by, like scattered dust

Like the dream that flies away.

Yom Kippur is a day that we reflect on this reality.  Life is fragile. We are here today, and gone tomorrow.  I learned that very early on in my own life.  On an October afternoon in 1965 when I was three weeks away from celebrating my bar mitzvah, my father died suddenly of a massive heart attack.  In the blink of an eye my life and the lives of my brother, sister and mother changed forever.  I learned early that we may be happy today, but tomorrow we may endure a loss that will break our hearts and change our lives forever.  We may be healthy today, but tomorrow we may discover that we suffer from a life altering disease.  That is the scary reality that the prayer confronts us with.  But the prayer does not conclude on this fatalistic note. Rather, ends on a triumphant note:  V'atah hu melekh el khai ve-kayam

"You are ever our living G-d and Sovereign"

What does this mean?  I think it affirms that there is a transcendent reality that we need to keep in mind at all times.  Life and G-d's plan is bigger than we are.  We are a part of a whole that we cannot possibly comprehend --That there is a mystery to life. I think it means that we should not let our trials and tribulations embitter us against life.  I think that it is a reminder to us that although we may suffer, we can be certain that G-d loves us.  I think that it means that we should look upon the challenges that G-d puts upon us as motivation to live ever more noble lives in G-d's service.  

Every week we sing the prayer for healing written by Debbie Freedman.  In it, there is the line

"Help us find the courage to make our lives a blessing"

This line raises some questions.  What does it mean to make our lives a blessing?   Why would we need courage to make our lives a blessing?  Can everyone make their lives a blessing? Or does one have to be like Norman Borlaug, the Nobel Prize winner in 1970 who died two weeks ago.  Borlaug is considered the father of the Green Revolution. He pioneered the breeding of high-yield grain varieties that helped to increase crop yields. His work is credited with saving an estimated one billion people world-wide from starvation. His life was certainly a blessing to humanity. But what about those of us who do not work in fields where we can save lives? How do we make our lives a blessing? I believe that making our lives a blessing is not so much about what we do.  Making our lives a blessing is about how we live.  Making our lives a blessing means that other people feel that their lives are enriched by knowing us. Making our lives a blessing means living our lives with compassion, with honesty, with integrity, with kindness and with love.  

Why then do we pray to G-d to help us find the courage to make our lives a blessing?   It takes courage to show compassion to the homeless and the poor, to the sick, to the dispossessed and to others marginalized in our society.  It takes courage to love the unlovable. It takes courage to live one's life with honesty and integrity.  It is easier to just go with the flow.  It is easier to just look the other way. 

Making our lives a blessing can also mean finding the blessing in our own lives.  Life is often hard.  We can feel overburdened by work responsibilities, difficulties with family and friends, financial hardships, health challenges, depression and anxiety.  When we ask G-d to "help us find the courage to make our lives a blessing" perhaps we are asking G-d to help us to see beyond the hardships of our lives and to find the blessings in our lives that are hidden from our sight when we are discouraged, when we are infirm, when we are in despair, when we feel alone.

Courage in this case implies that we are frightened by the challenges we encounter in our lives, situations that evoke fear and dread and hardship and awareness of our vulnerability.  If a situation was not daunting, it would not require courage! We ask G-d to give us the courage to rise above all of that to see the blessings that lie beyond – and within.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yom Kippur Morning Sermon 5770/2009

Averting the Severe Decree?

 

On the face of it, unetaneh tokef is a pretty fatalistic prayer.  Listen:

"As a shepherd herds his flock, and causes them to pass beneath his staff.

So YOU pass us before you, and count and number and record every living soul

You define the limits of every creature's life and decree its destiny.

On RH the decree is inscribed, and on YK it is sealed … who shall live, and who shall die", etc.

But the prayer does not end on this fatalistic note.  Rather, it continues:

But Teshuvah, repentence Tefillah, prayer, and, and Tsedaka, charity,

Annul the severe decree!

I have a problem with this idea, especially this year. Not that we pass beneath G-d's staff and he decrees for us whether we will live or die. No, I have a problem with the concluding verses – that prayer and repentance and tsedaka annul the severe decree. You see, in September of 2006, my brother in law, Glen Yanco, began to experience some trouble with his eyesight. He was 49 years old, and thought that he needed to get his eyes checked. He was also having some tingling in his fingers. So, he consulted his doctor, who suggested he see a specialist.  He saw the specialist, who suggested an MRI. The MRI came back showing he had some kind of brain tumor. I'll never forget the day my sister called me to tell me. They had been married 23 years. They had two beautiful children – a son and a daughter.  Glen was a successful businessman. He had always been active in the synagogue, in town government, and was currently serving as President of the Jewish Federation of the North Shore.  He had to have a biopsy to see how serious this was. Perhaps it was benign. But it wasn't. In fact, it was an aggressive and incurable type of brain cancer called glioblastoma.  The same kind of cancer that Ted Kennedy would be diagnosed with the following year. But Kennedy was 76, and had lived out the fullness of his years. Glen was in the middle of his life. He had just received a death sentence.

Glen faced his illness with courage.  He was convinced that he could survive this illness. New treatments were available, he told us.  He would enroll in experimental treatments. He would go on to take bagfuls of medications.  In addition to the conventional treatments provided by the doctors at Mass General, he pursued alternative treatments with the blessing of his physicians. He attended support groups for cancer patients. He was in touch with people around the country who had survived this illness – one man for ten years. 

But Glen did not survive. He passed away on February 27^th of this year. May his memory be a blessing.

Why?  He was in synagogue more often than most!  Why didn't his teshuvah, his tefillah and his tsedakah avert the severe decree that was handed him?  Wasn't it good enough for G-d? In fact, the first year after he was diagnosed, his daughter Esty put together a team that raised $25,000 in a Walk for Cancer. Wasn't that more than enough Tsedaka for at least a small miracle? Were his sins so great that Glen was punished so severely?  I assure you, he was a good man. A good husband to my sister. A good father to their children. A good citizen. A good Jew.

 

So how are we to understand this concluding verse: Repentance, Prayer and Tsedaka annul the severe decree.  The key is the Hebrew word that is translated as "annul" – in some prayer books "avert". The word is "ma-avir".  We find it fairly often in our prayers.

I am going to give you a short lesson in translation, and I hope you will stay with me.

Again, the word is ma'avir. It is the present tense of what is called in Hebrew grammar the "Hifil" form. "Hifil" verbs are all "causative".  The three letter root means – to pass. We find the word maavir in our morning prayer:

Ma'avir shena me'ainay, utemunah meafapay.  We bless G-d for causing sleep to pass from our eyes and slumber from our eyelids.

Ma'avir yom umevee layla – in our evening prayers – G-d causes the day to pass into night

Just before Me-chamocha – ma'avir banav ben gizrei yam suf – G-d cause his children to pass through the divide of the Red Sea

Le'ha'avir gilulim min ha-aretz – In the Alenu we hope that G-d will someday "cause idolatry to pass from the world."

Of course, it would be clumsy to translate these verses in exactly this way. So, in translation, we bless G-d for "wiping" sleep from our eyes, for "changing" the day into night, for "bringing" his children through the Red Sea, and for "banishing" idolatry from the world. But all these words in English – wiping, changing, bringing, and banishing – are all interpretations of one Hebrew word – ma'avir – which literally means "cause to pass".

 

What if WE translate ma'avir not as "annul" or "avert" – causing to pass over – but as "transform."  Repentance, Prayer and Tsedaka transform the severe decree. Repentance, Prayer and Tsedaka transform the meaning and experience of the severe decree.

 

 

For Glen, repentance, prayer and tsedaka could not change the final outcome of his illness. 

But Glen's deep involvement in Jewish life certainly transformed the experience he had during his illness. There was tremendous community support for him and his family throughout the two years of his illness. His funeral, held in the large social hall of the synagogue, was standing room only.  And although Glen was devastated to receive this diagnosis, he never seemed angry. He seemed to accept it – "it is what it is" seemed to be his favorite saying during these years – at the same time that he was determined to fight it. The time that he had with his family was more precious now that he knew it might be limited.  Family relationships strengthened, friendships deepened, and his illness gave him increased clarity into the priorities of life. He would not live to see his children get jobs, marry, and have children of their own. We all dream of teaching and guiding and supporting our children as they grow and mature. He would have to transform that dream. He would now have to teach them how to love when you were sick, how to have courage in the face of suffering, how to live when you are dying, how to hope when the odds are against you. That was the inner transformation that occurred, inextricably linked, I believe, to the central place that his Jewish community held throughout his life.

 

In drawing from the wellsprings of Teshuva, tefilla and tsedaka we gain the power to transform our experiences and our inner lives. We can transform our lives from the feelings of despair and dread and depression to tap the curative aspects of hope and faith and love.  The Midrash reminds us that when Jacob was fleeing from his brother Esav, he stopped for the night at Haran. He took stones for a pillow and dreamed of a ladder that reached to heaven.  Sometimes the stones of adversity may enable a person to create ladders that can reach up to heaven. A sustaining religious faith can help a person transform their adversity into a triumph of the spirit.