Yom Kippur Day 5773

  Olympic Mettle

This past summer we were witness to the Olympic Games in London.  Although there had been many concerns about terrorism, transportation, and weather, the games came off magnificently.  A few weeks later London hosted the Paralympics, a multi-sport event for the disabled, in the same stadium venues.  These games, recently concluded, were a resounding success as well.

If the Olympic Games are associated with the Greeks, then surely the Paralympics ought to be associated with the Jews.  It was a Jewish physician who began the Paralympic games in 1948.  Dr. Ludwig Guttman was a Jewish neurologist who fled Nazi Germany before the beginning of WWII. He settled in Oxford, England, with his wife and two children.  In 1943, the British government asked Dr. Guttman to become the head of Stoke Mandeville, a hospital that treated spinal cord injuries.  At the time Dr. Guttman took over the hospital, people who had sustained spinal cord injuries were considered hopeless cases. Eighty percent of them died within two weeks of sustaining their injury.  Dr. Guttman revolutionized the treatment of spinal cord injury patients and began to incorporate activities such as watch repair and sports into their rehabilitation. In July, 1948 – the opening day of the Olympics in London that year – he organized a little known competition of archery and javelin throw for sixteen disabled men and women on the grounds of the hospital.  The first Parallel Olympics were held in Rome, in 1960, a week after the close of the Olympic Games in Rome that year. The games were not televised and received little publicity. This year, 4,200 athletes from 165 countries competed in the Paralympics held after the Olympics.  The games were televised around the world, although unfortunately precious little television coverage was given in the United States.

I wish the Paralympics had been held before, instead of after the Olympics.  I think some of the Olympians would have gotten a better perspective on life, a better idea of what courage is, and a deeper sense of what really matters if they had watched these brave disabled athletes of the Paralympics perform.  As we know, the Olympians performed magnificently, and with grace and courage. The individual and the team competitions were exciting to watch.  It was what some of the athletes said after the events that I suspect many of us found disappointing.  Michael Phelps accomplished something amazing, something nobody else had ever done before – winning 22 medals over his career.  He is without a doubt a great athlete.  As reporters gathered around him after his final victory, he boasted, "I am now the best swimmer of all time.  I am the Michael Jordan of my generation - and more. I did everything that I set out to do, and I did it perfectly." 

Perhaps he would have exhibited some humility about his own achievements had the Paralympics been held before the Olympics. Then he might have heard of Zipora Rubin Rosenbaum, an Israeli woman who participated in the Paralympics from 1964 to 1988.  Over her career, Zipora Rubin Rosenbaum won 21 Paralympic medals, one shy of Michael Phelps' impressive record.  Only she did it in a wheelchair -- and her medals came in shot put, javelin, pentathalon, discus, table tennis and swimming – six different sports!  

Then there is Ussain Bolt, the world's fastest human.  One cannot help but admire his athletic prowess, the way he blew away the competition at the Olympics. But when he walked into the press conference room following his final victory he called for a 'drum roll' and then he said: 'I'm now a legend. I am the greatest athlete to live. To all the people who doubted me, who thought I would lose here, you can stop talking now. I am a living legend.'  Then Bolt addressed his audience. 'I have one more thing to say. I am now a living legend. Bask in my glory. If I don't see that in the paper and on TV in all your countries I will never give an interview again. Tell everyone to follow me on Twitter.'

If the Paralympics were held first, perhaps Bolt would have gained some perspective on his accomplishments.  Had he seen wheelchair tennis or wheelchair basketball, perhaps he would have kept in mind that running fastest is not necessarily the greatest accomplishment in the world.  And where was the "thank you" to his coaches?  Most likely, he did not become the world's fastest human all by himself.

Compare this behavior to the remarkable tribute of the French swimmer, Fabian Gilot.  After completing the final leg of the men's 4X100 relay, in which the French won the gold medal, he raised his arm in a wave to the crowd.  Tattooed on his left arm, large enough for all to see, were Hebrew letters which read, "ANI KLOOM BILADEYHEM" -- I am nothing without them."  This was a salute to the husband of Gilot's grandmother, his "step-grandfather" Max Goldschmidt. Max Goldschmidt was a Holocaust survivor who became one of the most important influences on Fabian Gilot's life.  Gilot's father explained that "Max was a Jew who survived the Holocaust and Auschwitz." He added: "He was born in Berlin and moved to France after the war, in Fabien's eyes he was a hero. Fabian admired his grandfather and was very attached to him." By the way, Fabian Gilot is not Jewish, which made the tribute, in Hebrew etched into his arm, all the more moving.  

Now, I think that is an example of how a winner should express himself.  A great athlete should always acknowledge the people who helped them get to where they are.  Isn't Gilot saying, "I may have won a gold medal, but I didn't do it alone.  I'm not the greatest -- the greatest people are those who helped and supported me along the way."  We admire athletes ultimately for their strength of will and spirit, their ability to overcome limitations, their capacity to rise to the challenge, their willingness to risk failure on a world stage.  Athletes detract from their very real accomplishments, and our admiration of them, when they demonstrate overweening pride and arrogance.

Why am I speaking about this on Yom Kippur? It is because arrogance and pride are among the greatest sins that we struggle with in our lives.  In our prayer, the "Al Chet" we say, "For the sin which we have committed before you by "Azut Metzach" which means arrogance, pride, insolence, boasting, egoism.   It certainly is an occupational hazard of the public figure.  The famous newsman, Walter Cronkite, told the following story:  He was sailing down the Mystic River in Connecticut and following the channel's tricky turns through an expanse of shallow water.  A boatload of young people sped past him, its occupants shouting and waving their arms. Cronkite waved back a cheery greeting and his wife said, "Do you know what they were shouting?" "Why, it was 'Hello, Walter,'" he replied. "No," she said. "They were shouting, "Low water, Low water.'" Such are the pitfalls, he concluded, of fame's egotism. 

The earliest rabbis were very concerned about the sin of arrogance, and they wrote a great deal about the importance of humility. Perhaps it was because they lived under the rule of Rome, and experienced firsthand the arrogance of their Roman overlords.  But they themselves were the elite of their society, the most learned men of their generation.  Treated with great respect and deference, they themselves had to guard against getting carried away by their own sense of importance. "Be very humble of spirit, for in the end you will be eaten by worms," was their blunt reminder of the ultimate fate of even the most celebrated persons in this world.  They warned against the corrosive effect of pride in family life as well.  "An arrogant person is not accepted even in his own household," warns the Talmud, "At first members of his family jump at his every word; after a while they find him repulsive."    

The prophet Jeremiah speaks directly to this point.  He says, "Let not the wise man glory in his wisdom; Let not the strong man glory in his strength, And let not the rich man glory in his wealth-But let he who wishes to boast, boast only in this: that he is wise enough to understand this: That G-d cares about kindness, justice and righteousness; That only in these does G-d delight.

So how do we guard against arrogance?  How can we practice humility?  It's not easy. There is the story of the synagogue that realized the importance of humility, so it formed a committee to find the most humble person in the temple. Many names were submitted and numerous candidates evaluated. Finally, the committee came to a unanimous decision. They selected a quiet man who always worked in the background and had never taken credit for anything he had done. They awarded him the "Most Humble" button for his faithful service. However, the next day they had to take it away from him -- because he pinned it on.

The first way we guard against arrogance is to strike a balance between it and humility.  There is nothing wrong with feeling proud.  There is nothing wrong with having CHUTZpah.  I sure have to have Chutzpah today to stand in front of 800 people and think that my words to you would hopefully have some meaning.  I have to have some pride in the words that I have prepared, or I would be embarrassed to share them with you today.  I can't be so humble and feel so unworthy of addressing you that I don't do it at all! The rabbis say that a timid person cannot learn. They would be too humble even to ask a question of their teacher, too modest to want to excel, to stand out.  That is the other extreme we should avoid. So, we have to understand that there is a continuum between humility and arrogance, and we have to find a comfortable place on that continuum.  Maimonides called this the" golden mean". He taught that we should not be extreme in any of our conduct.  We should seek out a middle ground. We should not be boastful, but neither should we be overly humble.  It is perfectly acceptable to feel we have accomplished something significant, to take pride in our achievements – but let others praise us for it!  Ussain Bolt and Michael Phelps are certainly special, and perhaps both are indeed legends. Let the newspapers or the broadcasters say it!   They should restrain themselves and follow the advice of Proverbs – Ye-hallel-kha  Zar  ve-lo  Pi-cha – "Let others speak your praise, but not your own mouth."

We should not boast, but we should be able to accept a compliment. I've noticed some people don't know how to accept a compliment.  If someone praises us, there's no need to contradict them. There's no need to ignore the praise.  We can simply reply, "Thank you" to a compliment.

So if you want to compliment me today after this sermon, please, feel free to do so. I promise I will not let it go to my head!

A second way we can guard against arrogance is to remember that there is no such thing as a self- made man or woman.  One reason Michael Phelps and Ussain Bolt flubbed it was because in the moment they achieved their glory they forgot the people who helped them.  Fabian Gilot's gesture was so moving because by inscribing the words, "I am nothing without them," in Hebrew no less, on his arm, he made sure he would always remember, and we would know, how he got there.  When Aly Raisman was awarded her medal in gymnastics, she placed it over the head of her coach, Mihai Brestyan, in a tribute to the man most responsible for her triumph.

 Consider the giant Sequoia tree.  Some of them are over 2500 years old and 300 feet tall.  You would think that to hold a tree up that is that tall, for so long, their roots would sink a hundred feet into the earth.  But that is not how the giant Sequoias do stand up. Their roots are very shallow. But they stand in groves, and their roots intertwine, they lock together, so that when a wind comes or lightning strikes, they hold one another up.  All the trees support and protect one another.  They may be among the most majestic living things on earth, but they depend on one another.  So it is with us. We stand tall because we work together.  Our synagogue is successful because of the hundreds and hundreds of hours that many, many, members, along with clergy and professional staff, put in to make it a successful and sustaining community.  We hold each other up.  If we remember that, we can guard against arrogance.

A third way to guard against arrogance is to keep in mind the message of Yom Kippur. We need to carry these words with us throughout the year.   We are only here on earth for a relatively short time.  As the poet writes in our Machzor:  "We come from dust and return to dust, we are fragile as pottery, easily shattered, like the grass that withers, like the flower that fades, like the fleeting shadow, like the vanishing cloud, like the wind that rushes by, like the scattered dust, like the dream that flies away." Who will remember in a hundred years that we ever lived?  Who will remember the names of the greatest Olympians in a hundred years?  If some people do remember those names as great athletes of the early 21rst century, what will those Olympians care?  It won't matter anymore to them. Beyond the grave we have no cares. Fame is fleeting. Our accomplishments are impermanent – but the effects of our kindness, our justice and our righteousness endure long after we have shed these mortal coils.     

 

Kol Nidre 5773

Well, Well, Well!

Why is this night different from all other nights?  I know, it isn't Passover!  On all other nights our prayers begin with praises to G-d, but on this night we do not begin with praises to G-d.  Perplexing indeed!   What's more, this holiest day of the Jewish year, a day when we confess our sins and ask forgiveness, does not begin with asking forgiveness from G-d for our sins!  That, after all, is the theme of this Day of Atonement!  No, this service begins, instead, with the recitation of Kol Nidre.  Do you realize that the Kol Nidre, doesn't even mention G-d?   Do you realize Kol Nidre doesn't even mention sin?  Do you realize Kol Nidre doesn't even mention forgiveness!? Do you realize Kol Nidre is not even a prayer, in any sense of the word:

"All vows, bonds, pledges promises, pacts, obligations and oaths that we have imposed upon ourselves—we regret them. Let them all be released! Forgiven! Erased! Made null and void! They are not valid! They do not exist! Our vows are not vows, our bonds are not bonds, our oaths are not oaths.

That is no prayer. That is a statement. That is a declaration. We don't PRAY to G-d to be released from our vows.  In reciting this formula, we release ourselves. 

Why would the rabbis have chosen THIS to begin the holiest day of the year?  In order to understand the reason, let's remind ourselves of the story of Jacob meeting Rachel at the well.  Jacob runs away from home after he has stolen Esau's birthright.  He travels to Haran, in search of the family of his mother, with whom he hopes to seek refuge. He comes to a well in a field. There is a large rock on the mouth of the well.  There he sees three flocks of sheep about to drink from the waters of the well.  All of the shepherds gather to remove the large rock, they water their sheep, and they return the large rock to the well.

Jacob then sees Rachel coming with her flock.  He goes to the well, and, BY HIMSELF, he rolls the rock off the well.  What took many shepherds to do, Jacob does all by himself!  Many commentators note that this was a show of strength meant to impress Rachel.  But the Sfat Emet, in his commentary, provides another interpretation for this seeming superhuman feat.  He understands the well to be more than just a well, but symbolic of the source of life.  The rock on the well, according to the Sfat Emet, functions as a metaphor that symbolizes those things that block us from drinking from the nourishing waters of life.  Our challenge in life, says the Sfat Emet, is to do what Jacob did – to summon all of our strength to remove whatever blocks us from access to these life giving waters.

What are the things that block us from reaching these life giving waters?  What impediments are there in our lives that get in the way of drawing nourishment from the Source of Life?  This Kol Nidre evening, I would like to focus on three of those barriers – regrets, envy, and anger.

The story is told of two monks who were walking through the forest. They came to the bank of a fast moving river and saw a beautiful woman standing on the edge of the bank.  The woman told the monks that she was afraid to cross the stream because she might slip and be carried downstream. She asked if one of them might help her across.

Now these monks had taken a vow of chastity and had vowed never to even touch a woman. Yet the older monk felt sorry for the young woman, and lifted her on his shoulders and carried her across the river.

The young woman thanked him and went on her way. The two monks continued on their journey. After two hours the younger monk turned to the older one and said, "How does it feel to have broken your vow after so many years?  What was it like to carry such a beautiful woman?  Do you regret what you did?

The older monk remained silent for several steps and then said, "It is you who should tell me what it is like to carry such a beautiful young woman. You see, I put her down three hours ago at the stream -- but you are still carrying her."

Well, some of us are still carrying around regrets from YEARS ago!  Some of us regret that we did not study as hard as we could have in high school or college.  Some of us regret we were not more assertive in a particular situation.  We regret we did not have more self discipline, we regret we didn't take more risks, we regret we didn't spend more time with our families.  Some of us regret we didn't stop smoking last year, or didn't watch our diet, or keep with that exercise program we started with such high hopes. There is nothing we can do about those things now. They are in the past. Yet we still carry regrets about them around. With the recitation of Kol Nidre we release ourselves from promises not kept, from actions not taken, from ambitions not realized. 

What other barrier besides regret blocks us from the life giving well?   Envy is a very common human emotion.  Envy is the feeling that surfaces when you see other people having what you do not have, doing things that you cannot do.  Envy focuses on what we feel that we lack. Chicago author Joseph Epstein writes that "Envy asks one leading question:  What about me?  Why does he or she have beauty, talent, wealth, power, the world's love, and other gifts, or at any rate a larger share of them than I? Why not me?"[1]

In many ways, we live in a society that stimulates envy.  We see models on television or in magazines who are more beautiful or more handsome than we are, and we are urged to buy products that promise us we can look more like they do.  Advertising stimulates our desire for bigger homes, nicer cars, and fancier vacations. The media promises us that we will be happier and more satisfied in life if we reach for more.  But we don't only envy material advantages of the other.  Epstein includes a cartoon in his book of two women having tea.  One says to the other, "I envy you – I wish I were close enough to my family to be estranged."

The United States makes up about 6% of the population of the world, and we use half of the world's national resources. You would think that would make us the happiest people of all time. But we are only twelfth happiest in the world according to a Gallup Poll. Israel, with all of its problems, is five places ahead of the United States in the happiness index.  Perhaps one reason we are not happier as a nation is that as soon as we achieve something, or get something, we want to move onto the next thing.  This constant pursuit of "more" leads to chronic dissatisfaction. How can we roll the stone of envy from the mouth of the well of life so can enjoy what we have?  

In a well known experiment, psychologist Robert Emmons of the University of California took three groups of volunteers and randomly assigned them to focus on one of three things during the week:  The first group was told to focus on everything that went wrong for them. The second group was told to focus on things they were grateful for. The third group was told to focus on everyday events.  Those who focused on the things they were grateful for reported higher levels of alertness, enthusiasm, determination, attentiveness and energy compared to the group that focused on what went wrong or the group that focused on every-day events.  Focusing daily on what we have, on what we are grateful for, on the blessings in our lives, is one of the keys to conquering envy.

The Hebrew word for "Jewish" – Yehuda – comes from the word for "gratitude" – Ho-dah-ah.  To be a Jew is to be thankful for all that we have, and to be grateful for even the smallest kindness bestowed upon us by our fellows and by G-d.  To roll away the stone of envy from the mouth of the well we must appreciate the blessings we enjoy. We need to stop looking at the next person to measure our happiness by. 

In addition to regrets and to envy, perhaps the largest stone that is blocking our entry to the well of life is the stone of anger.  We are angry at people who we feel did not treat us right.  We are angry at our spouses who we feel did not meet our needs. We are angry at our parents who we feel did not give us the proper guidance, or support us in our decisions.  We are angry at our children who did not make us proud enough of them.  And most of all, we are angry at G-d, because G-d did not make this a fairer place to live.

 During the Holocaust, a story was told of a rabbi in Auschwitz who said to his followers, "There is a possibility that G-d is a liar." His disciples, shocked at the blasphemy, demanded he explain himself. "Because when G-d looks down at Auschwitz, He says, 'I am not responsible for this.' And that is a lie."

Some people hold G-d responsible for many of the problems in their lives.  When they confront a serious illness, when there is a terrible accident, they wonder where G-d was, why G-d did not step in, why G-d did not intervene.  Like the rabbi in the story, they hold G-d ultimately responsible for their suffering.  These thoughts can even keep some of us away from our synagogue during the year. Unless G-d apologizes to them, they have nothing to say to G-d.  That anger is a great impediment in their relationship with G-d.

I know most of you have heard of Rabbi Harold Kushner.  He is the author of "When Bad Things Happen to Good People". He tells us that the most frustrating question for him over the years has been when an involved member of his congregation comes to him after a tragedy and asks, "Rabbi, if this could happen to my family, what was the point of coming to synagogue all these years?"  These congregants have led moral lives, they have contributed to the synagogue financially, they pray regularly, and they feel that their reward for all of this is -- heartache.  They are angry with G-d.  Rabbi Kushner has developed a response to their anguish, their feeling that G-d has betrayed them. First, he teaches, it is a mistake to think that G-d controls our lives. The world is created a certain way, with certain natural laws, and G-d doesn't control everything.  There are earthquakes and volcanoes and hurricanes, and if you live in an area prone to earthquakes, volcanoes and hurricanes, there is a chance you may be hurt, or even killed.  There is a chance you may lose your home, no matter how good a person you are.  The world contains viruses and bacteria, and these can be helpful to mankind, but they can also be the cause of disease.  G-d endowed people with free will, and people act, sometimes, in ways that hurt one another. We should be angry at G-d for giving people free will?  We have a need for a god that is kind of like a superhero, says Rabbi Kushner – all knowing, all powerful, a god who can protect us from all evil, who can fix anything that is broken.  We compare G-d to a King, we call G-d "Our Father", but G-d says, "That's your idea of G-d, but that is not Who I Am."  G-d says that making the planet a better place is the job of human beings, not the job of G-d.  G-d says, "I will do it with you, I will be a partner to you, but I won't do it for you."  G-d's role is to inspire us to find the cure for disease, to motivate us to strive to eliminate war, to provoke us to work to eradicate poverty, to be a source of strength and determination in our struggle against the many ills that beset our world.  If we think about G-d in this way, perhaps we will not be so angry with G-d.  We might still be angry, but our anger will be directed against the right things, the things we can do something about.

Let us resolve to be thankful to G-d for giving us the gift of reason and the gift of love.  We cannot expect G-d to solve the problems of the world, to sit back and wait for G-d to do what G-d has given us the tools to do ourselves.  As one rabbi put it, "Faith is not meant to be a narcotic but a stimulant: it is a call to action, not a substitute for it."[2] 

Jacob rolls the large rock that is blocking the well.  We now understand the hidden meaning in this simple, yet rich, biblical scene.  The well represents the fountain of life, the life giving spring from which we drink and constantly renew ourselves.  The rock represents everything in our lives that block us from drinking from those life renewing waters.  The rock is made of our regrets that keep us stuck in the past. We declare, through our recitation of Kol Nidre, that we are prepared to leave the past behind, that we are moving on to the new year with a clean slate.  Our envy of others is a heavy load that we must remove if we are to connect to the Source of Life. We declare, through our recitation of Kol Nidre, that we are ready to banish all envious feelings by being grateful for what we have. Finally, our anger at others and at G-d keep us from enjoying all of the blessings of life.  Through our recitation of Kol Nidre – we declare that we desire to move beyond our anger. We affirm that G-d isn't the cause of our struggles and our suffering; G-d is with us in our struggles and our suffering.  I would like to conclude with a prayer by my rabbi, my mentor and my friend Rabbi Sheila Pelz Weinberg:

Dear G-d, Open the blocked passageways to You, the congealed places.

Roll away the heavy stone from the well as your servant Jacob did when he beheld his beloved Rachel.

Help us to open the passageways to blessings that have been jammed shut with regret, envy and anger.

As You open the blossoms in spring, Even as you open the heavens in storm,

Open us – to feel your great, awesome, wonderful presence.[3]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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[1] Epstein, Joseph Envy  Oxford University Press 2003 p.6

[2] Rabbi Sydney Greenberg in The Wisdom of Modern Rabbis p.30

[3] After a poem by Sheila Pelz Weinberg  in Kol Haneshama: Shabbat Vehagim p292 Reconstructionist Press 2000

Shabbat Shuvah

Return to Who You Are

This Shabbat is called "Shabbat TeShuvah" – The Sabbath of Repentance – because it falls between Rosh Hashannah and Yom Kippur, during the Ten Days of Repentance. It is also called "Shabbat Shuvah" – The Sabbath of Return – after the first few words of the special Haftorah for the Sabbath: Shuvah Yisrael ad Adonai Elohecha – Return, O, Israel, to the Lord your G-d.  How else might we return? Consider this song, written by Shlomo Carlebach:   

Return again (2X) Return to the Land of your Soul. 

 Return to who you are, return to what you are, return to where you are, born and reborn again.

Alfred de Musset, a 19^th century French poet, once wrote, "Each memorable verse of a true poet has two or three times the written content." So what does Shlomo Carlebach truly mean when he writes we should "return to who we are, what we are, where we are?"  I think we will come close to an answer if we consider this Jewish story about a baby's birth:

In the beginning, before G-d began creation by creating light, G-d created all of the souls that would ever be born and placed them in the highest heaven. There each soul remains, until it is called to enter a body chosen for it. 

When a baby is conceived, Layla, the Angel of Night, brings the embryo before G-d, who decrees its fate – will it be a boy or a girl, rich or poor, fat or thin, wise or foolish. G-d decides everything about the child except one thing – will it be righteous or wicked.

Then G-d sends the Angel of Souls to the highest heaven to bring back the soul destined for that particular baby. The soul always rebels.  It does not want to be sent down to earth.  But G-d reprimands the rebellious soul, saying, "Hush, it is for this that I created you." And the soul enters the unborn child's body and nestles in its mother's womb.

The next morning a second angel carries the soul to Paradise, where it sees the Righteous enjoying eternal Happiness. "This is what is in store for you some day if you follow Torah and live a worthy life," explains the angel.  But if you do not…… The angel takes the soul to the gates of Gehenna where it sees the suffering of those who devoted their lives to sin and cruelty.

Between morning and night the next day, the angel reveals to the unborn soul its future life: where it will live, where it will die and where it will be buried.

And then, when it is ready to be born, the angel announces that the time has come for the soul to leave the womb.

Once again, the soul rebels. "No," it says, "that will be too much for me."

But the angel quiets the soul. "This is as G-d decrees.  It is not up to us to be born, and it is not up to us to die. Such is your fate."

With that, the angel touches the about -to -be -born baby under the nose, leaving a small indentation there. Instantly, the soul forgets everything it has learned from the angels. Then the baby emerges into the world, crying and afraid.

Each soul spends the rest of its time on earth recovering all that it once knew. [1]

To me this story means that each person is put on this earth for a particular and unique purpose.  Our task on earth is to discover that mission, to uncover our inborn talents and how to make the best use of them in our world.  This is a time of cheshbon hanefesh, introspection and holding ourselves to account. Are we growing into the kind of person we were meant to be?  Are we doing what G-d wants us to be doing on this earth? Or have we strayed from our soul's work?  If so, this is the time to make a course correction – to return to who we are.  

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[1] Frankel, Ellen The Classic Tales: 4000 Years of Jewish Lore Jason Aronson, 1993 pp17-19

Rosh Hashannah Day 1 5773

One of my favorite stories is one which you perhaps have heard as well. In the old Soviet Union there was a minimum security work camp. The prisoners worked inside the camp during the day, and then left the camp at the end of work and slept in a village nearby.  A guard stood at the entrance to the camp.  He was stationed there to make sure that none of the prisoners smuggled out valuable items they could sell outside of the camp.  Each day one particular prisoner would come out from work with a wheelbarrow loaded with hay. The guard would search the hay, but he could never find anything hidden in it. Each day, the guard would let the prisoner pass. Day by day, year by year, the same scenario was repeated. Try as he might, the guard could never find anything in the hay the prisoner might be smuggling out of the work camp. Finally, the day came when the Soviet Union ceased to exist, and all the prisoners were let go. The guard approached the man on his final day of work, and asked him, "Tell me, I could never find what you were hiding all those years. I promise I won't say anything, but it has been driving me crazy – what were you stealing?" "You still don't get it, do you," said the prisoner. "I was stealing wheelbarrows!"

So it is with us. We see, yet we do not see.  We look for one thing, yet another, more important thing, is hidden before our very eyes.  We ask questions -- but sometimes we don't ask the right questions! Year after year we listen to the sounds of the Shofar – we think we have heard it, and yet, perhaps we are missing the most important message.  Today, as we come together on this first day of Rosh Hashannah,  I would like to explore two questions about the Shofar blowing that perhaps have never occurred to us to ask. If we answer these questions, hopefully we will come to a deeper understanding of the sounding of the Shofar – an understanding which I hope will enhance the meaning of today's service for all of us.  

The first question:

Why do we always sound the shofar in sets of three?

The second question:

Why do we always begin the shofar sounds with a tekiah, and end the shofar sounds with a tekiah?

First, know that the sounding of the Shofar is THE fundamental mitzvah of Rosh Hashannah.  The mitzvah comes from the book of Numbers, where G-d instructs the Jewish people to celebrate the first day of the seventh month by abstaining from work, gathering together, and sounding the Shofar. "It shall be a day of TERUAH," says scriptures, meaning a day of sounding of the Shofar.  When the rabbis of the second century developed the Rosh Hashannah service that we recite today, they had a problem.  Of course a central part of that service had to be the sounding of the shofar. That was what the bible said. The problem was – if scriptures said it was to be "a day of TERUAH", what was a TERUAH? What sound was that?  None of the rabbis knew what a TERUAH was supposed to sound like!  How could the Jewish people blow the shofar and fulfill the Biblical commandment if they didn't know what sound to make? 

{Please look on page 592 for this section}

They had their theories. One group of rabbis believed that an authentic TERUAH sounded like someone sighing. "Let it sound like someone sighing," said this group.   Another group of rabbis believed that an authentic TERUAH sounded like someone sobbing. "Let it sound like someone sighing," opined this group.   One of the groups of rabbis was right, and one of them was wrong, (or maybe both of them were wrong) but nobody could claim with certainty which was which! Wisely, the rabbis decided to cover all of the bases, so to speak.  They decided to compromise. They decided to be inclusive. That is how we arrive at the sounds of the shofar we hear this morning.  In the first set, we sound "sighing leading into sobbing" – shevarim teruah- In the second set we only sound the "sighing-shevarim" and in the third set we only sound the "sobbing-teruah".   

Ponder this kernel of wisdom the next time you hear the sound of the shofar.  We have been listening to a pattern of sounds for two thousand years that were arrived at through compromise! We are hearing this certain pattern of sounds because nobody insisted that they were right and the other was wrong!   Yet, too often, it is the exact opposite with us. We hold opinions, like that of the rabbis with regard to the sound of the shofar, which we are unable to substantiate as fact.  Yet, this doesn't stop us from insisting that we are absolutely right, and the other person is dead wrong.   It occurs in our homes, between husband and wife, between parents and children, between brother and sister. It occurs between friends, and in our places of work.  I daresay it occurs between in our State Capitols and in Washington DC, and between nation-states as well.  We try to convince one another that we are right and the other is wrong.  Neither wants to budge. Each party digs in their heels.  Each is convinced of their own rightness. Pride and ego get in the way. Neither wants to back down.  Each party feels aggrieved, misunderstood, and hurt.  Each says, "If I back down, if I give in, I will appear to be weak. And therefore, I don't care who started this fight. I don't care who is right or wrong. I am not going to back down, no matter what! This is one I have to win and you have to lose!" [1]

If we find ourselves in a similar situation today, "give heed to the sound of the shofar." Our insistence on being right, our reluctance to admit we could be wrong, our refusal to compromise, our inability to see and acknowledge the other's point of view, an opinion different from the one we hold, can corrode relationships between family members, between colleagues, between neighbors and between nations.  If we wish to live together in peace, if we want to live together in wholeness, we must find a creative way, like the rabbis did, to include our different ideas and opinions in the solution. 

The Book of Proverbs states: וְאִישׁ שׁוֹמֵעַ לָנֶצַח יְדַבֵּֽר "The person who truly listens – that person's words will endure."  Too often, we are poor listeners.  We don't take the time to understand what the other person is saying.  We want the other person to understand us, first, before we will listen to them.  Instead, we should first try to understand what the other person is saying, what they are trying to get across.  If they feel understood by us, they are much more likely to be open to what we are trying to say.  If we want our words to have an impact on them, we must first learn to listen.  A wise person, say our rabbis, does not interrupt their friend's words; they do not reply in haste.

Let's move on to our second question of the morning. Why are these broken sounds, the shevarim and the teruah, always bracketed by the Tekiah, the unbroken sound of the shofar?  Why do we always start with a Tekiah, and end with a Tekiah, in each set of shofar blows?  It is as if the sounds of clarity and conviction encapsulate the cries of doubt and of hesitation.

Let me suggest that this pattern represents the Jewish experience of past, present and future.  It represents how the Jewish people view time. For the Jew, the past is as certain as the sounding of the Shofar at Mount Sinai.  "We were slaves of Pharaoh in Egypt, and the Almighty took us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, with signs and with wonders."  G-d led us through the wilderness, gave us the Torah, and brought us into the Promised Land.  We recount, we affirm, we remind ourselves of the birth of our people every day in our prayers and every year at the Passover Seder.  In this way we celebrate and remember the unbroken traditions of our people that stretch back to the very first Jewish people, Abraham and Sarah.  That unbroken tradition, that certainty that we carry as to who we are and where we have come from, is symbolized by the first unbroken sound of the Shofar blast, the TEKIAH.

In the same way that we know where we came from, we know where we are heading in the future.  In Judaism, the future is as certain as the sound which will announce the Messiah.  We are confident that human history will lead, eventually, to Messianic times.  We are not sure what Messianic times will look like, but we privileged have a small experience of Messianic times each time we observe the Sabbath.   We taught that every Sabbath contains a "foretaste" of the "World- to- Come".  Each prayer service for the past two thousand years has ended with the Alenu, which itself concludes with a description of Messianic times from the prophet Zechariah, "And Adonai will be king over all the earth; on that day, the Lord will be One and His name One." 

In all ancient societies time was perceived as a wheel, – as an endless cycle of birth and death: spinning ceaselessly, never altering its course…."  These were societies in which fatalism was the operant philosophy and where the idea of human advancement was absent.  Thomas Cahill, in his book, The Gift of the Jews,  writes that the Jewish people brought to the world "a new vision of men and women with unique destinies – a vision", he writes, "that thousands of years later will inspire the Declaration of Independence and our hopeful belief in progress and the sense that tomorrow could be better than today."

Yes, the Jewish people introduced the radical idea that history is not just a series of random events, but a history that is leading somewhere. History is a journey moving toward an end that we can help shape.  This end, this certain future, is symbolized by the TEKIAH, the unbroken sound of this final shofar blast.

If the past and the future are assured – what remains uncertain is the present, symbolized by the broken sounds, the teruah and the shevarim.   These broken sounds represent the times in which we live – the uncertainty of the present.  What is our responsibility, individually and as a community, in our own time?

Our responsibility as individuals is to hope -- to never give up.  Our lives sometimes resemble the broken sounds of the shevarim and the teruah.  We may begin at a young age with a blueprint for our lives that is as clear and unbroken as the sound of the tekiah.  But then life intervenes. We stumble, we fall, we improvise, we make mistakes, and we try again.  We yearn for growth, we strive for achievement, but our progress is halting, like the sounds of the shevarim.  We get lost, we get stuck, we surge ahead and we fall back. Our shouts of triumph are followed by the sobs of defeat. During these times we must have the confidence that we can make meaning of the tests and challenges in our own lives.  During these times we must believe that we can make our lives whole again, like the sound of the Tekiah.

As a religious community, our responsibility is to remember the past, to bear witness and to use that remembrance to do our part to make the vision of a brighter future come to be.  The writer Leonard Fein says of the Jewish people:

By virtue of our longevity, by virtue of our classic marginality, by virtue of the need for self-preservation, we have been …… witnesses to grandeur, to folly, to evil, to redemption. Our task is to speak out, to tell what we have seen, to say what we know….. Ours is to tell of the journey from slavery to freedom and all that follows there from…. ours is to speak truth to power and to be chroniclers of injustice.[2]

No one could argue that our world is a very broken place.  But as a Jew, one does not have to accept it that way.  We are not a fatalistic people. We believe that as a community we could and should work to repair the world.  The final sound of the shofar, the tekiah, symbolizes the goal toward which we must all work and toward which we are certain to make progress, even as we live in uncertain times – times of folly, times of injustice, yes, times of evil. We may not complete the work. But that fact doesn't exempt us from engaging in the world.

This then, is the message of the Shofar.  Like the story of the prisoner and the guard that I told in the beginning, it has always been right before our eyes, yet hidden. The first lesson is that compromise is possible, no, necessary, if we are to build an enduring family life, national life and a more just world. For the very sounds of the Shofar we hear today is the product of compromise. The second lesson is to remind us that we come from a proud past and are heading toward a glorious future. We must remember that past and use it in the service of the present so we can march toward a better future. We should never lose hope that we can repair the broken parts of our own lives, and heal the broken-ness of the world as well.  Judaism is an optimistic religion. The sound of the Shofar, calls to us to work for a brighter, more secure and more perfect life for ourselves and for the world in which we live.

Shanah Tova Tikatevu!

 

 

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[1]"In our homes……no matter what.." courtesy of Rabbi Jack Reimer

[2] http://forward.com/articles/126450/the-jewish-mission-we-are-witnesses/#ixzz26f2QpcV2

Erev Rosh Hashannah 5773

The Five "R" s of Repentance

One of the most popular radio programs in the United States is Car Talk. Tom and Ray Magliozzi, also known as Click and Clack the Tappet Brothers, have been a mainstay of National Public Radio for twenty five years.  Car Talk draws over four million listeners every week.    On their website, the brothers wrote a blog of the technological innovations that they would like to see on all cars.  These included dual climate control --which would likely save some marriages, and stability control -- which would likely save some lives.  But, the most needed innovation in today's automobile, they wrote, is a "sorry button" on the dashboard of every car!

Think about it. In this age of technological advancement in communications, our automobiles are stuck with a primitive communication devise that was installed when the first horseless carriages made their appearance in the early 1800s in Britain!  This is a "one-sound-fits-all" form of communication.  A driver wants to warn someone out of the way -- HOOOONK!  You want to alert a friend that you are waiting for them in front of their home – HOOONK!  You see another driver doing something dangerous – HOOOOONK! 

What about when we are driving and make a mistake?  What about when we do something irresponsible on the road?  The other driver has no other option than to lean on their horn and ----- HOOONK!  What are we likely to do?  Why, HOOOONK back!  Some drivers will likely to make an unfriendly gesture, then the other driver  becomes indignant, perhaps yelling something back ……who knows where that will lead! 

So, a "sorry" button on our cars would be a great innovation.  If we make a mistake driving and the other driver honks at us, we would be able to push a button on the dash and a light would go on saying "I'm sorry." How disarming would that be?  That would probably nip any road rage in the bud. 

Come to think of it, wouldn't it be great if we human beings came with a built in "sorry button."  We could push a button on our belt, say, and a small sign on our lapel would flash out, "sorry."  But there is a difference between a superficial "sorry" and asking for forgiveness.  "I'm sorry I cut you off", "I'm sorry I lost your keys", "I'm sorry I kept you waiting", "I'm sorry I stepped on your toe," reflect regret, but they are not true apologies. 

 "What constitutes a "true apology"?  This is the theme I want to address this evening. It is an important question for this time of the year, this season where we are encouraged to take an inventory of our actions and seek reconciliation with our fellow.  Erev Rosh Hashannah marks the beginning of the Aseret Yemai Teshuva, the Ten Days of Repentance.  Maimonides writes in his Laws of Teshuva that observing Yom Kippur atones only for our sins that we committed against G-d – for example, eating some forbidden food, or failing to properly observe the Sabbath.  For transgressions between one person and another, however, we need to apologize to the other person.  We need, in Maimonides words, to appease him, to ask forgiveness from him, during these next ten days.  Maimonides never tells us, however, HOW we should ask forgiveness. 

Consider a verse from this famous John Denver song:

I'm sorry for all the lies I told you

I'm sorry for the things I didn't say

But more than anything else, I'm sorry for myself -- I can't believe you went away.

No wonder this guy is all alone!  He is feeling sorrier for himself than he is for the lies he told, and for what he didn't say.  He seems less concerned with the fact that he has hurt another person's feelings, and betrayed their trust, than with the consequences to himself for doing so – that he is all alone!   Would this be considered an authentic apology? I think not. The hurt party would want to know what particular lies he is talking about?  Which things did he wish he would have said, but did not?  This verse captures beautifully the nature of many of the apologies we hear in the public sphere as well as in the private realm.  They are short on specifics and long on self pity. The apologies that we give and that we receive are too often vague and self serving.

How does one go about saying "I'm sorry"?  What constitutes an authentic apology?  Our former congregant, John Kador, wrote a book entitle "Effective Apology" in which he outlines the five "R"s of asking forgiveness:  Recognition, Responsibility, Remorse, Restitution and Repetition.

The first step is recognition:  One of the most difficult things about apologizing is that you have to recognize that you are wrong in the first place.  We human beings, however, tend to be convinced of our rightness.  While we are in the process of being wrong, we are oblivious to it.  Putting it another way, if we knew we were wrong, would we be acting that way in the first place?   We can only realize we are wrong in retrospect, upon examination, upon reflection. Sometimes we know immediately after we utter the offending words or do the offending deed. Sometimes it is days, months or even years later that we may realize we were wrong.

That is what this period in Jewish life, these High Holidays, challenges us to do. That is what heshbon ha-nefesh, self examination, is supposed to accomplish. This is a period of communal and personal introspection.  This is the time of year we reflect on our actions and our behavior and ask the question -- Could I have been – WRONG!?

Responsibility:  The second step in the process of preparing an authentic apology is to take responsibility for ones actions.  Owning what we did.  "I am sorry I didn't phone when I said I would -- I got another call". That is not an authentic apology. That is an excuse.  "I am sorry you took it that way -- that is not what I meant" is not an apology either. This is blaming the other person for misunderstanding what you consider your harmless words. 

A classic example of evading recognition and responsibility comes to us via a midrash on Cain and Abel.  As you may remember, Cain and Abel both offered gifts to G-d.  G-d accepted Abel's gift, but found Cain's lacking, and rejected it. In a fit of jealousy, Cain killed Abel.  Afterward, G-d asked Cain where Abel was.  According to the rabbis, Cain admitted he slew Abel, but tried to evade responsibility by blaming the only other being around -- G-d. It was God's fault, claimed Cain, that he killed Abel.  If G-d had accepted Cain's gift, as he did Abel's, Cain would not have gotten jealous, and killed him. When that line of reasoning didn't work, Cain argued, according to the rabbis, that the death of Abel was G-d's responsibility, because G-d had created humankind in the first place with the emotion of jealousy.  We all remember Cain's immortal words, "Am I my brother's keeper?" The rabbis say that by this Cain meant that G-d was in fact the keeper of the entire world, and yet G-d let Cain slay him!  There is no evidence that Cain either recognized that he did wrong, or took responsibility for his actions.

Step number three in giving an authentic apology is expressing remorse:  

Only after a true recognition of our wrongdoing and only after taking responsibility for the wrong can the "I am sorry" part occur.  This part, the "apology", is the hardest to do.  For one thing, it is humbling, because it is essential that the offense to the other person be explicitly named.  The person you are apologizing to has to be clear exactly what wrong you are apologizing for.  It is only then that the words "I am sorry" are truly powerful.  One of the most poignant experiences humans can have is to give a sincere apology or to receive one.  These words have the capacity to break down walls and to heal wounds that have festered for years. They have the ability to make us feel whole, valued and respected.   

Step number four is restitution:  Maimonides states that in order to fully apologize to another person we must provide monetary restitution for the loss that they incurred by our improper action.  Maimonides speaks of monetary compensation, but restitution need not always involve just money. When I was the Rabbi in Longmeadow, Massachusetts, we had an incident of desecration of our cemetery.  The youths who were responsible were eventually caught.  Paying for the damage caused, the synagogue felt, was not enough.  The congregation also wanted the young people responsible to visit the local Holocaust Museum to understand anti-Semitism and the emotional damage that had been inflicted on the Jewish community by this act of vandalism.  That further act of restitution needed to be made.

Finally, the fifth "R" is repetition:  The person who has been hurt wants to insure that they will not be hurt in the same way again.  Being wronged one time can bring on anger, but being wronged a second time can elicit feelings of shame.  No one wants to be thought of as a naïve person who is easily fooled.  The fear of being hurt a second time by the same behavior from the same person often prevents the hurt person from fully accepting an apology.  When and if the apology IS accepted, it doesn't necessarily mean that the relationship can go back to the way it was before.  Yet, this is an assumption we often seem to make.

Our rabbis used a very powerful metaphor to explain this.  They said that a transgression against another resembles pounding nails into a wooden chest.  When a person says they are sorry and ask for forgiveness, it resembles removing the nails from the wooden chest.  The nails may be removed, but the holes remain.  The apology can be given, but the scars may not disappear. 

In a book called The Power of Apology, the author Beverly Engel wrote:

"Every single day we do things that hurt other people's feelings or that show disrespect. We are impatient and rude to store clerks; we snap at our co-workers; we become defensive and argue unnecessarily with our friends; we say hurtful things to our partner in the heat of a disagreement: we misjudge our friends' intentions when they try to help, and we shame our children and let them down." Ms. Engel explains that we rationalize our mistakes saying…it isn't all that important –they will get over it.

This year – let's not be so easy on ourselves.  Let's not be so sure that "they'll just get over it". Know that the most sacred moments of these High Holidays are not the times when we are in the synagogue praying.  The most sacred moments are not when we are singing Avinu Malkenu, or hearing the blasts of the shofar, or listening to Kol Nidre.  The most sacred moments of these holidays are when we are at home, when we are back at our places of work, when we are dropping our children off to school or when we meet one another in the synagogue parking lot and we turn to one another and say, "I'm sorry for what I did. I will try to do better next year."  We say in our prayers that G-d is "chanun umarbeh lisloach" – that G-d is gracious and abundant in forgiveness."  G-d wants to see us, G-d's children, forgive one another.

These next ten days are called the Asseret Yemai Teshuva – the Ten Days of Repentence. Teshuva can also mean returning. Let us return in our thoughts, for these ten days, to the past year.  Let us turn to one another.  Was there a friend or a colleague with whom you were rude or impatient?  Was there a customer or client, a teacher or a student, with whom you lost your temper?  Take some time this week to seek them out, and tell them how sorry you are for your behavior.  

If you are a parent, did you shame or belittle your child at any time during the year?  Did they come home from school with all A's and one C, and instead of focusing on praising them for the A's you highlighted the C?  Did you miss an important game or school activity and make an excuse for your absence?  Did you fail to listen patiently and empathically to their problems, because you thought they were, after all, only a child's problem?  This week, turn to them, and offer them an authentic apology.

If you are someone's child, sitting here this evening with your parent.  Did you fail to take your parents needs into account when you were making plans with your friends?  Have you talked back to them, or acted disrespectfully?  Did you want something badly and get angry at them when they could not give it to you?  This week, these ten days of Repentance, look back at your behavior, talk to your parents about it, resolve to do better this year.

We honk our horns too much at each other, and we do not talk enough with each other.   A sorry button might be a great accessory for an automobile.  It is woefully inadequate for a human being.  Take time these next ten days to reflect.  Consider those you may have hurt. Remember and reflect and use the five steps of apology – Recognition, Responsibility, Remorse, Restitution and Repetition.  Then may we fulfill the words of the prophet Isaiah: "Come, let us reason together, so that we may understand each other, and forgive one another, and live together in peace."  Amen

 

 

               

               

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Parasha Nitzavim

The Angel Within

Whenever he sculpted a piece of marble, Michelangelo would go to the quarry outside of Florence to see the section of rock from which it came, the cliff from which it was hewn.  Without that larger setting or context he could not appreciate or understand the stone that he was sculpting. He felt that the block of marble in his studio contained within it the figure which the artist needed to liberate.  It was the artist's job, he believed, to understand the beauty concealed within the stone and to chip away the excess to reveal the hidden form below.  "I saw an angel in the marble," wrote Michelangelo about one of his sculptures, "and carved until I set him free."

Why am I speaking about Michelangelo?  In a few days, we will be celebrating Rosh Hashannah, the Jewish New Year.  The traditional New Year Greeting is "LeShannah Tovah Tikatevu" – may you be inscribed for a good year.  Notice that we use the word "inscribed" and not "written."  We associate "inscribing" with the use of a hammer and chisel, and thus the connection to Michelangelo. 

The most common metaphor for being "inscribed in the Book of Life" pictures G-d sitting on G-d's throne, three large book opened in front of Him – one with the names of the completely righteous, one with the names of the completely wicked, and one with the names of those who are neither completely righteous or completely wicked.  For the completely righteous – their verdict is complete and they are sealed immediately in the book.  For the completely wicked, their judgment is complete and their verdict –death – is immediately sealed in the Book. For those who are neither completely righteous or completely wicked – their judgment is suspended between Rosh Hashannah and Yom Kippur.  If they are deserving and repent, they are inscribed for life; and if they fail to repent and are undeserving, they are inscribed for Death.  

That metaphor, which is taught in the name of Rav Yohanan in the Babylonian Talmud, is a very old tradition.  It may work for some of us, but not for all of us. Is there another way we can understand this phrase, "Leshannah Tova Tikatevu" – may you be inscribed for a good year?

One key to a different understanding is to note that the phrase in question – May you be inscribed for a good year – doesn't say WHO is doing the inscribing!  That leaves open the understanding that we might inscribe ourselves for a good year.  With our metaphorical hammer and chisel, we can work to chip away at the excesses in our behavior that conceal the beauty that lies within each of us.  We can work to smooth away the jagged edges of our personalities that make it difficult for us and others to see our true selves.  We can sculpt our character to remove the envy, the anger, the arrogance, the greed and whatever other defects conceal the beauty of our souls. 

Our Torah reading for this week says: "G-d places before us life and death, blessing and curse. Choose life, so that you and your offspring will live." I've always been bothered by that because experience tells me that whether we live or die this year is largely out of our hands.  Yes, one can watch ones diet and control some things in your life, but choose life?  A person is standing on a corner waiting to cross the street, and they are hit and killed by a car. Did they fail to "choose life?  A close reading of the Hebrew rescues us from that conundrum. The Hebrew actually says, "Uvacharta BA- Hayyim" – choose IN life. This means that within our life we can make choices that will move our lives forward or hinder us, bless us or curse us. The choices that we make will affect us and our offspring and all who love and care for us.   So, this New Year, let us all resolve to make choices in our lives that will carve away our bad habits and free the angel just waiting there to be released.

Shabbat Shalom

 

 

 

Parasha Ki Tavo

I've Got A Secret            

    Have you ever been driving around in your car, and a song comes on the radio, a song of say, Frank Sinatra, and he's singing "I've got the world on a string" and that song is so upbeat, and you are feeling great because it is a beautiful spring day, and you are driving down the road, and you think, "That song is just right for me!"  Or it's a rainy day, and you just had a fight with your spouse, and Billy Holiday comes on the radio and she sings the blues, and you think "How does she understand how I feel?"  That song on the radio is going out to thousands of people, but it seems directed just to you. Or you are in synagogue, and your rabbi is giving a talk, and there is something that you hear that strikes a chord with what you are going through, and you wonder whether he is actually talking about you and your situation, but then you remember you never told him about that situation in your life, and yet, the words seem especially for you. 

                Reaching out in that public way is precisely what Moses had in mind in this week's Torah portion.  The Israelites are encamped on the eastern border of the Land of Canaan.  Moses is about to die. He will not enter the Land with the people.  He gives last instructions.  As they enter the land under the leadership of Joshua, they are to divide into two groups.  Six tribes are to stand on  Mt.Eval and six tribes are to stand on Mount Gerizim.  The Kohens and the Levites and the Holy Ark are to stand in the valley between the mountains.  The Levites will turn toward Mount Gerizim and shout out a blessing: 'Blessed is the person who does not make idols" and the people on Mount Gerezim will respond with "AMEN".  Then the Levites will turn toward Mount Eval and shout out: "Cursed is the person who makes idols" and everyone responds AMEN, and so forth until the series of prescribed blessings and curses is completed.

                This entire process is conceived of by Moses as a ceremony of reaffirming the covenant that a previous generation had made at Sinai. Imagine the huge sound of AMEN that would echo across the valley and against the mountains.  Imagine the impression that would make on the individual Israelite who participates in this ceremony.  This ritual is intended to fully impress upon the generation that is entering the Land of Israel the absolute seriousness of the choices they will make in their lives.

                Most interesting is the fact that all of the transgressions that are explicitly stated are things we do in private. Worshipping an idol in the privacy of one's home, moving a boundary marker, putting a stumbling block in front of the blind, perverting justice, engaging in forbidden sexual acts, striking down ones fellow in secret, and accepting a bribe -- all of these are transgressions that are carried out in secret, away from public view.  Imagine what it would be like to be there, along with tens of thousands of others, standing there on one of the mountains.  You are probably standing with family and friends.  From the Levites below you hear "Cursed be the one who…." And then a sin THAT YOU HAVE SECRETLY COMMITTED, THAT NOBODY ELSE KNOWS ABOUT" is spoken aloud.  I imagine that your heart skips a beat, and for a moment you think that you have been exposed.  The Levi's shouted that one out JUST FOR YOU.  Someone knows your secret. Worse, you have to respond – "AMEN".  "Cursed be the one who has accepted a bribe" and you HAVE to respond "amen". If you don't respond, "amen" then your friends and family who are with you will suspect you have taken a bribe.  Your silence will speak volumes to them. Standing on the mountain, you are caught between a rock and a hard place!  To remain silent is to admit guilt – to respond with "amen" is to curse yourself.

                Isn't that what we do when we sin?  Do we not curse ourselves?  When we commit a transgression we swim against the moral current of the universe.  That makes it harder- going in our lives, it wears us down, it tires us out, it corrupts our relationships and it shortens our lives.  Teshuva, repentence, can be thought of as turning our lives around, of swimming with that moral current which invigorates us, repairs our relationships, and extends our lives.  That is what the prophet Isaiah means when he says that those who trust in G-d, "shall renew their strength….. they shall run and not grow weary, they shall march and not grow faint." When you "trust in G-d" you "go with the flow" in a way.

It's exhausting to swim against the current of the will of G-d.  Like swimming in a rip tide, you can do it for a while, but it will eventually pull you under.

Trust in G-d doesn't inoculate you from the problems in life. When one trusts in G-d it doesn't insure that life will be easy, that we won't have to face challenges.  It means that when we do have problems; when we do face challenges in life, our trust in G-d will help us deal with them, help us overcome them.  Our membership in a religious community will help us cope with them.  Rabbi Harold Kushner says that trust in G-d is like taking out a home insurance policy. Taking out an insurance policy doesn't mean that fire, hurricanes, and tornados won't strike your home.  It means that if your home is struck by a disaster, you will have something to help you get through a difficult time.  

                The ceremony at Mt. Gerizim and Mt. Ebal happened only once.  But there are similarities between that ceremony and our yearly ritual of Yom Kippur. On Yom Kippur we confess our sins communally.  But these sins are not committed communally; they are committed by an individual.  When we hear the sin that we in fact did commit, of which we are in fact guilty, I hope our hearts will skip a beat, that we will feel some shame and embarrassment, and the shock of recognition will motivate us to change our ways. I hope we may feel that it is written in the prayer book just for us.

                When we sin we only punish ourselves and those who love us.  We hold in our own hands the ability to bless and curse.  This New Year, choose blessing… choose life.

Shabbat Shalom