Yom Kippur Morning 5774

Second Chances

Members of our congregation are wonderful when it comes to asking questions.  Some of my best sermons, I think, are based on questions that congregants ask me.  I would venture to say that even the most inquisitive minds in our congregation have never even thought to ask the question I am about to address!  Now that would be an obscure question indeed!  The question:  Why is it that we observe Yom Kippur when we do? Now you are scratching your heads. Of course, the Torah tells us that we should observe Yom Kippur on the Tenth of Tishre, following Rosh HaShanah, and that is why we observe it when we do. If that were the answer – I would not have much of a sermon today!  What I mean is this – We know the reasons for why we celebrate all of our other holidays when we do. We celebrate Passover when we do because it is the anniversary of the Exodus from Egypt. We celebrate Shavuot when we do because it marks the day of the giving of the Ten Commandments on Mt. Sinai. We celebrate Chanukah when we do because it marks the anniversary of the re-dedication of the Temple in Jerusalem by the Maccabees. Rosh Hashanah marks the date of the Creation of the World. But, do you know what event occurred on Yom Kippur that makes it a propitious time to ask forgiveness from G-d?

To begin to answer that question, we have to go back three Jewish months from our month, Tishre. That brings us to the Jewish month of Sivan. On the 6^th day of the month of Sivan, Moses receives the Ten Commandments for the first time.  We mark that occasion with the holiday of Shavuot.  Moses then stays on Mount Sinai for forty days. Fearing that Moses will never return, the Israelites fashion a Golden Calf to worship in G-d's stead. G-d tells Moses what is happening, and Moses descends Mount Sinai . As he approaches the Israelite encampment, he sees the people dancing around and worshipping the Golden Calf.  Moses smashes the set of tablets on which the Ten Commandments are written. Moses punishes those who are responsible for leading the people into sin. Then, on the first day of the month of Elul, Moses again ascends the Holy Mountain to ask forgiveness from G-d for the Israelite's sin. Were the Jewish people still G-d's people after all that had happened? Could G-d ever forgive us for the sin of the Golden Calf? Finally, after another 40 days on the mountain, G-d agrees to forgive the people and takes them back in love. The Jewish people would be given a second chance. G-d shows Moses how to prevent further calamities, which, like that of the sin of the Golden Calf, threaten to stir up G-d's anger and lead to the punishment of the Jewish people.  G-d gives Moses a prayer, which we call the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy. The Jewish people can invoke this prayer throughout the ages to beseech G-d to turn from anger and punishment when we sin to compassion and forgiveness.  That prayer – Adonai Adonai kel rechum ve-chanun – is invoked throughout our Yom Kippur services, and at other services during the year as well. G-d forgives the Jewish people for the Sin of the Golden Calf on the tenth of Tishre, the day on which we celebrate Yom Kippur. As a sign of that forgiveness, G-d gives Moses a second set of Ten Commandments, which Moses brings down from the mountain and deposits in the Holy Ark. We have come before G-d on the anniversary of that date every year since, on a day that we call Yom Kippur – the Day of Atonement -- to ask forgiveness for the sins which we have committed as individuals and as a community in the past year.

That means that the celebration of Yom Kippur rests on an event that we never even mention on the day itself – the giving, and the receiving, of this second set of tablets. This second set of Tablets of the Ten Commandments was different than the first. The Torah tells us that the first set of Ten Commandments was fashioned totally by G-d – G-d carved the tablets and wrote upon them himself. The Torah tells us that Moses carved this second set of tablets himself and brought them up the mountain, where G-d then wrote upon them. 

That first set of commandments, carved and written entirely by G-d, imposed upon us, the Jewish people, demands that we could not bear. Our ancestors who left Egypt felt they could not possibly live up to the standards of such a direct encounter with divinity itself. They were overwhelmed by the preciousness of that gift and the godlike behavior that was expected of us -- Hence, the flight into the worship of the Golden Calf. With it, at least, they would fashion for themselves a god to whom they could more easily relate.  

With the second set of commandments, G-d appears to have learned a lesson. That second set of commandments was the result of a partnership, a collaboration, between Moses and G-d. Moses carves the tablets, and G-d writes upon them. This was a joint divine-human process. In the first set of tablets, G-d expects perfection. It is too much for human beings to handle. With the second set of tablets G-d recognizes that Jewish life would have to be a divine-human partnership. G-d would give the laws, but it would be for human beings to interpret them.  This left room for human frailties, and human inconsistencies, human vulnerabilities. It was this set of tablets that the Israelites carried with them in the desert and has kept us company ever since.

This is the comforting message of Yom Kippur. We can be less than perfect. We can make mistakes and be forgiven. We can aim high and fall short. We can recognize our imperfections, our shortcomings, our faults, and know that just as G-d forgives us, we can forgive the flaws in ourselves.  We can forgive others. Just as G-d gave the Jewish people a second chance at Sinai at the beginning of our history as a people, so G-d gives each one of us a second chance to mend out ways, again and again, and again, year after year.

We need those second chances. We fall short of our own aspirations all the time.  If you are have had a bar or bat mitzvah here, did you make a promise to yourself to continue coming to services on Sunday mornings, only to decide that it was easier to sleep in. Did you say, "After my bar mitzvah I am going to come to services once a month" …. But then always found a reason you could not come? If you are an adult, did you promise to yourself that you would learn more about Judaism this year – but you never followed through on your promise, and here you are, a year later, knowing nothing more about your religion than you did last year?  Did you resolve to work harder last year, to grow your business, to pursue that promotion, only to fall short? As a husband and wife, did you promise you would work on your relationship last year, only to find it was easier to put things off than to confront difficult issues? Did you say you would be more financially responsible this year, save more for your children's college fund or your own retirement, give more to tsedaka, only to fall back into the same old spending habits? Did you promise yourselves to break that old habit, to improve your diet, to learn a musical instrument, to read more, to watch TV less, to spend more time with your family, to enroll in that continuing ed course, to volunteer for your community, to be more environmentally conscious, to take up a hobby, to live a healthier lifestyle. Do not be discouraged. It is never too late to achieve to start something new, to achieve a goal, to reach for a dream.

One exceptional recent inspiration is Diana Nyad. She is the 64 year old woman you may have read about a couple of weeks ago.  After 53 hours of swimming, fighting the tides, the weather, the jellyfish, the danger of sharks, fighting off sleep and exhaustion and nausea, Diana Nyad completed the 112 miles swim from Cuba to Key West. Emerging from the water, she fell into the arms of a friend and said, "I did it, I did it!"

It really did not take Diana Nyad 53 hours of swimming to reach the beaches of Key West. It took her 35 years to swim from Cuba to Key West. She had tried and failed four times previously. In her first attempt, in 1978, she was 29 years old!

Experience, determination, learning from her past mistakes, a lot of courage and a little luck combined to bring a successful conclusion to Diana Nyad's fifth attempt to swim from Cuba to Florida. When asked by reporters what she had learned from her experience she replied:

"I learned three things. First, never give up on your dreams. Second, you are never, never, too old to pursue your dream. Third, swimming may seem like a solitary sport. It is not. It takes a whole team to help."

I believe the same lessons are applicable to Teshuvah, to repentance.  First, we should never give up on our desire to change, to grow, to make our lives better.  Judaism teaches that mankind is created in the image of G-d, that we are "little lower than the angels". There is greatness, nobility, a spark of the divine, in each and every one of us. Diana Nyad's accomplishment just hints at our potential to accomplish the impossible and the improbable in our own lives.

The second lesson of Diana Nyad's that applies to Teshuva – We are never too old to change and to grow. Harvard professor Sarah Lawrence Lightfoot has done research into the learning process of older adults. She notes that the things we learn in school – "competition, speed, the single pursuit of achievement, and hiding our failures" give way as we get older to qualities that support growth and change such as "patience, collaboration and restraint."  As we get older we tend to let go of our fear of failure, of our sensitivity to being criticized, and are more willing to take risks, to put allow ourselves to be vulnerable. Lawrence-Lightfoot tells stories of people who after long, successful careers take tentative, courageous steps into uncharted adventures—such as painting, sculpting, jazz piano playing—where failure is public, and growth requires the ability to seek and appreciate criticism of one's work. We can change, we can grow, we can become better human beings, no matter if we are 64, 84 or a hundred and four!

And her last lesson was: "I couldn't have done it by myself. If it were not for the five support boats and the 35 people who went with me, if it were not for my coaches and my companions, if it were not for the people who designed my face mask and my bathing suit, and who went into the water to send those electronic pulses that kept the sharks away---if it were not for all those people, I would not have made it.

That too is a lesson for Teshuva. We are not alone. Remember that we have friends, we have family, we have fellow congregants, we have clergy and teachers who will help and support us in our desire to change and grow. There are people in our synagogue, in our community, who are on the same journey that we are. "For a permanent solution to easing tension and soothe the rough waters of the world that cause people to go to drugs, drinking, gambling, pornography, overeating, or anything that will give them some temporary relief, you can't beat the support and encouragement of a friend," writes the author Jonathan Anthony Burkett.

With the support of friends and our confidence in G-d's love for us, no change, no challenge, is too great.

Shana Tova Tikatevu

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kol Nidre 5774

This Day of Judgment

 A few weeks ago, a young man, Michael Brandon Hill, walked armed into the McNair Elementary School in Georgia and barricaded himself into a small office, and threatened a massacre.  The only person standing between him and another Sandy Hook was the school bookkeeper, Antoinette Tuff. Perhaps you heard the riveting, heart-stopping and poignant recording to 911 that was later released to the public. Tears welled in my eyes as I heard it. Were it not for the courage and level-headedness of this woman, a tragedy would have ensued.

What came through in that 911 call was Antoinette Tuff's understanding and compassion for the person who was threatening her only a few steps away.  "Don't feel bad, baby," she was heard saying to Hill during the ordeal, "My husband just left me after 33 years. I've got a son that's mentally disabled. We all got something in life." "I'm proud of you, it's a good thing you are giving up. No, Michael, we're not going to hate you ….. But I just want you to know that I love you. We all go through something in life. I thought the same thing as you. I tried to commit suicide after my husband left me. But look at me now, I'm alright. I'm working and everything. Everything's going to be alright. Guess what Michael? My last name was Hill too. My mom was a Hill."

Notice what Antoinette Tuffs did NOT say. She did not judge him. She did not tell him he was doing the wrong thing. She expressed her understanding of what he was going through. She saw him not as a deranged person, or a bad person, but as a person in pain crying out for help.  She somehow found it in her heart to reach out in genuine love to a confused, unhinged, and dangerous young man. I do not know how she did it. "I give it all to G-d," she said, "I'm no hero. I was terrified."

Antoinette Tuffs, in fact, treated Michael Brandon Hill like a good parent might treat a wayward child. It is an extreme example, for sure, but very telling. The Ball Shem Tov, the founder of Hassidism, was once approached by a woman whose son was doing something bad.  She asked him, "What should I do?" The Baal Shem Tov asked her some questions about her son. He asked her what might have led to her son to do what he was doing. He asked her about her son's upbringing. He asked her about the role of her son's father in his life.  Then he said to her, "Love him even more."

"Love him even more." Some of us may not agree with the Baal Shem Tov.  The Jewish tradition has not always acted in the spirit of the Baal Shem Tov.  I want to share two examples of this.  When I was a child in Scranton, Pennsylvania, I knew of families that sat shiva for their children who defied their wishes and married outside of the Jewish faith. Do you know why parents did that at the time -- and our rabbis supported them?  They made the judgment that in marrying outside of the faith, their child was rejecting them and rejecting Judaism.  Few people would make a similar judgment today.  Attitudes have changed. Rabbi Menachem Penner, acting dean at Yeshiva University's rabbinical school, the flagship institution of Modern Orthodoxy, speaks for most when he says, "Once you've intermarried, it does not mean you've left the Jewish faith." Yet how many were pushed away and lost to Judaism because of our severe judgments of years past?  

A second example of how our tradition has not always reached out in love and understanding is illustrated in a film called "Nora's Will."  Two weeks ago about forty of our congregants gathered in this sanctuary for Selichot services and to watch this movie.  It deals with the reactions of family and community to a chronically depressed woman who eventually succeeds in taking her own life. The film brilliantly displays the range of thoughts and emotions that family members experience when a person they love commits suicide. It also shows how severely the family's rabbi judged this woman who took her own life. He felt she had brazenly defied G-d's will by taking her life. Because she had contemptuously spurned G-d's greatest gift, she was not entitled to traditional mourning rites.  She would be buried in a section of the cemetery reserved for criminals. He represented how much of our tradition responded to suicide in bygone eras. Bewildered and perplexed, the family sought and found another rabbi who was more compassionate and understanding. "We should not judge," said this Rabbi, "For who could truly understand what goes on in the mind of a person who makes such a choice." By not being judgmental, this rabbi helped the family to heal from both the loss of their mother and from wounds of the past.

Yom Kippur is called "Yom HaDin" the Day of Judgment. It is a day when we stand before our Creator for our final judgment. Only G-d has the right to judge us.

When our children go astray, it is not the time to judge them or to punish them. It is the time to love them even more. Rabbi Jack Riemer tells the story about a friend of his, an Orthodox woman who lives in Israel. This woman has a daughter who broke with the family and broke with everything that the family stood for. The daughter gave up Shabbat observance and keeping Kosher, and all the things that were valued in the family in which she grew up. This mother could have judged her daughter harshly and could have broken with her. What did this mother do instead? She decided that she was not going to lose her child, no matter what. If her child's home was not kosher, she went there anyway. She brought along her own food to eat, but she went there anyway. If her daughter did not go to synagogue any longer, her mother went to synagogue and then went to visit her. If her daughter did not keep Passover in her own home, she invited her for seder at her house, just the same. Regardless of her daughter's choices, this mother remained steady and consistently conveyed her love for her child.

Eventually, the daughter came back to the family, and has come back to Judaism.  That is the story Rabbi Riemer tells. I want to add a cautionary note. This worked in this particular situation only because the mother was authentic and sincere in her unconditional love for her daughter.  She was not trying to manipulate her daughter into returning to her family's way of life. She was willing to accept all outcomes. Many stories like this have a different ending. Our children are not going to do what we want, just because we love them and reach out to them.  But love them and reach out to them we must.

How many times have we made judgments about other people without knowing the entire story?  We are taught on Yom Kippur that G-d has before Him two sets of books – Sifrei Chayim and Sifrei Meitim – the Books of the Living and the Books of the Dead. We have been taught the two sets of books are open so that G-d can write our names into one of them for the coming year.  However, there is another interpretation of this metaphor of judgment. The Books of the Living contain all of the names of those who are alive today. The Books of the Dead contain all the names of those who have gone before us. G-d consults the Books of the Dead to make decisions about how to judge the living. G-d examines our past to determine our judgment. If a person has been raised in a deprived situation; if their parents' lives, for example, were more about survival and this kept them from teaching him about Judaism and about the distinctions between right and wrong, then the expectations of him are less, and G-d judges him less severely. If a person, however, has been raised with all of the advantages of life; if his or her parents were privileged and well educated in Jewish matters and secular matters; if they got along with one another and taught him right from wrong,; then the expectations of this person are greater, and G-d judges him more strictly if he sins. Human beings do not have the capacity that G-d has to grasp the totality of a person's life. We should therefore refrain from judging, for we know not the advantages or disadvantages that a person has had in their life, what they have had to endure, what obstacles they have had to overcome.   

This principle is beautifully illustrated in this classic Chassidic story. There was once a rabbi who was a great scholar. He filled his life with acts of chesed and tsedakah. He knew he would be justly rewarded in the world to come. So he prayed to G-d to let him see who his study partner would be when he reached heaven. G-d answered by taking him to the workshop of the village shoemaker. Day in and day out this worn little man made shoes. Yet he seemed to have little to show for it. He was very poor. The man never took time to study; he badly needed to bathe and a change of clothes. The rabbi was very upset. "After all these years of study and good deeds, this man in to be my study partner in the World to Come?" he bellowed. What kind of justice is this! G-d answered, "Go talk to the shoemaker."

The rabbi introduced himself. The shoemaker answered, "I have heard of your great piety. I wish I had the time to go and learn with you. But who has the time? All day I work hard to make shoes for the rich; they pay my living. And then, when there is leather left over, all night I work hard to make shoes for the poor. Nobody should be without shoes because they cannot afford it."

The rabbi then turns to G-d. "Ribono Shel Olam," he says, "Master of the Universe, I am not worthy to sit with him." [1]

Exercising fair, sound judgment is one of our most important life skills. Yet, we often, like the all too human rabbi in this story, judge based on initial impressions or appearances. Many times we do not take the time to look deeply into a situation or into a person. We judge others, often negatively, on the basis of superficial factors -- the type of work they do, the clothing that they wear, the neighborhood they live in, the way that they speak, to name a few -- and then act according to those assumptions.

Let us try, this year, to judge others as we would have others judge us, as we say in Hebrew, le-khaf ze-chut, with generosity. There is a saying in Judaism that G-d judges us in the same way that we judge others. If we are kind in our judgments and give others the benefit of the doubt; if we look beyond appearances and take the time to examine the matter and examine it deeply, then G-d will be kind in His judgments with us and give us the benefit of the doubt. If, on the other hand, we are narrow- minded in our perspective and judge others unkindly, G-d will do the same with us. 

I close with this prayer composed by an anonymous author, which is found on the wall of Rachel's Tomb in Bethlehem:

                Oh Lord, please help me, guide me and show me /the straight path so that I avoid stumbling /in unworthy pursuits and refrain from speaking/in a way that is not in accordance with Your will. May I merit to be good to everyone/and may I not seek out people's failings./Rather, may I always use all my capabilities to find /worth in each and every person…..Through Your mercy, may I always judge others favorably; may you bestow upon me the intelligence to understand how to search for and find redeeming factors, strengths and virtues in /my fellow at all times.[2]

On this Yom Kippur, on this Yom HaDin, this Day of Judgment, may we all be judged by our Creator with compassion, with mercy, with understanding and with wisdom – and judge our fellows the same way!

 

 

 

 

 

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[1] As told by Rabbi Michael Gold

[2] I am grateful to Rabbi Mitch Wohlberg for the prayer and the translation. 

Rosh Hashana Day 1 Sermon

The Kittel

The story is told that Elijah the prophet once showed up to a wedding dressed as a beggar. "Please sir," he asked the father of the bride, "May I come in and have a bite to eat." Seeing this disheveled man standing before him, the father of the bride ordered to leave – and quickly, too, or else he would call the butler to boot him out.

A while later, Elijah returned, this time dressed in a well-tailored suit, an elegant sable hat and carrying a cane with a golden handle.  He was greeted warmly by the father of the bride and seated at the table with the bride and the groom.  As each course of the meal was served, he took its contents and shoved it into his pockets – meat in his right pocket, potatoes in his left, carrots in his vest pocket … and then poured fine red wine over it all!

Of course, the guests sat there astonished. What, on earth, was he doing?  Then Elijah explained. "When I came to your door dressed as a beggar, you practically threw me out. But when I came dressed as a wealthy man, you could not do enough for me. Clearly, it is the clothing that you honor, not the man. Since you showed such respect for my clothes, why should I not feed them at your wedding feast?"

This morning, your rabbi and cantor stand before you dressed in special clothing for Rosh Hashannah. The clothing is not elaborate, nor gaily colored, nor fashionably tailored. The clothing I am wearing is called a kittel.  It is a Yiddish word, very close to the German word for "plain housecoat". In some communities, it is customary for everyone in the congregation to come dressed in a kittel on Rosh Hashannah and Yom Kippur.  This morning I am going to speak about four meanings of the kittel and its significance for these holidays. Wearing of the kittel symbolizes 1) our equality in the eyes of G-d, 2)the potential that lay within each and every one of us, 3)G-d' s love for us, and 4)the fragility and uncertainty of life.

First: Our equality before G-d --

The kittel did not originate as clothing for Rosh Hashanah, but as burial clothing. Two thousand years ago, in what was then called Palestine, the leader of the Jewish people was named Rabban Gamliel.  He was from an aristocratic family and was very wealthy. At the time, the upper strata of society would bury their dead in expensive garments such as silk and royal garb. It was said that for the common folk, burying a relative was even more emotionally difficult for them than the death itself. They felt ashamed that they could not bury their beloved in the expensive garments of the wealthy, and so took to abandoning the body and leaving it to be buried at public expense.  They felt such shame that they could not give their relative a "proper burial" that they abdicated doing the burial at all!  When Rabban Gamliel died he requested his body be buried in inexpensive linen clothing. Everyone, from every class of society, began to follow the example he set. They buried their dead in plain linen garments. Feeling no more shame, the poor began attending to their dead again!

This plain burial shroud of Rabban Gamliel, the kittel put everyone on an equal footing, and came to symbolize our equality in G-d's eyes on this holiday. G-d cares not for the external superficialities by which we may cloak ourselves; G-d is not fooled by the expensive clothing we may wear, or the grand houses we may live in, the luxurious cars we may drive, the fancy clubs we may belong to – the standards by which human beings often judge one another.  The kittel is a reminder that G-d sees right through us. G-d sees beyond our material trappings into our very souls.

Second:  The kittel symbolizes the potential in each and every one of us

But why wear a white garment on Rosh Hashannah? This is the beginning of the Ten Days of Repentance, when we examine our sins and ask G-d for forgiveness.  At our afternoon service on Yom Kippur we will once again read the story of Jonah. Jonah travels to Ninveh and proclaims that in forty days Ninveh shall be overthrown. In response, the people proclaim a fast and put on SACKCLOTH. Word gets to the king and he, wanting to repent, also fasts and puts on sackcloth -- a course garment made of cotton or hemp. Elsewhere in the Bible, for example in the Book of Daniel, people don sackcloth when they repent. Why did our tradition not turn toward sackcloth as the traditional garb for the High Holidays?

Fortunately, we do not wear sackcloth – thank heavens, it sounds very itchy! – but rather the special garments that the High Priest wore in the Temple in Jerusalem on Yom Kippur. The High Priest was dressed in white linen when he made his confession in the Temple in Jerusalem on Yom Kippur. The whiteness of his garments symbolizes the spirit of purity and humility with which he approached G-d on that day. By wearing white, we recall the garments of the High Priest in the days when our Temple stood in Jerusalem. These white garments serve as both a connection to our ancient past and a as reminder that we are "a nation of priests". In Judaism there is no society of holy men and women who have special knowledge that only they have access to. It is part of our belief in the United States that any child born here can someday grow up to be President.  In Judaism, we believe that with the proper education, anyone can aspire to be like Moses!  Rabbi David de Sola Pool calls this "the democracy of holiness."

Third: The Kittel symbolizes G-d's love for us:

The wearing of white on Rosh Hashannah also symbolizes that even as we stand in judgment on Rosh Hashanah, this day should not be viewed as a somber day.  We might very well think it would be a somber day. After all, tradition holds that on Rosh Hashannah the entire world, not only the Jewish people, come before G-d in judgment. As our prayers say, we are judged as to "who will live and who will die, who by fire and who by water…" These are sobering, even terrifying thoughts.  Consider the experience of Mathew Schrier. He is a 35 year old American war photographer whose story of capture by jihadi rebel forces in Syria in December 2012 was in the newspaper this summer. You may have heard about him. He was held for seven months without charges. He had no idea why he was being held, only that he was being held for trial before an "Islamic Court".  "In your country you have a saying," his guard, Abdullah told him one night, 'Innocent until proven guilty.' Here we have the opposite. You are guilty until proven innocent. We do not know who you are."

Just imagine what that must be like! To come before such a court in judgment must be a soul shattering experience. Fortunately, Mathew Schrier was able to escape from his captors before he was brought before this court. The Jerusalem Talmud describes someone in this situation. It notes that when a man comes before a judge for a trial, he commonly dresses in black, and wears a black cloak. He grows his beard, for he does not know the verdict that is to be handed down.  He is terrified, and ready for the worst. His is in fear and in mourning for his life! This is not the case, however, says the Talmud, with the Jewish people when we come before G-d in judgment.  We wear white, we cut our beards and we eat, and we drink and we are happy. Why? Because, says the Talmud, we have confidence that G-d, who loves the Jewish people, will be merciful and forgive us for our sins. We are certain that G-d will accept our repentance. We are not strangers to G-d. G-d knows who we are. G-d is like a compassionate parent, and we have no reason to fear, for we are certain that if our repentance is sincere, G-d will judge us kindly on this day.

Fourth: The kittel confronts us with our mortality

The wearing of a kittel, the garb that we will someday be buried in, is a reminder that we do not know the day that we are going to die. It may be tomorrow. We better be prepared. The Talmud tells us that Rabbi Eliezer had a favorite saying. "Repent one day before you die." He students asked him, "How do you know which day it is that you are going to die?" Rabbi Eliezer replied, "You do not. That is why you must repent every day of your life."

We may not know when we are going to die. Neither do we know how we are going to die – this knowledge is beyond human power or human control. But there is one thing within our power, within our control -- we can determine how we live. We can make peace with ourselves, and we can make peace with others. We can reconcile with our loved ones.  We can get our affairs in order, so that others do not have to clean up the messes we leave behind.  We do not have an infinite amount of time to do this. In truth, we do not know how much time we have. Therefore, we must act today.

I hope you will remember that the kittel we wear represents the idea that no matter what our station in life we all stand before our Creator today as equals;  I hope you will take away with you the phrase "the democracy of holiness" and the idea that each of us has infinite potential for holiness, I hope you will remember why these holidays are joyful, not somber days; I hope you will be more determined to live each day with love, and cherish each moment, and do not delay. With that last thought in mind, I close with this true story.

It is from a book called, My Grandfather's Blessings, by Dr. Rachel Naomi Remen. Dr. Remen was brought up by parents who were atheists and by a spiritual and mystical grandfather who died when she was seven.  She remembers the Friday afternoon rituals with him, and how after he lit the candles, he would turn to her and say, "Come, Neshumeleh". 

"Then I would stand in front of him and he would rest his hands lightly on the top of my head. He would begin by thanking God for me and for making him my grandpa.  He would specifically mention my struggles during that week and tell God something about me that was true.

Each week, I would wait to find out what that was. If I had made mistakes during the week, he would mention my honesty in telling the truth. If I had failed, he would appreciate how hard I tried." 

Remen went on saying, "These few moments were the only time in my week when I felt completely safe and at rest.  My family of physicians and professionals were always struggling to accomplish more. It was never enough. If I brought home a 98 on a test, my father would ask, "What happened to the other 2 points."  But for my grandfather, I was already enough.  And somehow when I was with him, I knew with absolute certainty that this was so. He called me by his special name, Neshumeleh, which means 'beloved little soul'.

After he died, no one called me that anymore.  At first I was afraid that without him to see me and tell God who I was, I might disappear.  But slowly I came to understand that I had learned to see myself through his eyes. And that once blessed, we are blessed forever.

Many years later when, in her extreme old age, my mother surprisingly began to light Shabbat candles.  I told her about the blessings from my grandfather and what they meant to me.  She had smiled at me sadly. "I have blessed you every day of your life, Rachel. But unlike your grandfather, I just never had the wisdom to do it out loud."

"Today, we are reminded of the urgency of this moment. We wear white to keep in mind how essential it is to say: I love You, I bless you.  I forgive you, please forgive me.  I admire you; I appreciate what you have done, Thank you…

Say these words OUT LOUD, and regularly, to the people who are in your life.  Every one of us is a unique gift and a blessing in this troubled world.  We do matter and we can make a difference.  Let this year be the time to make it so!"[1]

May we all be granted another healthy and meaningful good year. AMEN

 

 

 

 

 

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[1] Concluding Quotation from Rabbi Toba August from her Kol Nidre Sermon "Say It Out Loud". Rabbi August inspired this sermon. 

Rosh Hashanah Evening 5774/2013

A Good Year

Good evening. Once again, on behalf of the Cantor and myself, I want to welcome you to our High Holiday services.  Some of us have been together greeting the New Year for some time now – others have joined us this year for the very first time. To all of you, I say "Shana Tova Tika-te-vu" – May we all be inscribed in the Book of Life and Prosperity in the coming year.

Those words, "Shana Tova" are, of course, the traditional New Year's words of greeting. They are said in Hebrew, the language of the Jewish people, the original language of the Bible, the language of the rabbis, the language of Jewish prayer, the language of modern Israel.  It is not however, the language of most of us here. Unless we graduated from a Jewish High School or spent a significant amount of time in Israel, the chances are most of us cannot understand much Hebrew. Even if we can understand Hebrew, most likely it is not a language we can fluently speak.  Yet, much of our prayer throughout the holidays, and throughout the year, is in Hebrew. The Baal Shem Tov, the founder of Hassidism, says that even though a person may not know the meaning of the words when they pray, their prayers ascend to G-d and pierce the heavens. For the sacred words of the Torah and prayer contain a superior sanctity, he teaches, and when issued from the heart, reach to the highest realms of the heavens.

Rabbi Ann Brener offers a psychological understanding of prayer in Hebrew. She writes that when we don't know what the words really mean, they may resonate in a deeper, more primitive way. They may affect us on preverbal and sensory levels. We may be so moved by their sound, tune, and cadence that we rock or sway to them as we recite them. This movement, which is often seen among Jews in deep prayer, has been the movement of prayer for one generation after another around the globe. Prayer in Hebrew has the power to connect us with one another and with our ancestors who also worshipped in the holy tongue.

This evening, I want to suggest that we not be so concerned about what the Hebrew words of our prayers mean. Allow the beautiful music of our service to convey the meaning of our worship to you. Don't be worried about the translation. Rabbi Simcha Bunim, a Hassidic master, used to complain of debilitating headaches after he prayed. He went to his teacher, who diagnosed the problem. "You are praying too much with your head, and not enough with your heart." After that, Rabbi Simcha never suffered from post-prayer headaches again.

May we open up our hearts these holidays and let our prayers touch us deep within, in the places that are beyond words.  I am reminded of the response to the question, "Rabbi, where can G-d be found?" The answer, "G-d can be found wherever you let him in!" May we let G-d into our hearts these Yamim Noraim. Let us not put up barriers. Let us not lock G-d out of our lives.

On this Erev Rosh Hashanah I do want to talk about one Hebrew word in particular. I believe most of us think we know the meaning of this word. The word is "Shana, as in "Rosh Ha-Shana".  We know that the word "Shana" means year, yet, like many Hebrew words, it can carry a multitude of meanings. Tonight, I want to talk about one of those other meanings in particular.

The word "shana" can also mean "to be different, to change." A form of this word is used in a sentence that everyone knows – Ma NISHTANA Ha-Laila Ha-Zeh Mi-kol Ha-Lailot – Why is this night DIFFERENT from all other nights?  This is the time of the year when we resolve to make changes in our lives – to live differently. Please! Please! Do not be like this man when you resolve to make changes. He and his wife had fought for years over the fact that he never remembered to put the top back on the tube of toothpaste. It drove his wife crazy! Finally, one Holiday season he decided to change his ways. After all, he had been hearing for years that on Rosh Hashannah people are supposed to repent and change their bad habits. So one day, without saying a word to his wife, he put the top back on the tube. Then he did it the second day, then the third. He was feeling very proud of himself. After doing this every day for a week, his wife said to him, "Dear, why have you stopped brushing your teeth?"

Truthfully, it is not so easy to change, as we all know. Perhaps, summoning up ones greatest will power, one can muster the strength to replace the top on the tube of toothpaste seven days in a row.  Most change takes much longer to accomplish. We resolve to change, but find ourselves repeating our mistakes. We find ourselves in similar circumstances, and do not act any differently. Our addictions, our compulsions, our bad habits, our vulnerability, our weaknesses are too great to overcome in the moment. 

To those of us here tonight who feel discouraged, defeated, and hopeless about our ability to change, I offer this true story. Sir Edmund Hillary was the first man to conquer Mount Everest, the highest peak in the world, in 1953. Yet he failed to reach the summit on his first try the previous year. Speaking to the Science Academy in England after his first unsuccessful climb, he stopped in the middle, paused a pregnant pause, turned toward the large mural of Everest which was on the wall before him, and declared: "Next time I will succeed – for I am still growing, and you have stopped growing!"

We must ask ourselves -- Have I grown this year? Am I a better person this year than I was the last?  Have I grown spiritually, have I grown in my relation to G-d, do I know more about Judaism this year than I did last year?  Have I grown in relationship to others – in my home, in my school, in my shop, and in my office? Have I grown in relation to my husband, to my wife, to my children?  If we cannot answer that affirmatively, or if we have gone backwards, then we can take this holiday season to reflect on what might be keeping us stuck.  What can we do differently in the coming year to overcome the obstacles which are getting in the way of growth?

A shanah tovah, a good year, is a year of shana, of change, of growth, of doing things differently and doing things better. May this be a year of spiritual, intellectual, and emotional growth. May we grow in prosperity and enjoy much happiness in the coming New Year.

Shanah Tova

 

Parashat Nitzavim-Vayelekh

The Songs of our Lives

It was really an extraordinary sight!!! A totally unexpected, amazing and startling scene!! During our congregational trip to Israel this summer, we visited Masada, King Herod's mountain fortress in the Judean desert, the site of the last stand of the Zealots against the Roman Legions in 72 CE.  Our group had the opportunity to stop at the remains of a synagogue that is atop Masada that dates back 2000 years and was unearthed some fifty years ago by archaeologists.  During the course of the dig, archeologists found fragments of Biblical scrolls including the "Vision of the Dry Bones" in the Book of Ezekiel.  Portions of the books of Deuteronomy were also found under the floors of the ancient synagogue.  The synagogue is one of the very few discovered so far that date from the Second Temple period.   As is this was not breathtaking enough, we entered a small room to the right of the main section of the synagogue and there was a scribe, a living scribe, sitting in a climate controlled glass cubical, writing a Sefer Torah – a Torah scroll. He smiled and waved at us as he comfortably sat above the very place where those ancient remnants of scrolls were found.

The biblical source for the command that every Jewish person should at some time in their lives write a Torah scroll is found in this week's Torah reading. G-d tells Moshe, "Now, therefore write down for yourselves this song, that this song may be My witness with the people of Israel." If we understand the text in its plain meaning, this command is addressed to Moses and Joshua and refers to the song, or poem, that comes in the next chapter of the Torah. According to our tradition, however, the commandment is addressed not only to Moses and to Joshua but to the entire people of Israel in every generation. Again, according to tradition, the "song" is not the 43 verses of poetry that follows, but the entire Torah from Genesis to Deuteronomy. Every Jew is to write for him or herself a complete Torah at least once in their lifetimes.

Not everybody has the time or the talent to write a Torah scroll. There are 304,805 letters that need to be carefully written. For an expert, like the scribe at Masada, this takes about a year. So the custom has arisen that the scribe will leave some of the letters of the Torah scroll in outline only. By filling in one or several letters, a person is considered to have fulfilled the commandment to write a Torah in their lifetime. Imagine that!!!

If the deeper meaning of this verse is that each person should write a Torah in their lifetimes, why does the text call the Torah a "shirah" – which means, in Hebrew, a song or a poem?  One rabbi in the 19^th century, who we know as the Netziv, writes that although the Torah is written mostly in prose, it is, in fact more like a work of poetry. Torah is more like poetry in that it leaves more unsaid than said. Like the language of the Torah, the language of poetry is spare -- and in its sparseness it leaves us greater room to ponder its meanings. Poetry is much more open to interpretation than prose. Prose carries its meaning primarily on the surface; poetry, like the Torah, begs us to search for deeper meanings. Poetry, with its use of metaphors is allusive, rather than explicit. Like the Torah, poetry's meaning may hinge on an ambiguous word, on the structure of a sentence, even on the structural form of the poem itself.   

Since the Torah, like poetry, can be understood on many different levels, it is open to differing interpretations. This, in turn, leads to disagreements among the sages as to the true meanings and implications of some Torah verses.  As we all know, one of the strengths of our tradition is its openness to questioning and to its tolerance for disagreements. Just as an example, three hundred and sixteen disagreements between the School of Hillel and the School of Shammai are preserved in the Talmud. Although the rabbis sided with Hillel most of the time, both were considered "the word of the Living G-d."  According to another commentator,[1] the reason the Torah is called a "shirah" or "song" – is because the many different voices of our tradition blend together in harmony to form the beautiful symphony that is Judaism.

 There is perhaps a third reason that the Torah is referred to as a song or a poem.  Prose primarily addresses the intellect.  Poetry primarily addresses and speaks to human emotions.  The Torah is meant to not only be understood by our minds, but felt and taken into our hearts. Torah should sink into our very depths, penetrate our very souls, and enter places in ourselves where perhaps mere words cannot gain access. Torah is meant to stay with us, like a song that we cannot get out of our heads. Torah is the very soundtrack of the committed Jewish life, the poetry of our existence. Witnessing the scribe on top of Masada writing this age old love song between G-d and the Jewish people affirmed the love and continuation of our eternal traditions.

Shabbat Shalom

 

 

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[1] Rabbi Yechiel Michal Epstein Arukh Hashulchan