We Are All Stars (Parasha Va-Yera)

 

In this week’s parsha, Abraham receives a blessing from G-d promising to make his descendants as numerous as the stars in heaven and the sands of the seashore. Earlier in the Torah G-d promises to make Abraham’s descendants as numerous as the dust of the earth. Why are the Jewish people compared to dust, to sand and to stars? 

 

According to the midrash, just as the sand and dust covers the entire earth, so will the Jewish people be spread over the entire world; just as dust and sand are trampled upon, so will the Jewish people be trampled upon; just as the dust and the sand endure, so will the Jewish people endure; just as dust needs water to grow vegetation, so will the Jewish people be blessed with Torah, which is likened to water, to grow in wisdom.  

 

The comparison of Abraham’s descendants to dust and sand also relates to our collective mission. No one particle of dust or sand is important in and of itself. The loss of a grain of sand from a seashore or a particle of dust from the earth is not even missed. But together, sand forms a shore which puts a limit to the ocean and dust forms the earth upon which we can stand. So too the Jewish people are a covenant people with a collective mission. 

 

Thus, together, as a people at Sinai, we entered into an agreement, a pledge with G-d. We would be G-d’s people, follow G-d’s laws, strive to be a holy people that would bring the moral and ethical teachings of G-d to the world. In return, G-d would be our sovereign and protect us. We would be the “eternal people'' a people reflecting  the eternity of G-d. Comparing the descendants of Abraham and Sarah to “the dust of the earth” or “the sands of the seashore” suggests a permanence, a staying power, that is particular to the Jewish people. As the prophet Isaiah (54:10)  assures the Jewish people,

For the mountains may move

And the hills be shaken

But [G-d’s] loyalty shall never move from you,

Nor [God’s] covenant of friendship be shaken. 

 

In return for this enduring friendship, our collective mission, one that could only be accomplished by a people with a common language, a singular religion and a shared destiny, was to be, in the words of Isaiah, “a light unto the nations''. Our ancestors at Sinai not only obligated themselves to this covenant, this pact, this agreement between the Nation of Israel and her sovereign, but obligated all future generations of Jews to abide by this covenant as well. 

 

Thus, when the Jewish people is likened to the sands of the seashore or the dust on the earth, the Torah is speaking of the collective, not the individual. One grain of sand is like any other grain of sand, one particle of dust like any other. Our personal identities are absorbed by the collective. But we are also compared to “the stars of the sky”. The Psalmist writes, “G-d counts the stars and gives each one a name.” In giving each star a name, G-d is singling out each and every star, naming it according, we would suppose, to its individual characteristics. Furthermore, in our Shabbat morning prayer, El Adon it says,

 

Good are the lights that G-d has created

Fashioning them with insight and knowledge,,,,,,

Abounding in splendor, radiating brilliance

Their splendor adorns the universe

Rejoicing in rising, gladly setting

Rushing to obey their Creator’s will.

 

No one would write about dust and sand like that! The poet who wrote this prayer understands the stars to be endowed with their own kind of intelligence and radiance. They experience joy when they come out at night and go in at day, in accordance with G-d’s will. The sand of the beach and the dust of the earth are collective entities with no individuality, The stars, on the other hand, sparkle with individuality. 

 

We Jews are more than just members of a group. We are not only “like the dust of the earth”. We are also like the stars of the sky, individuals, each with our own talents, each with our own splendor. We are each encouraged to shine, to be a star, each in our own way. Just as the Jewish people as a whole have a mission, so each individual has a special mission in this world. This is the meaning of the prominence of “stars” in the promise to Abraham.

Shabbat Shalom

Photo by Klemen Vrankar on Unsplash

God Does Not Seek Perfection (Parasha Lekh Lekha)

 

Last week the lawmakers in the United Kingdom banned the use of botox-style injections and lip fillers for anyone under the age of 18. Government estimates showed that there were over 41,000 non-surgical cosmetic procedures performed on under 18 year olds last year. The pursuit of beauty has accelerated world-wide under the influence of social media. Teenage girls and boys seek to emulate the “look” of celebrity or influencer teenagers they constantly see on Instagram or TikTok. Young people by the thousands worldwide seek to change lips, cheeks, jaws, chins, noses, foreheads, as well as other body parts leaving many emotionally and physically scarred by botched procedures performed by  un-trained and/ or poorly trained and unlicensed “beauty technicians.”  

 

This often obsessive wish to change one’s appearance  has its roots in  self-insecurities, poor self-esteem, envy and the illusion to get the acceptance, love and  attention missing in their lives..  Many Teens want to have what they see and truly believe others have. Of course, insecurities, envy and jealousy are not emotions that only teenagers experience. “Facebook envy” is a term that has been used to describe “the painful feeling one gets when people feel that other people's lives on Facebook are more interesting, joyful, and worthwhile than theirs.” In a study of Facebook users, one in three reported feeling worse after going to the website and more disappointed in their own lives. 

 

 Since the beginning of history human beings have known that  envy and jealousy are powerful emotions that can lead to self-destructive behaviors  These emotions can also lead not only to self-harm but to mistreatment of and violence toward others. The first murder in human history of Abel by his brother Cain was brought about by envy. Both brothers made offerings to G-d. Abel’s offering was accepted by G-d, but Cain’s offering was rejected. Envious of the favor shown to his brother by G-d, Cain rose up and killed Abel. 

 

 We find another such example in this week’s Torah portion. Here we find Sarah and Abraham childless at an advanced age. Sarah has a maidservant named Hagar. She suggests that Abraham might have a child with her, who Sarah and Abraham could then adopt and raise as their own. Abraham agrees to the arrangement, but as soon as Hagar conceives, Sarah regrets her decision. Sarah perceives a shift in Hagar’s relationship with her. Perhaps empowered by the fact that she is carrying Abraham’s child, Sarah feels a lack of respect from Hagar. Feeling diminished and jealous of Hagar’s ability to have a child when she could not, Sarah mistreats Hagar. One of the characteristics of envy is not only wishing we can have what others have, but also desiring that what we do not have others do not have either. Thus, Jewish legend holds that Sarah cast an evil eye on Hagar and Hagar miscarried! 

 

You may think that imputing such emotions as jealousy and envy to such a saintly figure as “Sarah Imanu”, Sarah, our mother, would be an act of impudence and impiety. But the Torah does not hide the moral blemishes of its heroes. The founder of Modern Orthodox Judaism, the 19th century Rabbi Samson Rafael Hirsch notes that the Torah does not attempt to hide from us the faults, errors and weaknesses of our great men and women. When we read their stories, we can identify with them precisely because they are not perfect. The fact that we are told about their faults and weaknesses does not detract from our appreciation, even reverence of them. Indeed, it adds to their stature and makes their life stories even more instructive. Had they all been portrayed to us as models of perfection we would have believed that they were born that way and therefore were divine beings beyond our capacity to emulate.  Had they been presented to us free of human passions and inner conflicts, their nature would seem to us merely the result of their good fortune or genetics, not a product of their personal growth and certainly no model we could ever hope to aspire to.

 

Thus, we ought not feel shame or embarrassment when we find ourselves envious or jealous of the good fortune of others. We should remember that even an exalted and revered figure as Sarah imenu could not only experience this emotion but temporarily allow it to govern her behavior. Like Sarah, we need to be aware that jealousy and envy could lead us to make poor decisions that hurt ourselves or others. 

 

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, z’l’ writes, “No religion has held a higher view of humanity than the Book that tells us we are each in the image and likeness of God. Yet none has been more honest about the failings of even the greatest. God does not ask us to be perfect. He asks us, instead, to take risks in pursuit of the right and the good, and to acknowledge the mistakes we will inevitably make.”

Shabbat Shalom

 

Parasha Bereisheet The Eyes Have It!

 

 

In the Book of Kings G-d appears to King Solomon in a dream. Solomon, then a young man, has just ascended to the throne of Israel following the death of his father, King David. In this dream, G-d asks Solomon what G-d can give him. Solomon  tells G_D  that he is just a youth with the awesome responsibility of leading the great nation of Israel. Solomon could have asked G-d for anything -- victory over Israel’s enemies, great wealth for himself, a long life,   Instead he asked , for “a listening heart” -- a “lev shomeah” -- with which to govern and to guide him to know right from wrong. It is a reminder that “listening” is not only  about hearing,  -- it also requires the heart. 

 

Throughout the Book of Deuteronomy, which we completed Tuesday night, Moses implores the Israelites to “listen”, to “take to heart”  the words of G-d. It’s only when the Israelites do so that they might learn the lessons of the Torah and thereby prosper in the land they are about to enter.  This Shabbat we begin reading the Torah again from the beginning with the Book of Genesis. The Book of Deuteronomy concludes with the word “Yisrael”. The Book of Genesis begins with the word “Beraisheet”. If we take the final letter of the word “Yisrael ישׂראל and the first letter of the word “Beraisheet” בּראשׁית we have the letters “lamed ל and “bet” ב -- the word for “heart”   לב. This teaches us that it is not sufficient to merely “hear” the words of Torah, we must “take them to heart”. Words of Torah cannot “go in one ear and out another” but rather must become part of us. It is in this way that they help us to develop our character and guide our behavior. 

 

Whereas the Book of Deuteronomy implores us to “listen” the most important sense used in the Book of Genesis is related to “seeing”. When the Book of Genesis opens, there is only darkness. The first thing that G-d creates is “light”. According to the Zohar, the book of Jewish mysticism, by this light one could see from one end of the world to the other and see by the light of wisdom everything that was and will be. This special kind of light is not for our world, however. It is stored away, awaiting the righteous in the World to Come. 

 

This emphasis on “seeing” continues in the story of the Garden of Eden. G-d plants   trees in the Garden of Eden that are “nechmad lemareh”,   נחמד למראה“pleasant to the sight”. Adam and Eve can eat the fruit of every tree in the garden except from the tree planted in the center of the garden. A serpent says to Eve, “Did G-d really tell you not to eat of any tree of the garden?” Eve replies that it is only from the fruit of one tree that they cannot eat, lest they die. The serpent continues, referring to “sight” four times in two verses:  

 

“You are not going to die but G-d knows that as soon as you eat of it your eyes will be opened and you will be like divine beings who know good from bad. When the woman saw that the tree was good for eating and a delight for the eyes and that the tree was desirable as a source of wisdom, she took of its fruit and ate. She gave some to her husband and he ate. Then the eyes of both of them were opened and they perceived they were naked.” 

 

There are two kinds of “seeing” described in these verses. The first is physically seeing something that is beautiful, desirable, aesthetically pleasing, and physically attractive. This describes the tree and its fruit. The second -- opening of the eyes -- refers to wisdom, understanding, knowledge and clarity. Eve “saw” a beautiful tree. After eating the fruit of that tree, Adam and Eve “saw” that they were naked. 

 

The connection between light, eyes and knowledge is shown in the well-known phrase from our prayers “Ve ha-er Enenu Betoratecha” -- Enlighten our eyes with Your Torah. Light is a metaphor for clarity, for openness, for understanding. 

 

Our children also learn by seeing. They continuously watch us, for better or worse. We may think they are not looking, but they are soaking up everything we do. I leave you with this poem by an unknown author:

 

When you thought I wasn’t looking, I saw you hang my first painting on the refrigerator, and I wanted to paint another one.

When you thought I wasn’t looking, I saw you feed a stray cat, and I thought it was good to be kind to animals.

When you thought I wasn’t looking, I saw you make my favorite cake just for me, and I knew that little things are special things.

When you thought I wasn’t looking, I heard you say a prayer, and I believed there is a God I could always talk to.

When you thought I wasn’t looking, I felt you kiss me good night, and I felt loved.

When you thought I wasn’t looking, I saw tears come from your eyes, and I learned that sometimes things hurt, but it’s all right to cry.

When you thought I wasn’t looking, I saw that you cared, and I wanted to be everything that I could be.

When you thought I wasn’t looking, I looked…and wanted to say thanks for all the things I saw when you thought I wasn’t looking.

Photo by Renns Art on Unsplash

 

Listening (Parasha Haazinu)

 

The Book of Deuteronomy is full of words related to “hearing”. The most famous verse in the Five Books of Moses is related to the sense of hearing –“Hear O Israel, the Lord our G-d, the Lord is One.” There are many other references to “hearing” or “listening” in the Book of Deuteronomy, including the first verse in this week’s parasha – Haazinu hashamayim va-adabera; tishmah ha-aretz imre  fi, “Give ear O heavens, let me speak/Let the earth hear the words I utter”.  Where “seeing” or “appearing” is the most prominent of the five senses in the Book of Genesis, “hearing” or listening is the most prominent of the five senses in the Book of Deuteronomy.

Note that in this opening verse the poet uses two different words for “listen”.  The first word,  האזינו is translated as “Give ear”. The translation is well chosen because the root of this word is אזן from which the word אוזניים or “ears'' is also derived. The word for “listen” in the second part of the verse is תשׁמע related to the familiar word שׁמע as in “Hear O Israel”....... שׁמע ישׂראל

The opening verse of this parasha also provides a good example of what is called “parallelism” in Biblical poetry. Instead of rhyming the words at the end of verses, Biblical poets match the ideas expressed in two phrases of the same verse, using different words. In the first phrase of the opening verse of our parasha, Moses asks the heavens to allow him to speak; in the second phrase he implores the earth to hear his words. Thus the biblical poet achieves a symmetry and balance in the poem's verses, without resorting to rhyme. Ideas are rhymed, in a manner of speaking,  instead of words. 

 I am sure we have all had the experience of talking to someone  and feeling that the other person was not really listening. This is especially true when it comes to family life. A wife asks her husband, “Would you please go shopping for me? Buy one carton of milk, and if they have eggs, get six.”

A short time later the husband returns with six cartons of milk!

His wife was beside herself. “Why on earth did you buy six cartons of milk?

He replied, “They had eggs!”  

 You see, good communication is not as easy as it sounds. Misunderstandings can happen easily. One really has to pay attention and be focused on what is being said.

In the Book of Exodus, we are told that G-d speaks to Moses “Panim el Panim” or “Face to Face”. The Torah then explains that this is how friends speak to one another. This represents the level of intimacy that Moses experienced with G-d. Friends look each other in the eye when they speak, so that they can truly listen to each other, focusing their attention on one another’s words. Yet how often do we listen with one ear while our eyes and our other ear are on a computer screen or television? Do we listen with our eyes as well as our ears? 

Or consider this story told by Anthony de Mello in his book The Heart of the Enlightened.  A family settled down for dinner at a restaurant. The waitress first took the order of the adults, then turned to the seven year old. “What will you have?” she asked.

The boy looked around the table timidly and said, “I would like to have a hot dog.”

Before the waitress could write down the order, the mother interrupted. “No hot dogs,” she said, “Get him a steak with mashed potatoes and carrots.”

The waitress ignored her. “Do you want ketchup or mustard on your hot dog?” she asked the boy.

“Ketchup.”

“Coming up in a minute,” said the waitress as she started for the kitchen.

There was a stunned silence when she left. Finally the boy looked at everyone present and said, “Know what? She thinks I’m real!”

Listening to one another is perhaps the most important capacity that we can develop in our lives. To make a person feel they are truly heard is a great gift. To be ignored, to feel like what you say does not  matter, makes one feel invisible and therefore be rendered “unreal”. Yet each and every one of us is of supreme importance and deserve our complete attention! The British writer and theologian C.S. Lewis wrote, “There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilisations – these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit.” In other words, we should remember that we are all created in the image of G-d, and relate to one another “Panim el Panim”-- face-to-face and eye-to-eye -- showing the good will, love and closeness with another that G-d showed when G-d spoke to Moses.

When someone listens to us we feel respected and human.  Yet I worry that these days we do a great deal more talking at one another than listening to one another. With our social media, our Facebook and Twitter, we grow increasingly sophisticated about sharing our thoughts, feelings and experiences – but is anybody really listening?

Shabbat Shalom

Photo by saeed karimi on Unsplash

 

Yom Kippur am 5782 "Our Parents our Teachers"

 

This morning I am going to give a sermon on something I have never given a sermon on before. Or  I am going to give a sermon on the meaning of our Yizkor service. I realize that many of you still have both parents living, and therefore do not recite Yizkor. But please,  bear with me! There is something in this sermon for you as well.

When I was growing up,  the largest crowds in my synagogue were, by far,  for the Yizkor service on Yom Kippur. In those days,  like now, one had to be a member of the synagogue to get  a ticket for the High Holidays. But for the Yizkor service, members  whose parents were alive, and therefore not saying Yizkor, would give up their seats in the sanctuary so those who were saying Yizkor but did not have a ticket could take their places. In those days, as in ours, one of a rabbi's most important duties was to comfort the bereaved and honor the memory of the dead. It was said that a rabbi had to master the “Three Whys” of Jewish life -- Yitgadal, Yarhzeit, and Yizkor! 

The Talmud lists nine ways in which mourning for a parent is different from mourning for a sibling or for a  spouse, or  for a child.   Of the nineThere are two that are particularly  relevant for us today.
When mourning for  a sibling, a spouse or a child , a person may cut his hair or shave after 30 days. When mourning for a parent, he may not do so until his friends say, “You need a haircut!” or “You need to cut that beard!” 

When mourning for others, a person may attend a celebratory event  after 30 days. When mourning for a parent, the mourner must refrain from attending such an event  until 12 months have passed.

Sometime during the Middle Ages  the rabbis instituted the recitation of the mourner’s kaddish for those who lost a sibling,  a spouse, a parent  or  a child. For a parent we recite the kaddish for 11 months following the death. For all others, we recite the kaddish for one month. 

Clearly the mourning requirements for a parent are not lengthier or more intense because the pain is greater upon losing a parent. We understand that the grief we experience upon losing a child, the  grief  we feel upon losing a spouse, or the  grief  we feel upon losing a sibling who dies before their time can be more intense, more heart wrenching and more excruciating  than the grief we feel for a parent who dies after having lived a long life. Yet our  Jewish tradition singles out special respect to be shown for parents. The Ten Commandments specify that we should honor our parents. The Torah threatens death for anyone who curses or strikes their parents. And, as we have seen, the Talmud requires special mourning rites for parents that are not required for others close to us. This special quality of our relationship with our parents is carried over in the text of our Yizkor service today. 

This morning I want to analyze this traditional text with you.. The various remembrances in our Yizkor book -- remembering our fathers, our mothers, our spouses, our siblings and our friends and relatives -- begin with the same phrase. “Yizkor Elokim Nishmat” -- May G-d remember the soul of…..” What first strikes us is the mention of G-d in this formula -- “May G-d remember”! We do not begin with “I hereby remember”... We do not begin, “I rise today to remember ''. We are asking G-d to remember! We are acknowledging the Creator. But why do we ask G-d to remember? What do we ask G-d to remember? 

The key to the answer to these questions are found   in the text of the Hebrew, which, for some reason, is not translated in our booklet. It is not a minor omission of translation. In fact, I would say there is a major omission in the translation and a major error of commission. Something left out that should be included, and something added that should have been left out.  Let me explain. The English translation says “May G-d remember the soul of my beloved”…… and continues with the appropriate person we are remembering -- father, mother, brother, sister, husband, wife, friend. That is not what the Hebrew says. The Hebrew says, “Yizkor Elohim nishmat Avi MORI; Yizor Elohim nishmat Imi MORATI -- May G-d remember the soul of my father, MY TEACHER; May G-d remember the soul of my mother, MY TEACHER. It does not say “My DEAR father” or “My BELOVED father”. It does not say “My DEAR mother”  or “My BELOVED Mother”. It says “My father, MY TEACHER,”  “My mother, MY TEACHER.” Period. 

In the words of the famous  song, “What’s Love Got to do with It?” The Torah never commands us to love our parents! The Talmud doesn’t teach us to love our parents! Our tradition teaches that we should respect our parents. We should honor our parents. We should even fear our parents. After all, our parents gave us life. They fed us,  sheltered us, they protected us, they raised us.  They educated us and transmitted Jewish values to us. In the eyes of our tradition,  We owe them a special debt that we owe nobody else.  

The author Steve Goodier tells the following story about a parent as a teacher:  A young school teacher had a dream that an angel appeared to him and said, "You will be given a child who will grow up to become a world leader. How will you prepare her? How will you challenge her intelligence? How will you help her grow in confidence? In short, what kind of education will you provide that she can become one of the world's truly GREAT leaders?"

The young teacher awoke in a cold sweat. It had never occurred to him before -- any ONE of his present or future students could be the person described in his dream. How would he prepare them to rise to ANY POSITION to which they may aspire? 

This student would need experience as well as instruction. She would need to know how to solve problems of all kinds. She would need to become knowledgeable, but more than that. She would also need strong values  to stand firm   and  to develop a strong  character. She would need self-assurance as well as the ability to listen well and work with others. 

 This realization made the young educator think differently about every young person who walked through his classroom door.   Every pupil became, for him, a future world leader. He saw each one, not as they were, but as they could be. He expected the best from his students, yet tempered it with gentleness. He taught each one as if the future of the world depended on his instruction.

After many years, a woman he knew rose to a position of world prominence. He realized that she must surely have been the girl described in his dream. Only she was not one of his students – she was his daughter. For all the various teachers in her life, her father was the best.

Some parents go to university, they may get a teaching degree and become very skilled at teaching. Other parents might not have the same opportunity to study, yet we call them both teachers! Of course all parents are teachers of their children. A child looks very closely at their parents. Children  not only listen to what  their  parents say, they  very closely observe what their  parents do. Children also learn a great deal from their parents by seeing what they do not do. 

Life often turns out different from this story about the teacher and his daughter. Consider this excerpt from an article in the online magazine “Kveller” written by a woman named Heli Wiener.

I was estranged from my biological father for 12 years before he died. My parents got divorced when I was 8 years old. At that tender age, my dad actually sat me down to privately discuss their divorce. He referenced famous celebrities who had broken up and got remarried. He told me he was going to “get better” (my father had been battling drug and alcohol addiction) and come back to our family.

I believed him. Like a little lost puppy, I waited until I finally had my closure at 20, when he died. I was never able to say goodbye or explain what his leaving had done to me.

She continues: Yizkor talks about the deceased being our teacher, and in most circumstances, a father is. It also talks about this man being righteous. Given the fact that I spent the majority of my life learning lessons with no help from my father, he didn’t feel very righteous to me. The truth was that my father hadn’t been in my life for too long to remember, and now I was forced to face that being the end of our story. That alone was the painful part—his death was just the icing on the cake.

Truth be told, and given the fact we are all flawed human beings there is no such thing as a parent who is a good teacher all of the time. Some parents, weighed down by all kinds of stresses, preoccupations or illness, might neglect some or most of their parental responsibilities. If they do not provide guidance, if they don’t teach their children values about how to take care of themselves, how to treat others, how to show compassion, tolerance, respect and acceptance, one might say that they have failed as teachers. They have not fulfilled their role as teachers to their children.  Even  when  a parent takes their role as a teacher seriously, they too may have failed, at times, as teachers to their children. Maybe they were too heavy handed at times.  Maybe they were too rigid or too critical, or maybe they were over-protective, or inattentive and neglectful at times.   Sigmund Freud called “parenting” one of the two impossible professions, along with governing a nation. 

This is the reason our Yizkor prayer does not begin with the words, “I remember my father, my teacher”, or “I remember my mother, my teacher”. Instead, we ask G-d to remember them -- so as  to forgive them! For according to our tradition, it is not only the living who are in need of forgiveness. The dead are also in need of forgiveness. The rabbis teach that the day is called “Yom Ha-Kippurim” -- using the plural form in the Hebrew -- because the day atones for both the living and the dead. So Yizkor is not just an exercise in remembering. It is not just a time to evoke the memory of our mother and our father. It is that, but it is more! In reciting Yizkor, we remember our parents and we ask G-d to remember and to  forgive our mothers and our fathers, who at times did not teach us what we needed to know, who did not act as the role models that we needed, who sometimes let us down, who sometimes failed us.  

When our parents are gone, they continue to live within us. Our parents molded, shaped and guided our development. So when we recite Yizkor, we remember our parents who influenced us and helped to make us who we are today. And we ask G-d to remember our parents, and forgive them, for none of our parents were perfect, they all had flaws, they all made mistakes, they were human beings as we are. 

Perhaps in asking G-d to forgive our parents, we can take the first steps to forgiving them ourselves.

Gmar Chatima Tovah

Photo by Element5 Digital on Unsplash

Kol Nidre Sermon 5782 "I Place God Before Me at all Times"

 

A story is told of a man who stopped attending his usual synagogue and was now frequenting a minyan in another synagogue.   One day he happened to  bump into  the Rabbi of his previous synagogue, and the rabbi asked him where he  was praying these days. The man answered: “I am praying at a small minyan led by Rabbi Cohen.”

 The rabbi was stunned. “Why would you want to pray there with that rabbi?  I am a much better orator, I am more famous, I have a much larger following.”

The man replied: “Yes, but in my new synagogue the rabbi has taught me to read minds.”

The rabbi was surprised. “Alright, then, read my mind.”

The man said: “You are thinking of the verse in Psalms, ‘I have set the Lord  before me at all times.’”

“You are wrong,” said the rabbi, “I was not thinking about that verse at all.”

The man replied: “Yes, I knew that, and that’s why I’ve moved to the other synagogue. The rabbi there is always thinking of this verse.”

Indeed, the authentically spiritual person is always striving to be mindful of G-d’s presence throughout his or her day. Perhaps this is the reason that this verse from Psalm 16 is written above the ark in many synagogues.  “Shiviti Adonai Lenegdi Tamid” -- “I have set the Lord before me at all times.” 

There are a number of interpretations of this verse from Psalms. Some believe it means we are being asked to contemplate Divine Oneness at all times. Others think it means we are to keep in mind that everything we see in the natural world, every aspect of reality, is, in effect, an expression of the Divine Name.  Still others understand the verse to mean that we should  meditate on the letters of the Divine Name of G-d, Yu- Hey-Vav-Hey, at all times. 

If we do the latter -- if we meditate on the Divine Name -- what do we learn? This four letter name of G-d, consisting of the letters “Yud, Hey. Vav Hey,” is called the Tetragrammaton. When rearranged, these letters form  the primary words used to express “time'' in Hebrew. “Haya” means  was; Hoveh -means  is; and “Yiheye” -- means will be. You may recognize these words from the prayer Adon Olam -- Hu Haya, hu hoveh, vehu yiyeh betifarah.  This teaches that G-d is present in every moment in time. G-d is present beyond time. 

When Moses heard the name “YHVH” at the burning bush, he did not hear the word “Adonai” as we pronounce it. He did not hear the name “Jehovah” as German scholars pronounced the tetragrammaton. He did not hear the name “Yahweh” as is taught in our public school social studies curriculum. As Rabbi Arthur Waskow writes, “If one tries to pronounce it, what comes is simply a Breath. Its brilliance as a Name of God is that it alone, Breathing alone, is “spoken” in every human tongue….. And not only is it a language of humans but also of all forms of life --- grasses, trees, frogs, birds, and leopards  .………..As the Siddur teaches, “Nishmat kol chai tivarekh et-shimcha” — The Breath of all life praises your Name,” because the Name [of G-d] is the Breath of all life. In that phrase, “our God” does not mean the Jews’ God, nor the humans’ God, but the God of all living, breathing beings”.

    The  rabbis of the Talmud who taught us to pronounce this name of G-d, this breath-name -- when we read it in our prayer books or study it in our texts --  as “Adonai”. This means, “my Lord”. Many Jewish people today use the term “Ha-shem”,  when referring to G-d. “Ha-shem” means “The Name”. Others refer to G-d as “HaKodosh Baruch Hu '' when speaking,  meaning, “The Holy Blessed One”. But these are circumlocutions,  and substitutions for the real Name of G-d, which is considered too sacred to pronounce -- IF we knew how to pronounce it! 

Moses, who heard the name pronounced at the burning bush, passed the pronunciation of G-d’s name down to Aaron the High Priest, his brother. And Aaron’s family passed it down through the generations of High priests that were in charge of worship in the Temple in Jerusalem. For it was during the sacrificial rites of the Ancient Temple, during the ritual confession on Yom Kippur, and Yom Kippur alone, that the Name of G-d was uttered by the High Priest. On that day the High Priest made confessions three times, humbling himself before G-d and asking for forgiveness- first for his own sins and the sins  of  his household, then for the sins of his fellow priests, and then for the sins of the entire people of Israel. When the High Priest pronounced the “shem meforash”, the explicit Name of G-d, all of the people at the Temple in Jerusalem would hear it and would bow and prostrate themselves and calling out “Barukh Shem Kvod Malkuto Le-olam Vaed”- praised be G-d’s glorious sovereignty forever.``

However, with the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem in the year 70 CE brought to an end the sacrificial system of worship. With a service no longer taking place in the Temple on Yom Kippur, the pronunciation of “The Name” was eventually lost. Today, no one knows for certain how to pronounce the Name.

Let’s continue to meditate and reflect on this four letter name of G-d. The first letter of the Name of G-d, Yud, has the numerical equivalent of “ten”. This corresponds to the date of Yom Kippur, the 10th of Tishre, as well as the ten days of repentance. Moses also brought down the 10 commandments from Mt. Sinai on Yom Kippur. In Kabbalah, there are ten creative forces, or sefirot, that stand between G-d and our world.  It is through these forces that G-d rules the universe, and it is by influencing them, through the practice of mitzvot, that human beings can precipitate G-d’s blessings to our world from G-d’s abode above.

The second letter, “Hey” has the numerical equivalent of “five”. This corresponds to the five prayer services on Yom Kippur. On weekdays we have three services, on Shabbat and holidays, four. Only on Yom Kippur do we have a fifth service of the day, the Neilah service . Kabbalistically, the letter hey, five, represents the 5 levels of soul of which the fifth level, or yechida is the highest one.   By this we mean that the soul, our truest or essential self, is more accessible on Yom Kippur than on any other day of the year. 

The third letter, vav, has the numerical equivalent of “six”. This corresponds to the number of divisions in the Torah reading on Yom Kippur morning.  In Kabbalah, this number represents the six emotional attributes that exist within each of us -- anger, disgust, fear, happiness, sadness, and surprise. On Yom Kippur we ask forgiveness, from G-d and our fellow human beings,  for our mistakes and flaws related to these six emotions. 

The final letter of G-d’s name, “hey”, corresponds to five. This represents the five prohibitions of Yom Kippur -- eating, drinking, bathing, wearing leather shoes, and   sexual  relations. 

Why these five restrictions? Many answers have been put forth, including “because the Torah says so.” But I think these restrictions are there to focus us on the task at hand. Although we cannot pronounce the name -- it is too holy-- we know the name, we can stand before the Name, and thus we can address G-d intimately -- by name, as it were. With this great privilege comes responsibility. No one can ask forgiveness on our behalf from G-d but us. No one can be an agent for us in asking forgiveness from our fellow. Repentance is in our own hands. 

Our services are integral in setting the mood and tone for repentance. Our liturgy can be an excellent guide in our process of teshuvah. The rabbi and the cantor and the choir can inspire self-reflection through their words and music. But on Yom Kippur, each and every one of us stands before G-d, alone, as individuals, to acknowledge our sins and ask forgiveness. Serious business! 

Consider this parable: A person tries to cut down a tree with a dull edged saw. He works very hard, but makes little progress. A passerby sees this and asks, “Why don’t you sharpen your saw?” The person responds, “I don’t have time. I can’t stop working. I have to cut down this tree”. The passerby says, “But if you would stop working for a few minutes to sharpen your saw, you would actually save time and effort, and you would be better able to accomplish your goal!” The person replies, “No, I don’t have time to stop working. I must keep on sawing.”

The person in this parable represents us. We have the right tools to look at our lives and recognize where we need to improve, but those tools are too dull. We spend a great deal of energy trying to change, but we are not getting the results we want because we are using the same blunt instruments.  We need to stop and think more clearly about our goals and how we are going to achieve them. Yom Kippur is a day when we take the time to sharpen ourselves spiritually. On Yom Kippur we cast away the toothless saw that we are using to do our spiritual work. We sharpen ourselves spiritually through fasting, through abstaining from pleasures,  through forgoing luxuries symbolized by leather shoes. Once in this state we can better face our limitations, acknowledge our wrongdoings, atone for our transgressions and return to our spiritual core. 

If, instead, we allow ourselves to check our email, see what is on Netflix, pause to have a snack, or do some shopping online we will lose our focus and squander the opportunity to accomplish the spiritual work that this day demands of us. 

We live in a do-it-yourself world. We go on YouTube to learn how to fix a leaky faucet, put up our own shelving or lay down a tile floor. We bank online, do our own investing and are more involved in our own health care. The same do-it-yourself attitude needs to be applied to repentance in particular and to Judaism in general. 

We may not all be like Rabbi Cohen in the story I told at the beginning of this sermon, always thinking of G-d, either directly or in the back of our minds. But let us strive to be more like Rabbi Cohen on this day, on Yom Kippur, the Holiest Day of the Jewish year. On this day, this one day of the year -- HaYom! -- a day when we do not eat or drink, a day when we abstain from pleasures, a day when we do not work -- on this day let us all try to put our relationship with G-d front and center and to set G-d before us at all times.  

Gmar Chatimah Tovah

May You Be Sealed in the Book of Life for the coming year.