Celebrate an interfaith experience within the Marblehead community.

February 6th
7:00 – 8:30 pm
Abbot Public Library

With reflections from Reverend Dennis Calhoun and Rabbi David Meyer.

Reception open to all. Refreshments will be served!

Click here for details.

Pleasure is transitory. Enjoyment doesn’t last after the activity ends. Researchers in the field of positive psychology tell us that pleasure, as enjoyable as it is, does not contribute significantly to a long-term sense of well-being. What does make us feel contented and satisfied with our lives is meaning.

We have two types of meaning. The first is inner meaning, a spiritual knowing that our life matters and is inherently valuable. The second is outer meaning, the sensation of contributing to the greater whole through work, relationships, creative efforts, and service to others. Everyone in this room has felt the rewards of meaningful contribution at various stages along your life’s journey.

Religion should be a place we find meaning. Why else would we have religion at all? Yet for many, religion has lost that meaning. You can tell by the way many of us use it only as a formality to take off the shelf on occasions like this, or as a matter of identity that we happened to inherit.

Judaism addresses this question, the question of life meaning, in both the inner and the outer.

As concerns the inner, the idea of one God, Judaism’s great gift to Western civilization, speaks to spiritual unity. Our heritage tells us there is one source, rather than many, one unified, all-comprehensive force of existence and of life with which we are deeply connected. Whether or not you are comfortable with the traditional notion of “God.”

Our sacred texts were written in ancient times to provide meaning for those people then. Surely we can access the wisdom of timeless principle reframed to fit our own lives. If you use the pathway of study, contemplation and prayer, as written or in a spiritually more meaningful form such as meditation, as Jews we are intimately connected to that unity of source.

In the realm of outer meaning, we have personal relationships, the arts, learning and commerce. Jews have been disproportionately represented among the world’s great artists, also in science and education. As our vehicle to create meaning in our lives, we Jews have the obligation of tsedakah and the requirement to perform mitzvot, good deeds for the purpose of tikkun olam, healing the world.

Tsedakah, you understand is not mere charity. It comes from the word for justice. Through our tsedakah we give of ourselves to make the world a more just and better place. And in doing so, we make our own lives more meaningful. There are few satisfactions greater, and I’d say holier, than giving deeply of yourself in the service of others.

We live in an era when the marketing of goods and services has put way too much attention on me. How do I feel? What do I get? What increases my pleasure? I understand this is what drives our economy. But it’s backwards. It doesn’t generate satisfaction and contentment. You can’t build a happier life by acquiring ever more stuff and more pleasure. But you can by making your life more meaningful.

Tsedakah traditionally means giving money to the poor, but that is just the beginning. Give of yourself, your time, your talent, your love. Give in a way that works for you. I understand that many of us here are quite active in this regard. Thank you. But if you don’t already have an outlet for your generosity, find one. The spirit of tsedakah embraces many avenues, whether or not you have much money. Recall, the Talmud says that even those who receive tsedakah should give tsedakah.

I am not suggesting this just because it’s a good thing to do, though it is. You’ll be happier because your life will have more meaning. Be generous for the selfish reason of your own satisfaction; that counts. Join with people doing good things in the world. I especially want to recognize the recovery community that has done so much to rescue so many lives.

Temple Emanu-El is ramping up our menu of opportunities for service this year. You can help create that. If you did not participate in the annual food drive on the way here tonight, do it tomorrow morning. Give them the good stuff, beyond the box of pasta and a roll of paper towels. Bring two or three bags, not just one. Notice how that feels.

There’s more. Join the monthly cooking night, preparing meals for those who need a little extra help, led by Heidi Greenbaum, Dan Rosen and Sharen Solomon. Show up at My Brother’s Table in Lynn on Temple Emanu-El night, the first Thursday of every month, at 4:30—we were there last night—and Marc Kornitsky will put you to work serving dinner to the needy. Participate in Mitzvah Day on Sunday, October 23rd. This month, Deahn Leblang is creating a new social action initiative to help meet the needs of homeless young adults in Lynn. There’s room for more.

You don’t have to do any of this. Please don’t feel guilty if you choose not to. But if you do, it will enhance your sense of well-being and life satisfaction. Today is Yom Kippur, a sacred day. We are here as Jews, and all this meaning is a blessing Judaism offers us.

Inner meaning, spiritual unity through prayer, meditation, music, study, even a walk in the woods, is part and parcel of your Jewish birthright. Outer meaning through creativity, work and service, is an opportunity Judaism gives you.

 What will you do with this life of yours?

 Good yontif

B’shalach, 5772

]]> http://emanu-el-stage.org/2011/10/09/date-callout/feed/ 0 http://emanu-el-stage.org/2011/10/08/yom-kippur-morning-5772/ http://emanu-el-stage.org/2011/10/08/yom-kippur-morning-5772/#comments Sat, 08 Oct 2011 19:47:19 +0000 Emanu-El http://emanu-el-stage.org/?p=1520 Yom Kippur Morning 5772

In the middle of his beautiful work of poetic fiction, David Rakoff, recent winner of the Thurber Prize for American Humor, included an original version of an ancient fable, which like the rest of his composition, is written in rhyming couplets.  The theme of the fable carries not an answer, but a most profound question that is likewise perhaps, the most central question and concern for this sacred Day of Atonement.  So I would begin my message on this morning of Yom Kippur with David Rakoff’s telling of the legend of the Tortoise and the Scorpion:

“The scorpion was hamstrung, his tail all aquiver;

just how would he manage to get across the river?

“The water’s so deep,” he observed with a sigh,

which pricked at the ears of the tortoise nearby.

“Well why don’t you swim?” asked the slow-moving fellow,

“unless you’re afraid. I mean, what are you, yellow?”

“It isn’t a matter of fear or of whim,”

said the scorpion, “but that I don’t know how to swim.”

“Ah, forgive me. I didn’t mean to be glib when

I said that. I figured you were an amphibian.”

“No offense taken,” the scorpion replied,

“but how about you help me to reach the far side?

You swim like a dream, and you have what I lack.

Let’s say you take me across on your back?”

“I’m really not sure that’s the best thing to do,”

said the tortoise, “now that I see that it’s you.

You’ve a less than ideal reputation preceding:

there’s talk of your victims all poisoned and bleeding.

You’re the scorpion — and how can I say this — but, well,

I just don’t feel safe with you riding my shell.”

The scorpion replied, “What would killing you prove?

We’d both drown, so tell me: how would that behoove

me to basically die at my very own hand

when all I desire is to be on dry land?”

The tortoise considered the scorpion’s defense.

When he gave it some thought, it made perfect sense.

The niggling voice in his mind he ignored,

and he swam to the bank and called out: “Climb aboard!”

But just a few moments from when they set sail,

the scorpion lashed out with his venomous tail.

The tortoise too late understood that he’d blundered

when he felt his flesh stabbed and his carapace sundered.

As he fought for his life, he said, “tell me why

you have done this! For now we will surely both die!”

“I don’t know!” cried the scorpion. “You never should trust

a creature like me because poison I must!

I’d claim some remorse or at least some compunction,

but I just can’t help it; my form is my function.

You thought I’d behave like my cousin, the crab,

but unlike him, it is but my nature to stab.”

The tortoise expired with one final quiver.

And then both of them sank, swallowed up by the river.

The tortoise was wrong to ignore all his doubts —

because in the end, friends, our natures wins out.”[i]

 The ancient parable can be found expressed in a wide variety of forms, and Rakoff’s version of the story, even were it not written in poetic couplets, is not the only expression of the same narrative.  In some renditions, the scorpion is, in fact, unable to pierce the turtle’s hard shell, so having learned his lesson, the tortoise simply dives under the water, and leaves the scorpion to his watery grave.  In other versions, particularly among certain Christian homilists, the story is told as a caution against following the temptations of one’s own devising. 

But as expressed in the poem with which we began is, I believe, most faithful to the message of the fable, and as such, it expresses the philosophical warning so typical of the Hellenistic world view; that one can never escape, change, or avoid the consequences of one’s own inclinations.  We are held captives by a fate beyond our control, even as we are prisoners to our inherited personalities.  This basic fact is the foundation of all of Greco-Roman mythology, and informs the tragedies of Greek theater and even much of some contemporary, psychological paradigms.  Try as he might to avoid an action that will certainly lead to his own demise, that scorpion must sting the tortoise.  The moral of the fable is that the he really had no other choice.

Likewise, there is no shortage of contemporary, conventional wisdom, which argues that we are who we are – end of story; that true, essential change as human beings is never really possible.  In the end, our personalities dictate our behaviors often, like the scorpion, to our own destruction.

But Jewish thought and philosophy differed at the most basic level with that of the Greeks and their followers, as Judaism always held fast to the belief that human beings stand alone among the creatures of the earth precisely because of the free will we possess, and therefore, the ability to change, to grow, to evolve as individuals and as a species.  That is precisely why we read this morning a section of Torah specifically chosen for this sacred day:  “See I set before you this day life and good, or death and evil… Choose life…!”[ii]  Yom Kippur as our Day of Atonement, rests upon the belief and the trust that people are capable of transcending their own, innate inclinations, and are able to make changes for the better. 

It is the ability to grow, to choose our ways in life is what makes us human; it is the meaning of being created in the image of God. Although animals do grow, they do not voluntarily change themselves. The transformation of a caterpillar to a butterfly or a tadpole to a frog is programmed in their genes. They do not willingly make this transformation, and they are powerless to stop it.  What makes us unique among earth’s creatures, what makes us fully human and according to some medieval philosophers – what it means to be created in the Image of God, is our ability to transcend both biology and environment, and to intentionally change our lives towards a higher moral vision.

 The modern philosopher, Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote:  “A stone is characterized by its finality, whereas man’s outstanding quality is in its being a surprise… To insist that I must be only what I am now is a restriction which human nature must abhor.  The being of a person is never completed, [never] final.”[iii]

Expressing the same idea in somewhat less lofty language, the playwright, George Bernard Shaw is quoted as saying:  “The only man I know who behaves sensibly is my tailor; he takes my measurements anew each time he sees me.   The rest go on with their old measurements and expect me to fit them.” 

This past Spring, I taught a course in our community’s “Torah Hub” Adult Education series, which explored the spiritual discipline of Jewish, moral development.  Generally, when we think of Jewish, spiritual disciplines, we think of activities such as study and prayer, holyday observance, keeping Kosher, or other such focused practices.  But particularly by engaging the Jewish literature known as “Musar”, personal, moral development is also pursued as an authentically Jewish, spiritual discipline.

The study of Musar, a word that means “inherited wisdom”, has always been part of Jewish learning, but it became in the early 19^th-Century a specialized area of focus.  The texts of Musar deal primarily with the development of ethical qualities, moral virtues, and the highest ideals of human conduct.  The primary goal of this literature is not to inform, but to transform its students and readers.  

As I shared with the adult learners who studied with me in the spring, it is through the combination of focused study of the literature, alongside an active, regular practice of contemplation and self-evaluation, we can transform ourselves in such a way that our values emerge as a stronger force, than even our natural tendencies, and our personality.  So unlike the scorpion, even if were to have a “stinger” (say, in our personalities), that doesn’t mean we would always have to use it!

I believe that one of the most important and effective ways of bringing about the change we want to see in ourselves begins with the work of honest reflection, which is why making the time for quiet contemplation needs to be a regular aspect of our day to day lives.  Only then can we truthfully evaluate our behaviors and responses in our relationships with others, our relationship with our own selves, and even our relationship with God. 

One of the most remarkable passages in all of the Talmud relates a story of how the greatest sages of a generation came together with all of their wisdom, mystical insights, and even magical powers in order to rid the world, once and for all, of the human inclination to do evil.  And amazingly – they succeeded!  But there is a concept popularly known as “The Law of Unintended Consequences,” which applied to the rabbis’ predicament, for according to the Talmud, no sooner had the Evil Inclination been banished, then people stopped building houses, stopped having children, and stopped engaging in business.  So the rabbis came back together and prayed that the Evil Inclination be returned to the world, and only then did the world return to its normal patterns.[iv]

The lesson from the Talmud is that the same human motivations can be directed towards good or towards evil; towards building or towards destruction; or in the words of our Torah Portion, towards life or towards death.  It’s all a matter of how we channel our inclinations, or in other words, how we express our personalities.  

In the Torah, there is little question that the greatest sin of the Israelite people came only days after having received the Torah.  Gathered at the base of Mt. Sinai, the people grew restless for the return of Moses, their leader, and in their agitation, they prevailed upon Moses’ brother, Aaron, to forge a Golden Calf – the very sort of idolatry that they had been taught to abandon, and in their frenzied passion, the men and women literally ripped the golden rings from their ears in order to hastily construct the idol!  Of course, at the conclusion of the story, Moses came down from the mountain, and saw the people dancing in ecstatic celebration around their Golden Calf.  In his rage, Moses cast down the tablets of the Law he had received from on High, and the entire community was punished for a their backsliding, their transgression, and their loss of faith.[v]

But now fast-forward only a short while in Torah-time.  God says to the Israelite people: “Asu li mikdash, v’shachanti b’tocham” – Build for me a Tabernacle, that I may dwell in their midst.” And here, perhaps in their finest hour, the people responded with unmatched enthusiasm and generosity.  So abundant were the gifts of gold and silver, precious stones and fine linens, fabrics, and utensils, that Moses had to issue the cry: Enough!  We have enough for the building of our shul!  Please – let no more donations be made.  I venture to say this was the first and only time in Jewish history that a capital campaign was called off for reasons of excessive generosity![vi]

But notice how these two stories, when viewed closely, are almost identical – except that in the first case, the generous offerings of the people were directed towards the creation of a pagan idol.  And in the latter, the gifts were brought for holy purpose.  I would argue that the personality of the people – a personality expressing generosity of spirit and spiritual intensity – was expressed equally in both narratives.  In the first it was channeled in a destructive manner, but in the latter, towards holiness. 

“Who is strong,” ask the sages of old? “The one who makes his adversary into his friend.”[vii]  And sometimes, of course, the adversary is internal – it is our own personality and traits.  But when we do engage regularly in both contemplation and study, we can recognize those aspects of our own inclinations of which we are less proud, and transform them into expressions of our higher values. 

Now the meaning of a beloved, Chassidic story comes into better focus.  It is the story of a king who owned a magnificent diamond, a gem so rare that he jealously guarded and protected it, rarely bringing it out even to display. Once it happened, during the course of a royal banquet, that the king was showing off his treasured stone, and it accidentally slipped from his cradling hands, and fell crashing to the floor.  The stone didn’t break, but the perfect gem now bore a slim crack down one side.  Obviously, the king was distraught over this great misfortune, and he consulted with the most renowned jewelers and trained diamond cutters from throughout the land.  All of the experts agreed on the sad fate of the once-perfect gem, for regardless of the amount of polishing and cleaning they might try, the imperfection was now a permanent feature of the king’s beloved diamond.

Some time later, a jeweler from a distant land who heard of the disaster that had befallen the king arrived to the palace, and requested that he be shown the stone.  “You see,” insisted the jeweler, “I can repair the diamond.”

“In fact,” he continued, “I could make the gem even more beautiful than it was before the accident, if the king would so consent.”

With nothing to lose, the king agreed, and so the jeweler set about his work.  Within days, he returned to the palace, and presented the king with the results of his handiwork.  As the king examined the diamond, his eyes grew wide, first with surprise, and then with delight!  The crack had not been removed from the stone. Instead, it had been transformed by the jeweler’s carving into the long stem of a magnificent rose, with leaves coming from each side of the stem, crowned by an exquisite, flowering bud.  The broken gem had become a precious work of art, more valuable now than ever before.

On Yom Kippur, we take up the challenge again to make our own lives into a precious work of art. We remember, and we affirm that we are not held prisoner by our circumstances, our experiences, our even our innate personalities. People can change. We can change; we can grow — towards a clearer vision of our better selves.  And even our imperfections can be brought to the service of a higher calling. 

David Rakoff’s rendering of the “Tortoise and the Scorpion” is delightful, but we are not like the scorpion, or any other creature for that matter.  We can safely make the crossing from who we have been to who we might yet become.  And today, of all days, is the time to begin the journey.

[ii] Deuteronomy 30:15-20.

[iii] Abraham Joshua Heschel, Who Is Man?, Stanford University Press, 1965: p. 41.

[iv] Genesis Rabbah 9:7.

[v] Exodus 32.

[vi] Exodus 36.

[vii] Avot deRabbi Natan, Chapter 23.

For the past 20 years, Dr. Richard Light, a professor of education at Harvard, has been conducting interviews with Harvard College students who are on the verge of graduation. Not long ago, he started to notice a trend. Even though undergraduates were content with the academic education they were receiving, many felt unprepared to take on bigger questions. One student told Light that although his classes had equipped him for work in chemistry and physics, “Harvard forgot to offer the most important course—a course in how to think of living my life.”

So together with the Dean of Freshmen and another professor of education, Dr. Light set up a voluntary discussion series, “Reflecting on Your Life,” for first-year students eager to explore those very ideas. The program has been quite popular, to the surprise of its creators. “We expected there to be 15 or 20 students interested in talking about this,” Light said. “But in the past three years, the program has had an average of 150 students—10 percent of the freshman class.”[i]

Our Temple President spoke tonight about the importance of creating meaning in our lives.  Several weeks ago, when Stuart and I first discussed the content of his Yom Kippur message to the congregation, I told him that I would like to expand a bit further on the idea of meaning, in Hebrew, “Mashma-ut”, on this most sacred night of the year. 

Even though the Harvard class exploring life’s meaning seems to have struck a chord among its freshmen participants, the search and struggle for meaning is hardly a concern limited to young men and women.  In fact, I believe that the search for meaning becomes even more essential as we age, and as the reality that our lives are finite begins to come into sharper focus.

In his epic work, Man’s Search For Meaning, the 20^th Century psychotherapist and, we must add, Holocaust survivor, Viktor Frankl insists that the search for meaning is a primary force in our lives.  Breaking from the foundations of psychotherapy laid by his contemporary, Sigmund Freud, Frankl traces various forms of neurosis to the failure of the sufferer to find meaning and a sense of responsibility in his or her existence. He writes, “This meaning is unique and specific in that it must and can be fulfilled by him alone.  Only then does it achieve a significance that will satisfy his own will to meaning.”[ii]

Frankl spoke of an “existential vacuum” affecting people in the post-WWII era, the growing loss of the feeling that life is meaningful.  He also predicted, successfully I believe, that the problem was likely (in his words), “to grow increasingly crucial, for progressive automation will probably lead to an enormous increase in the leisure hours of average workers.  The pity of it is that many of them will not know what to do with all their newly acquired free time.”[iii]

Of course, to speak of a search for meaning begins with the assumption that there is meaning to be found in our lives. But there is no shortage of philosophers, poets, writers and other skeptics who repudiate the very possibility of life having even a sliver of enduring meaning. 

So we think of the musings of Shakespeare’s Macbeth: “Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more.  It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”[iv]

The famous trial lawyer, Clarence Darrow, described life as “an awful joke”, and wrote: “Life is like a ship on a sea, tossed by every wave and by every wind, a ship headed for no port and no harbor, with no rudder, no compass, no pilot; simply floating for a time, then lost in the waves.”[v]

Similarly, the acclaimed scholar of mythology, Joseph Campbell once said, “I don’t believe life has a purpose.  Life is a lot of protoplasm with an urge to reproduce itself and continue in being.” 

And in contrast to Viktor Frankl, who asserted that the quest for meaning is a core and primary human need, Sigmund Freud wrote: “The moment a person questions the meaning and value of life… he is sick.  By asking this question one is merely admitting to a store of unsatisfied libido to which something else must have happened, a kind of fermentation leading to sadness and depression.”[vi]

 Even some of our own, Hebrew authors of the Bible questioned life’s inherent meaningfulness, and our Sacred Scriptures did not censor their expressions of angst.  “Vanity of vanities – hevel havalim”, writes the elderly, Biblical poet, Kohelet, in the Book of Ecclesiastes, ‘All is vanity.’ Kohelet considered life nothing more than a passing breath of air, and that we, composed of dust, in the end, merely return back to the dust, and whether we are good or evil, wealthy or impoverished wise or foolish, the same finality awaits us all. 

Now keep in mind that Kohelet was part of a very small minority.  Neither other biblical writers nor the rabbis and theologians of our tradition are so negative.  In contrast, they are convinced that life does have meaning.  Despite the infinite immensity of space and time, most biblical writers believed that man was a moral and spiritual reflection of the Creator, and according to the dominant themes of Jewish belief, the meaning of human life comes from this special relationship between God and man.[vii]  In the words of the modern philosopher, Martin Buber: the existence of God is the “inexpressible confirmation of meaning.  It is guaranteed.  Nothing, nothing can henceforth be meaningless.”[viii]

But for many of us, believing in God is still not enough to satisfy our search for meaning, because as we sometimes struggle with our sense of God’s Presence, then we also struggle with our sense of life’s ultimate meaning.  So I want us to consider, that at the very beginning of the Jewish spiritual quest, we go back to God’s first call to Abraham: “Lech L’cha – go forth.”  Our sages paid attention to the unusual wording, and translated the Hebrew in the most literal manner:  Lech L’cha, meaning “Go toward yourself.”  That is to say, look inward — for that’s the essential direction of the spiritual journey – toward oneself. 

Notice that the essence of God’s call to Abraham is NOT to create a sense of pervasive meaning for his people, his nation, and his descendants.  Rather, the call from God is a summons to find meaning for his own life, for his own struggles, hopes, and vision.  It is, I believe, somewhat ironic that in our age, where the Self is placed high above so many other values, and the spiritual journey is seen in popular culture as an individual’s unique exploration, that often our religious institutions sometimes tend to ignore that very personal motivation, and try to instill meaning through social action, by debating social policy, giving workshops in understanding public worship, or teaching a catechism.  Now of course, those are all important aspects of sharing a communal faith tradition.  But we also need to take our cue from the story of Abraham, and, I would add, from that course at Harvard in guiding seekers towards discovering personal meaning to the most important questions in their lives as well.  As the philosopher, Heschel states, “The moment we become oblivious to ultimate questions, religion becomes irrelevant, and its crisis sets in.”[ix]

Again, we look to our Biblical tradition to find evidence and examples of that struggle for personal meaning in life, and to some extent, we can watch each and every one of our Biblical heroes and heroines engage in that deep, personal search.  And only when they discover it, can their stories be complete. 

I want to offer up two examples.  First, is the story of Joseph – he of the “Amazing Technicolor Dream-Coat”.  Envied and hated by his brothers to the point of fratricide, he is sold as a slave into Egypt, where in time he rises to great power.  Later in his life, he will again come face to face with those same brothers who come down to Egypt to purchase food during a time of widespread famine.  When the brothers finally recognized that it was indeed, Joseph who stood before them, wielding power over their very lives, they feared that he would choose to exact revenge for all they had done to him in the past.

But Joseph embraced his brothers, and spoke to them with kindness.  He explained:  “For it was not you, but God, who sent me here, in order to save countless lives during this famine.”  At that moment, Joseph understood the meaning of his life.  So Joseph was able to forgive his brothers, and bring about renewed family harmony, along with providing sustenance for countless thousands of starving people.

And let us also call to mind the story of Queen Esther, the heroine of our Purim Festival.  The Book of Esther is a rather bawdy tale, a historical novel filled with debauchery and violence as befitting to our “spring fever” holiday, the Jewish Mardi Gras.  If you recall the story, Esther, a lovely, orphaned Jewish girl enters the harem of the Persian King, Achashverosh, where she encounters the plot of the genocidal villain, Haman, to wipe out all the Jews of Shushan.   Esther’s cousin and mentor, the wise Mordecai, appeals to Esther to risk her life by confronting the King with Haman’s evil intention.  And she steps forward bravely to foil Haman’s plot, because she realizes in her heart that it was just for such a purpose that she had achieved her high and lofty status in the court.  In that moment, she experienced the meaning of her life, and it was for Esther the source of her courage.

Like the Biblical figures, often our own sense of life’s meaning comes in moments – moments of clarity when we understand our own, unique mission.   That realization is also described by Viktor Frankl: 

“For the meaning of life,” he wrote, “differs from [person to person], from day to day, and from hour to hour.  What matters, therefore, is not the meaning of life in general, but rather the specific meaning of a person’s life at a given moment… One should not search for an abstract meaning of life.  Everyone has his own specific vocation or mission in life; everyone must carry out a concrete assignment that demands fulfillment.  Therein he cannot be replaced, nor can his life be repeated.  Thus, everyone’s task is as unique as is his specific opportunity to implement it.”[x]

I want to share with you one such moment in my life, which happened only a few years ago.  I’ll admit to feeling a little uneasy sharing aloud and so publicly such a very private and intimate experience and emotion.  But after twenty years together, I trust you with my story as you have trusted me with yours

It may have been one of the lowest points in my rabbinate, brought on by a seemingly relentless series of tragic losses.  When people ask me what’s the most difficult part of being a Rabbi, my answer is pretty consistent:  It’s presiding over the funeral of a young child, a teenager or even a young parent.  While I need to maintain a degree of professional distance in order to help bring the family and the community through such heartbreak, the utter sadness, the depth of pain and my feelings of compassion for those mourning the loss of one so young tears very deeply at my heart, my guts, and my spirit.  And so, I guess after one too many of such agonizing funerals coming in rapid succession, I felt emptied of strength, a kind of spiritual weariness that led me to decide that I could not again, to the best of my ability, willingly put myself into such a situation.

The very same day, maybe even within a couple of hours after having made my inner declaration, I received an urgent call from a local funeral home.  I don’t remember exactly, but the essence of the message was: “Rabbi Meyer, there’s been a terrible tragedy, and we told the family that you were the one best able to help them.” 

“Of course, I’ll be right there,” I answered. 

So I hung up the phone, closed my eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath, asking God — as I always do — for the wisdom and the words to guide the devastated family into and through that valley of shadows.  And as I thought about the timing of having just decided to try to avoid that very circumstance, suddenly, two words entered into my mind, so clearly — it was as if I could hear them; words used by our sages for just such a moment: “L’chach notzarta “ – It is for this that you were created.”[xi]

L’chach notzarta.  How might I best translate those simple, two words?  Yes, literally, it means – “For this were you created”.  But from a more complete understanding, I take those words to mean — (to paraphrase grief counselor, J. Shep Jeffries) — [It's] not simply a matter of ‘This is what I do because this is what I have been trained to do,’ or, God forbid, ‘This is what I do because it’s what I am paid to do.’  But rather ‘This is what I do because this is part of the meaning of who I am and how I choose to live [my life]!”[xii]

That’s not to say that the horrific situations which I am sometimes called upon to navigate with others, no longer affect me in those most the fragile depths of my spirit, my emotions, and my heart.  But still to this day, I hear those two words guiding me and providing that sense of meaning through a variety of challenges, giving me strength, clarity and even occasionally, the bravery to live up to my highest potential – not only as a Rabbi, but also as a parent, a spouse, a child, and a friend.  L’chach notzarta – for this were you created. 

And on this sacred night of Yom Kippur, these words I offer as both a message and a challenge for our lives:  To what can you say, l’chach notzarti – For this was I was created?  I encourage you to look for those moments in the midst of loving, human relationships. Sense those moments in your work, or in your response to a call for help.  Experience those moments when you perform a mitzvah, or in any act that improves the world for this and future generations. 

Only yesterday, I received an e-mail from a member of the congregation, who was responding to our Temple’s efforts to help families who suffered damage to their homes and property during Tuesday’s flash-floods.  She wrote:  “My family and our homes were unaffected and I am profoundly grateful for this, and I am confident it is because I am supposed to help others.”  What a beautiful insight into a moment of experiencing meaning in our lives!  And I would only add:   L’chach notzarnu´– It is for this that we were created!

As I conclude my message on this evening of Kol Nidre I cannot help but wonder if the answer to the mystery and the miracle of Jewish survival through the millennia is not somehow linked to our own sense of meaning as a people.  Yes, God’s call to our Patriarch, Abraham, with two words — “Lech L’cha” — was a challenge to explore and experience the very meaning of his own life.  But God’s call also ended with another two words:  “V’yeheh b’racha – And you shall be a blessing.”  When Abraham, in his inward journey, discovered the meaning of his own life, he was then able to bring great and enduring blessing to all of humanity.  In fact, he changed the world forever, for the better.  Through Abraham and his journey, the world began to learn the truth of Ethical Monotheism.  Through Abraham was born the opportunity for all men and women to enter into relationship with the One God, and to bring to life in our world those Godly values of justice and love, of compassion and peace.

So – Lech Lecha! Go forth in the year ahead, on a journey inward towards the meaning of your own life, and then, like Abraham, may you also be a blessing. 

For like Abraham — l’chach notzarnu – for this, we, too were created. 

[ii] Viktor Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning, – p. 154

[iii] Frankl, p. 169.

[iv] Act 5, Scene V, lines 24-28.

[v] Cited in Byron L. Sherwin, Faith Finding Meaning.  A Theology of Judaism, Oxford University Press, 2009, p. 70.

[vi] Ibid.

[vii] See Jack D. Spiro, “Meaning” in Contemporary Jewish Religious Thought.  Original Essays on Critical Concepts, Movements, and Beliefs.   Arthur A. Cohen and Paul Mendes-Flohr, editors.  The Free Press, New York, 1972: pp. 565-571.

[viii] Martin Buber, I and Thou, (1970), pp. 158 – 159.

[ix]: Cited in Sherwin, pp. 68–69.

[x] Frankl, pp. 171 – 172.

[xi] See Pirke Avot 2:8.

[xii]  J. Shep Jeffries, Helping Grieving People – When Tears Are Not Enough.  A Handbook for Care Providers, Brunner-Rutledge, NY, 2005.

The nationalistic fervor which swept across Europe through the middle and late 19^th Century found its Jewish expression in the Zionist movement, and the dream of a modern Jewish State in our ancestral homeland of Israel.  As Jewish pride and hope blossomed, Jewish soccer clubs sprouted throughout metropolitan Europe – in Budapest, Berlin, Prague, Innsbruck and others cities throughout the 1920’s. 

So it happened that only two decades before Adolf Eichmann forced Jews across Europe to sew a yellow star on their clothing as a symbol of degradation, many of these sports clubs played with a six-pointed Star of David prominently stitched on their jerseys and shorts. They enthusiastically draped themselves in blue-and-white uniforms, like the colors of the flag of Israel.  And their proudly Hebrew names, “Hagibor” (“The Hero”), “Bar Kochba” (after the leader of a second-century revolt against the Romans), and “Hakoach” (“The Powerful”), clearly expressed both their historical roots, as well as their Zionist allegiance.  And did you know that in 1925, the Jewish soccer club, Hakoach of Vienna was the surprise champion of the Austrian league.  They went on to tour the world, playing exhibitions against teams across Europe, the United States, and even in the Far East. The story of Hakoach of Vienna is one example of how, in the words of author, Franklin Foer, “How Soccer Explains the World”.[i]

Perhaps another example of soccer explaining the world came in a story I read just last month in Sports Illustrated magazine.[ii]  The article was titled, “Welcome to the World,” and it described the entry of a team from the nation of Palestine into a qualifying match in the World Cup of soccer.  They were playing against a team from Thailand for the rights to make the World Cup finals in Brazil three years from now.  And the article described some of the unique challenges of playing for the Palestinian team, a team composed of West Bank Palestinians, Israeli Arabs, and even residents of Gaza Strip, who play their home games at the three-year-old Faisal Al-Husseini Stadium just outside of Ramallah.

As I read the Sports Illustrated story, I remember thinking to myself:  How can there be a national team for which there is no nation?  As of yet, there is no internationally recognized, sovereign nation called “Palestine”!  So if soccer explains anything about the world, what’s going on when a Palestinian national team is invited to participate in the World Cup matches before such an independent state has even come into existence?  As far as the world is concerned, including FIFA, the governing body of international “football”, is Palestinian statehood already a done deal?

That question really bothered me.  But as coincidence would have it, if there is really such a thing as “coincidence”, the very day after reading the Sports Illustrated story, I received a call from a colleague in Southern California, inviting me to travel to Jerusalem and the West Bank as part of a small contingent of rabbis, to meet with Israeli and Palestinian leadership, and to experience the unfolding realities on both sides of the “Separation Seam.”  And so, only three weeks ago, I was sitting around a small table in the Knesset offices of the Israeli Foreign Minister with six other rabbis, and when we each explained to our host why we had agreed to take part in that Rabbinic Leadership Mission, I explained to him, as best I could, “Well, there was this article in Sports Illustrated…”

Of course, that was just a very small part of my motivation for agreeing to take part in the Mission.  As I wrote you upon my return, the Mission consisted of two, very intensive days.  We spent the first day in Jerusalem, with high-level Israeli political, military, and business leadership.  On day two, we travelled to Ramallah and the West Bank to meet with their Palestinian counter-parts.  I realized immediately upon receiving the invitation that this was a rare and historic opportunity to see, hear, witness and evaluate for myself – without the filters of anyone else’s opinion or agenda — the situation as it is currently unfolding, especially in the days leading up to the Palestinians’ coming to New York and the United Nations in their bid for Statehood.

I know that we all can read countless news stories, editorials, opinion pieces and blog sites that address the current and unfolding situation.  But I went on the Mission to see and learn and decide for myself; and so this morning, I want to share with you my own, very personal take on the current situation and conflict.

First, to paraphrase a fairly well-known idiom, before I begin to speak, there’s something I want to say:  I want to publicly thank my congregation and our leadership for the tremendous support you’ve offered both leading up to and following my mission to Israel and the Palestinian entity. I knew upon agreeing to the Mission, that my meeting with Palestinian leadership would evoke some degree of controversy, even criticism, from those whose opinions I respect, but who would question the integrity of my willingness to meet with the adversaries, yes, even the enemies of the Jewish State.   Today, I want to assert, and I believe this from the very depths of my soul, that when you make the decision to meet and listen openly, honestly, objectively and compassionately to another, whose viewpoint, agenda and experience is so very different than one’s own, that decision is NOT an sign of weakness, of gullibility, of passivity or even fear.  It’s actually an expression of strength, maybe even, of bravery.  And no battle has ever been won without some significant acts of bravery!

Now I believe that there should be very little doubt in this community on where I stand as a staunch supporter and lover of the Jewish State.  After twenty years of teaching, preaching, leading trips and writing opinions, I think most of you could probably place me rather accurately towards the right side on the spectrum between left-wing and right-wing supporters of Israel.  But I was determined to come to this opportunity open to hearing what each of the leaders and representatives had to say, and I want to describe for you a moment, an image, that stayed with me as something of a metaphor for my journey.

Having taken six trips to Israel over the past four years, I have watched the building, the growth, and the impact of that so-called “Separation Seam”.  I have seen pretty much the entire length of its fences and walls, and even hiked along parts of it.  And I can tell you that no one likes that barrier – neither Israel who must maintain it, nor the Palestinians who must negotiate its path and its check-points.  But there is no questioning that it has been extremely successful in its goal of preventing terrorist incursions and other acts of violence against innocent, Israeli citizens. 

Still, up until three weeks ago, I had only seen one side of the barrier, and then, always seeing it as something meant to “keep them out.”  Suddenly, when I crossed through the checkpoint on my way towards Ramallah, I realized I was seeing the very same barrier, only this time, I was seeing it from the perspective of those for whom it was meant for keeping them “in.”!  I realized that in order to get the most from my unique opportunity, I would need to hold onto both perspectives, both ways of viewing that barrier and the various barriers to security and peace.

The topics we explored with Israeli political, business, and military leaders covered a variety of concerns, including the recent social demonstrations in Israel, the deteriorating situation in Egypt, the spread of the Arab Spring uprisings, and economic opportunities and obstacles.  But the most pressing question of those days was why the Palestinian Authority has chosen to abandon negotiations with Israel, and go directly to the United Nations in seeking their goals and dreams of statehood. 

It is important to remember that the end result of establishing a secure and sovereign, Palestinian State alongside the borders of Israel is not only the official policy of the Netanyahu administration; it has also been the official policy of the past several Israeli governments.  The two-state solution has, been accepted as the most desired result and conclusion to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.   And over the past two years, in the West Bank, though not in Gaza, under the bureaucratic leadership of Palestinian Prime Minister, Salam Fayyad, the infrastructure has been laid for the time when that State will come into existence.  And without question, at some point, that is going to happen.

The roads linking West Bank towns are quite good, built, by the way, mainly by Israel in order to help the day to day travel needs of the Palestinians, although we never read or hear about that kind of cooperation in the media.  In fact, collaborative efforts between Israel and Palestinian Authority Security Forces are working rather well.  In 2008, there were a total of 42 checkpoints along the length of the Separation Seam.  As of last year, that number was down to 17. 

Ramallah is poised to take on the role of economic capital of the Palestinian entity.  In the downtown areas, there are new stone and glass government offices.  Throughout the city, amidst the hodge-podge of older houses, apartments and businesses, large and beautiful homes are being built, many with beautiful views out across the hills and valleys.  There is a stock exchange, a growing banking industry, a strong and successful police and security apparatus, and entertainment options such as coffee shops and theaters are springing up. There is even a home field for the soccer team just outside of Ramallah!

So what then are the barriers to peace?  If so much is already in place, what needs to be decided?  For the most part the issues remaining to be agreed upon are:  Borders, Refugees, Security, and Water.  One might think that, since both sides want the same end result – that being both Jewish and Palestinian sovereignty, those hurdles would be quite possible to overcome.  So why have the Palestinians abandoned all negotiations with Israel, and instead, taken their cause to the UN?

It is important to note that not all of their leadership was in agreement regarding the wisdom of their unilateral declaration, including Prime Minister Fayyad, who was publicly opposed.  Meanwhile, President Abbas and his spokesmen described their decision to move forward at the UN as a step towards resuming the stalled peace process.  They say that the United States has lost credibility as an objective, mediator in the discussions, and so they are turning to the International Community, of which Israel is a part, to allow greater input in solving some of the intractable issues.  The move is part, they say, of a wide-scale program of non-violent resistance to the Israeli occupation, which they know in the court of world opinion, will meet with great approval.

The Israeli leadership sees the Palestinians’ new strategy as a tactic intend to avoid negotiations entirely.  In negotiations, there must be concessions on both sides.  But the deck is so stacked against Israel at the UN that whatever the Palestinians present to the General Assembly is guaranteed to be passed.  By avoiding direct negotiations with Israel to solve the outstanding issues, they won’t have to make concessions; they won’t have to give up anything.

I think we also have to view events within the context of the so-called Arab Spring, the shocking uprisings which spread so quickly in places like Egypt and Libya, and which toppled long-standing and seeming secure, autocratic leaders.  Palestinian Authority President Abbas realizes that his credibility and power were on the steep decline among the Palestinian populace.  A significant political victory on the International stage would go a long way to securing his position of leadership, and the hero’s reception he received this week upon returning to Ramallah certainly validated that gamble.

In short, the Israelis are looking to negotiate towards the existence of a Palestinian State as a way of ending the conflict.  The Palestinians, on the other hand, are hoping to use UN recognition, as a platform for pressing on with their claims against the Jewish State.

Of course, there have been no substantial negotiations for nearly two years now.  What are the issues that stand in the way?  What do the two sides claim as the primary obstacles to negotiations and peace? 

To the Palestinians, and they are of one mind and voice here, that the primary obstacle to negotiations and to peace is, in their words, “the continued illegal construction of Jewish settlements on Palestinian land.”  The Israelis respond with the fact that there have been no new settlements built during the past ten years, and when illegal settlers set one up, they are immediately and forcibly evicted by the Israeli army.  And although there does continue to be some construction in the communities already established, last year, the Netanyahu government imposed a complete, ten-month long freeze on all building projects in those communities, and never during those months, would the Palestinians agree to return to the talks.  Frankly, we never heard a satisfying answer from the Palestinian leadership as to why they didn’t come back to the table,

The Israeli government insists that settlements are not really at issue, and they use the Gaza Strip as proof of that contention.  Since the Israelis left Gaza back in the so-called “hitnaktut” of 2005, there are no settlements, no Israelis or Jews at all in Gaza.  But that still hasn’t stopped the militant forces of Hamas from launching an unending barrage of rockets from Gaza into towns inside of Israel proper.  If settlements are the problem, Israeli leaders ask, then why is the territory where there are no settlements now controlled by a terrorist organization seeking to murder innocent civilians?

The Palestinian response to that question was interesting, and frankly, I believe is not without some merit.  When then Prime Minister, Ariel Sharon, decided to evacuate the Israelis from Gaza he preceded quickly, unilaterally, and without including any Palestinian Authority input in the plan.  “Had Sharon included us in the process,” the PA spokesman insisted, “we then could have gone to the people in Gaza and said, ‘Look at what negotiations have produced!  Let’s continue to negotiate.’  Instead, Sharon’s actions allowed the radical element to say to the populace, ‘Look at what terror has accomplished!  Let’s continue our strategy of terror!’”

I should mention that the situation in Gaza, and its control by Hamas, is in many ways as difficult a situation for the Palestinian Authority in the West Bank as it is for the Israeli government.  I am confident in telling you that there will never be a real coming together of Hamas and the PA — which of course, begs the question:  If we want to define the nation of Palestine, who are we talking about, and what are her borders?

 I want to tell you the question I asked Ghassan Khatib, the Director of the Government Media Center of the Palestinian Authority.  Essentially, he IS the international “face” of the PA.  And I don’t mind admitting that I was very nervous sitting beside him, and asking this question.  After all, I had been in Ramallah for less than a half-hour, and to paraphrase the prophet, Amos:  I am neither a diplomat, nor the son of a diplomat!  But I had come to the Mission for a reason, and I needed to ask the most essential questions.  And so I tried to phrase my question in a manner that was both respectful of my host, but in a way that also might get an honest reply.  So I said:

 “Mr. Khatib:  You and your government are clear and unified in your opinion that the primary obstacle to peace is the construction in settlement communities in the West Bank.”  “Yes,” he answered, with a bit of a stare.  Our eyes locked as I continued my question:  “If I were to ask the members of my community, they would tell me that the primary obstacle to peace is the refusal of the Palestinians to recognize the State of Israel as the rightful, ancestral homeland of the Jewish people.  Mr. Khatib, what would you have me say to my community?”

His answer was direct, but not satisfying whatsoever.  Essentially, he insisted that the language of mutual recognition had already been agreed upon in the Oslo Accords, and that such a demand was only being made by the Israeli Prime Minister in order to placate his right-wing coalition partners.  Israel made peace with Egypt without such language, Khatib insisted, and so did the Kingdom of Jordan.  It is a new condition, he claimed, that has only served to delay the process of negotiation. 

But the matter of the Jewishness of Israel IS important, in fact, I think it’s critical.  Because when the problem of the Palestinian refugees is addressed, how can there be a Palestinian and a Jewish State, if the descendents of the Palestinian refugees have a right to live in the Jewish, rather than the Palestinian nation?

In fact, the essential Jewishness of Israel continues to be avoided, seemingly at all costs, by the Palestinian leadership.  Last week at the United Nations, Mr. Abbas spoke of the Holy Land as the place of the ascension of the Prophet Muhammad, and the birthplace of Jesus Christ.  But he failed to mention the fact that the Jewish nation had been settled there for more than two thousand years before either Jesus or Muhammad, and that Jerusalem was the capital of Israel under King David, King Solomon, and a succession of Jewish monarchs for many hundreds of years.  In fact, there continues to be a complete denial by the Palestinians of any Jewish claim to our homeland.  Frankly, I do not believe that there is anyone in the PA leadership who has either the political strength or the political will to recognize our authentic, historical claim to the land of Israel.

Finally, what about concessions?  Even there, it’s hard to find a point of optimism.  When the Israelis say that they are ready and willing to relinquish 98.5% of the West Bank to a future Palestinian State, a tremendous and risky concession of Israeli land, the Palestinians respond by saying that it is no concession at all, because the only starting point for negotiations is the pre-1967 borders.  And were the Palestinians to renounce any claim for the right of refugee descendants to return to Israeli cities such as Haifa, Beersheva, or Tiberias, the Israelis would hardly consider that to be a concession, because the so-called “Palestinian right of return” is an historically false claim, and a condition that is not even on the table.

So where is there to go?  To what possibility is there to turn?  Perhaps you might understand why it was, that as I listened carefully and closely to each side’s arguments and positions, it became harder to find a direction that might offer hope, or even a place where the “dueling narratives” between two peoples might begin to find resolution!  It seemed like the words of the Israelite people from the darkest days of the Prophet, Ezekiel, would be the most fitting conclusion to our Mission: “Avdah tikvatenu”– Our hope is lost.”[iii]  Upon what grounds might we begin to place our hopes for a better tomorrow, for a time of reconciliation and peace?

I wonder if it is just another coincidence that soon after my return from the Middle East, scientists in Israel announced that they had made a remarkable discovery.  They had found evidence of life in the Dead Sea.[iv]  Until now, it has always been assumed, because of the saltiness of the water, that it is impossible for life there to either emerge or survive.  Of course, it’s way too early go to fishing in the Dead Sea, but we now know that under the right conditions, life can develop even there, even in the sea that has always been taken for dead.

I met with Avi Nudelman, CEO of the Israel-Palestinian Chamber of Commerce and Industry, who is working together with Mohammad Abu Ein, Chairman of the Palestinian Import/Export Association.  They are creating partnerships and business connections between Israeli and Palestinian markets.  And they are beginning to mark their successes, as contributing to the nearly $4 billion dollars in trade annually between the two sides.  Both men emphasized that Israelis and Palestinians are natural partners, not only because of their proximity, but because they are both Western in their cultural orientation, because both value higher education and innovation, and both sides want the same basic things in life for themselves and their families. 

We were invited into the offices of the Jerusalem Venture Partners, where start-up companies, incubator projects, and even artistic enterprises are provided seed capital for developing, financing, and marketing their ideas.  Because of Israeli successes in so many areas of innovation, opportunities for investing in Israeli businesses are highly sought after. Since its beginnings in 1993, the Venture Partners has provided seeding for some seventy companies, with a total value of $900 million.  They are now working to develop a High Tech Park in the city of Bethlehem, and are looking to partner with Palestinian incubator projects throughout the West Bank.

I had coffee I downtown Ramallah with a woman named Huda El Jak, the owner of a new chain of coffee shops.  She is an entrepreneur and Venture Capitalist, and is modeling her business after similar, successful chains in Israel. 

I visited with Sameh Masri, the General Manager of United Motor Trade Company — the largest importer of luxury automobiles in the West Bank.  I saw his showroom, his spare parts warehouse, and his most important resource – the workers and mechanics he continued to employ – even during the stalled economic times of the 2^nd Intifida.

I sat in the sparkling offices of the Director General of Quds Bank, one of the largest banking houses in the Palestinian lands.  The former Minister of Energy for the PA, he now runs a consulting firm in Gaza.  He spoke first hand of the strong link between a healthy economy and the reduction in violence, as well as the investment coming from Israeli investors through partnership with Palestinian businesses.

And I travelled to the planned city of Rawabi, an $825 million dollar development that is the largest project ever undertaken in the Palestinian areas.  Among the funding sources are not only Arab sources, such as the nation of Qatar, but also Jewish and Israeli investors, including, I learned, Michael Steinhardt – one of the founders of Birthright Israel.  Upon completion, Rawabi will house some 40,000 young, middle-income Palestinians, with state-of-the-art technological, environmental, and social infrastructure. 

Our group was taken to the highest point of the planned city of Rawabi, and from those heights where picnic tables, volleyball courts, and a reception hall already stand, you can actually make out the buildings of Tel Aviv and the Mediterranean Sea far in the distance.  One member of our group made the comment of how easy it might be to fire a rocket from that spot directly into Tel Aviv.  But of course, that’s the last thing the people, the investors, and the builders of Rawabi would want:  there is too much at stake, and of course, there is a lot of money to be made.

What seemed consistent among all of these business leaders and entrepreneurs, particularly among the Palestinians, was how they refused to get stuck in the narratives of victimization.  They understand the challenges they face, but are creatively looking for solutions. They are eager, and yes, energized looking to the possibilities of the future.        

As I made my way back through the Kalandia check-point into Jerusalem, it struck me that on both sides of the Separation Barrier:  the hundreds of thousands of protesters who filled the streets and parks in Israel this summer, and the owners, workers, and investors in the Palestinian businesses and communities are all looking and hoping for the same thing – the chance make a better life for themselves and their children.  That is why it was there, at the moment of crossing through the Barrier, I discovered that seed of hope.

We need to realize that the Palestinian conflict is certainly not the only problem facing Israel.  It is not even the biggest threat to the region in this time of Iran’s nuclear development, growing anarchy in many Arab societies, and a shifting of power throughout the entire region.   But finding a solution to the conflict, which would assure the mutual security for Israel and a Palestinian State would be a monumental and vital step. 

Yes, there were times in my visit where I felt, like the words of Ezekiel “Avdah tikvatenu — Our hope is lost.”  But the author of the Israeli national anthem, Naftali Imber, added two words to that phrase – “OD LO — NOT YET!”  “Od lo avdah tikvatenu – Our hope is not yet lost”, sings the anthem!  Perhaps the realization of that hope will be that one day, in a stadium in Tel Aviv, or on the pitch in Ramallah, two national teams will square off against one another, with the final score of a soccer match the only battle left to be fought.

[ii] “Welcome to the World”, Sports Illustrated, August 8, 2011.

[iii] Ezekiel 37:11.

[iv] http://media.themedialine.org/media/110921_danny_Ionescu.mp3.

In his recent book, The Beginning of Infinity, physicist and cosmologist, David Deutsch, makes the following, rather fascinating insight.  He writes: “Progress that is both rapid enough to be noticed and stable enough to continue over many generations has been achieved only once in the history of our species. It began at approximately the time of the scientific revolution, and is still under way. It has included improvements not only in scientific understanding, but also in technology, political institutions, moral values, art, and every aspect of human welfare.”[i]

Deutsch’s argument is that prior to the scientific revolution that ushered humanity into the modern era, people lived under the generally correct assumption that life, culture, knowledge, and technology would simply remain constant.  The future could be expected, for the most part, to be very much like the present, even as the present was by and large no different from the past.  We, however, live in a time when change is really all that is constant.  We expect things to change, and try to anticipate where changes in technology, attitudes, aesthetics, and knowledge might lead. 

 This was the central reality which informed and forged the Reform Judaism of my grandparents and great-grandparents.  Reform Judaism of the late 19^th and 20^th Centuries recognized the enormous shifts brought about by modern, scientific inquiry,  Rather than reject new ideas, understandings, and realities, the Reformers both embraced and then embodied the ideal of change in religious practices as a healthy response to the evolution of society in general.   Today, nearly two centuries since the earliest expressions of Reform Jewish thought, nearly all of the Jewish world accepts the truths that were at the core of our forbearers’ vision; “…that our tradition should interact with modern culture; that its forms ought to reflect a contemporary esthetic; that its scholarship needs to be conducted by modern, critical methods; and that change has been and must continue to be a fundamental reality in Jewish life.”[ii]  We continue to see, throughout the country and even in our own community, congregations which declare adherence to more traditional forms, now adopting our own long-standing practices of including musical instruments, paying attention to the use of English, as well as Hebrew prayers, utilizing contemporary poetry, meditations and reflections, and giving a high priority to maintaining a fresh, creative spirit in our worship.

 Of course, from its earliest days, Judaism has never been lacking the creative impulse, expressed throughout the centuries through the means of philosophy, poetry, folklore, and the development of Halacha, Jewish law and practice.  But Reform Judaism of the past century and a half has focused on the evolution and development of our prayerbooks as a primary focus of our own, creative energy to an extent well beyond what had previously been seen in Jewish history. 

 Tonight, we have a unique opportunity as a congregation to be part of that dynamic process of creative, prayerbook evolution, as we are worshipping from the first, pilot edition of our newest, High Holyday Machzor.  For those of us who have been worshipping in Reform synagogues throughout our lives, this will be the third, or perhaps even the fourth prayerbook we will come to know, and each one has been a reflection and a response to its own generational realities. 

The first widely- accepted and utilized prayerbook in our Movement was the Union Prayerbook, which first came out in 1893.  The book was extremely popular in the United States, with some 300 synagogues adopting its use, with over 100,000 copies printed and distributed.  It underwent a significant revision right after World War I, and then a newly-revised edition was published soon after World War II.  Our current machzor, Gates of Repentance, made its appearance back in 1978.  So if we look across the time-line of the past century and a quarter, we can see that indeed, once in a generation, changes in practice, aesthetics, political realities and patterns of language have led to the creation and adoption of a new prayerbook , approximately every thirty five years or so.

 I remember quite well when our Movement made the switch from the Newly Revised Union Prayerbook to The Gates of Repentance.  And I can tell you that it was not an easy transition for congregational members who had long been accustomed to the English translations of the Union Prayer Book, with its “Thee’s” and “Thou’s” – long archaic forms of English speech utilized to add a formal air and tone of ancient solemnity, but replaced in the newer liturgy with more common, colloquial styles of English translation.  Of course, the newer prayerbook also introduced certain content to the services which had long been absent or discarded in many Reform congregations, including the words to the Kol Nidre Chant, a complete service for the sounding of the Shofar, and the medieval hymn, “Unetaneh Tokef”, with its haunting intonations, “Who shall live and who shall die?… Who by fire and who by water?”

Yes, I remember well those first few years when our current machzor was being introduced in our North American Reform congregations, because those years corresponded to my first years in Rabbinical school, and as a rabbinic intern and then, as a student Rabbi.  I can tell you that for a movement rooted in the desirability and inevitability of change, change — particularly in the realm of prayer and religious observance, never comes easily!

For the past several years, here at Temple Emanu-El, we have been engaged in the ongoing process of evaluating and evolving our own, unique patterns of worship, bringing a great deal of innovation to our Sabbath, festival and High Holyday services, which have resulted in changes in our prayerbooks, our music, our worship schedules, and even the architecture of this Sanctuary.  And that is why last spring, I met with some of my rabbinical colleagues who are taking active, leadership roles in the creation of this new machzor, and requested that our congregation be one of the pilot-sites for worshipping with and experiencing the preliminary version of the prayerbook-in-process.  It is my intention, at the conclusion of the Holyday season, to solicit Temple members for some of your own input regarding the content and format of this draft machzor, so that I might share some of our experiences here with our national leadership. 

In some ways, let me admit up-front, I’m stacking the deck just a bit, because like our Sabbath prayerbook, Mishkan Tefilah, you can see that this pilot version is set up in order to enable a very dynamic approach to the liturgy itself.  Because each prayer appears on both the right and left-side pages, the worship leader may choose to include either the traditional, Hebrew formulation, or a faithful English translation, or, using the left-side leaf, a poetic, medieval, or contemporary reflection on the theme of each prayer.  And I say that the deck is stacked because having prepared the service, I already made some of my own decisions regarding which options we would utilize tonight.  So there are some passages you might have really liked that I chose not to include tonight, and some that spoke to me and my heart, which we have included, that may have left you unaffected or uninspired. 

One of the most interesting aspects of preparing tonight’s service, and anticipating the chance to pilot this new machzor was choosing which rendition of Avinu Malkenu to include.   Of the entire liturgy unique to Rosh Hashanah, no prayer is better known, loved, and anticipated than Avinu Malkenu – Our Father, our King.  For many years, at this Evening Service, we have not only prayed this text in both Hebrew and English, but we have also sung it twice; first, using the beloved, Cantorial rendition of Max Janowsky, and then as a unison, congregational chanting of the familiar, folk-like melody.  I hope that you noticed as we prayed Avinu Malkenu this evening that our pilot machzor offered three very different and distinct expressions of the Avinu Malkenu.  I think it’s fair to suggest that the very feel of, and response to tonight’s service might well hinge upon which version we shared together, more so than any other prayer or melody of the service.

Regardless of the phrases of supplication that are included, just in the words “Avinu Malkenu”, we express essential aspects of our relationship with God.  Our experience of intimacy with the Divine, God’s being close to us, near, and imminent is that aspect we call “Avinu”, our Father.  God’s majesty, transcendence, and awesome power we express when calling God “Malkenu, Our King.”  Love of God, and fear of God.  Intimacy with God and remoteness from God; God’s compassion and God’s Justice — all these are set into balance as we pray, Avinu Malkenu.  Theologically, it is very powerful and very much in keeping with Jewish beliefs throughout the centuries.

The Avinu Malkenu certainly presents some challenges for Jews today – problems of language, of translation, and also of belief. No one here tonight has ever lived as subject to a king who wields limitless power and authority.  So can the metaphor of God as such a monarch feel truly meaningful to contemporary Jewish men and women?  And even the embedded metaphors of masculinity, our Father, our King, can be distracting to some, even though we realize that God cannot be conceived according to the limited specifics of human, gender identity.  Did you notice how the translators of this draft version have chosen “Almighty and Merciful”, instead of “Our Father, Our King,” in order to avoid their perceived dilemma of gender specific translation?

To me, dancing around the metaphors of gender weaken, rather than intensify the power of this mantra-like recitation.  But what was most strikingly difficult and jarring in our Avinu Malkenu tonight, — and I’ll share this with you even as I have already expressed my concern to those of my colleagues most closely involved in the Machzor project – is the English translation as rendered in the first full line of the prayer:  Avinu Malkenu, chatanu  l’fanecha.  The customary translation of the phrase is, Avinu Malkenu, we have sinned before you,”, or alternately, “… we have sinned against You.”  But here, we are given the expression, “Avinu Malkenu, we come before you in our brokenness.” 

“Brokenness” is a bit of a stretch as a translation for Chet, or sin.  I understand what the translators here are trying to accomplish.  They responded to my uneasiness with the wording by suggesting that the translation should be considered “faithful to the original, even if not directly literal.”  Their desire is to avoid using the word “sin” and all that it reflects, and to reframe our standing before God as persons lacking in wholeness, rather than deserving of punishment.

Ok, I agree that we hope for God’s love and compassion as we admit to our feelings of “brokenness”, and there can be so much in life that can break us spiritually, physically, and emotionally.  And yes, much of what makes us feel broken comes upon us for reasons far beyond our own control. 

But “Sin” is also real.  Often, it is our own, misguided behavior that in the end turns against us, and leads then to our sense of being shattered, damaged, defeated or crushed.  But that does not absolve us of the responsibility for owning up to our decisions, our behaviors, our shortcomings.  Brokenness is a passive condition.  Sinfulness means taking responsibility.  And if these Holy Days are to be a time of heshbon ha-nefesh, of sincere and fearless soul-searching, we sell the process short by simply pleading “brokenness.”  No!  In the words of the liturgy, We have sinned. We have transgressed.  We have gone astray from our highest ideals.  I believe that if we are afraid of admitting honestly to the very idea of sin, then we actually diminish the odds that we will, in the year ahead, be strong enough to overcome those very thoughts and behaviors that lead to the brokenness we declare.

Avinu Malkenu is a perfect example of how difficult it is, and why it takes a tremendous amount of thought and deliberation when we consider, as Reform Jews, how best to express in our worship the ideas and beliefs of our faith. 

I have to say that there is a great deal that I like about this new machzor — its layout, its content, and even much of its language.  I love the explanatory notes at the bottom of the pages that allow for study and contemplation even during the course of the worship service.  I appreciate the blending of modern, medieval, Biblical and rabbinical resources on the left-hand pages that help to amplify the messages of the traditional liturgy of the service.  And I really have enjoyed the chance to vary the content of the service, and can see the opportunity this new machzor will offer for us to change things up, just a bit, year by year.  So I’m looking forward to continuing to discuss our experience together with this new liturgy, and help our Movement evolve into the next generation of High Holyday worship.

A story is told of a student who had come to study with the renowned 19^th-Century Rabbi Mordecai of Nadvorna.  Right before Rosh Hashanah, the disciple came to his teacher hoping for permission to be dismissed early from his class.  The rabbi asked him, “Why are you in such a hurry today?”  He answered, “I have been given the honor of leading portions of the Rosh Hashanah service, so I have to look carefully into the machzor to put my prayers in order.”  The rabbi replied, “That’s fine, but your time would be better spent for you to look carefully into yourself, and put yourself in order!”

So it is for us, we who live in a time when change is not only possible, but to be expected.  Advances in technology, communications, culture and knowledge are what we have come to expect.  But changes in ourselves, our ways of thinking and our patterns of behaving, those changes don’t come so easily. And if our prayers tonight, tomorrow, and during this Holyday season help us in the process of changing ourselves for the better, then we and our world will perhaps be healed of our brokenness, and discover the wholeness and the hope that have always been the promise of this sacred season.

[ii] “Reform Judaism, A Centenary Perspective”.  Adopted by the Central Conference of American Rabbis in San Francisco, 1976.

          Our musical evolution has been consistent with that of other Reform synagogues. Recall that Ashkenazi Judaism comes out of the eastern European tradition where music during worship existed only as chanting (Nusach) to carry forward the obligation of prayer. Musical instruments were forbidden, as they still are in many Conservative and most Orthodox shuls.

          Today, the importance of music as part of the service can hardly be overstated. It serves both as aesthetic enhancement and for the purpose of spiritual inspiration. In Reform Judaism in general and here at Temple Emanu-El, music uplifts us and encourages us to participate. It enhances our feeling of holiness. Singing together engenders a stronger sense of community.

          The music in this year’s High Holyday services will blend two styles that have woven together in recent years. We are pleased to welcome back Lynn Torgove, who has now completed her cantorial studies, as soloist. Morton Hyams, on the keyboard and directing the professional choir, will continue to enrich our worship. Our Music Specialist, Jon Nelson, will bring his unique talents to High Holyday worship as well. And of course, Rabbi Meyer coordinates along with Lynn, Morton and Jon just how our music weaves the content and feeling of the services together.

          When I first became involved with Temple Emanu-El as a volunteer, enhancing the music program was my highest priority. We have made great strides. As you join with your fellow congregants in High Holyday worship, please join in with the music. Let it engage and inspire you too.

          L’shanah tovah to all.

p.s. One of the most beautiful services of the year and my personal favorite is the Yom Kippur afternoon service that starts at 12:30pm. It lasts only an hour and tends to be much less crowded than the earlier service. We read the Book of Jonah, the Holiness Code (Lev. 19), and share unique grandeur of the Great Aleinu. Please consider joining me for this lovely element of holyday worship.

          I understand the sentiment. Many members come into the Temple building infrequently and participate only occasionally in ritual and Jewish education, even at home. Yet, we expect our children and grandchildren will inherit our love of Jewish culture simply because we feel it so strongly. Perhaps. But those who think that just because they feel that connection their children will feel it too are kidding themselves.

Children don’t learn from what you feel or even what you say. They learn from what you do. Love is made visible through action, not attitude or emotion.

          The culture that we treasure has grown out of the religion. Without religion at its core Jewish culture has no center.

If we care about sustaining Jewish culture, there need to be structures, learning and repetition. Chanukah candles in December a Seder at Pesach are good, but they are not enough to make your children and grandchildren feel connected to Judaism.

          The task for those who care about sustaining Jewish culture in the world could not be more clear. Reform Judaism allows each of us a certain breadth of interpretation as concerns religious practice, but the choices are not limitless. We all have the Shema. We all share in the teachings of the Torah, and the centuries of interpretation that have kept those teachings relevant in our lives.

Even if we prefer to meditate rather than repeat the words of prayer in Hebrew or English, we can still meditate in a Jewish way. In showing our children and grandchildren by our actions that the Jewish religion matters—lighting weekly Shabbat candles is the most effective simple gesture—we give them the precious gift of a Jewish pathway to creating meaning in their lives. The opposite is also true:

• If we never do anything to affirm our religious ties to Jewish history,
• If we quit the Temple as soon as the last child is Bar or Bat Mitzvah,
• If we see Judaism as fee-for-service that is only meaningful when it gives back measurable value in relation to other things we pay for,
• If we abandon the force of religion that has nurtured our people,

we make it likely that our children, or at least their children, will have no Jewish culture to which to turn.

          The High Holyday season is prime time for Jewish engagement. It’s not the only time. The little, ordinary things you do regularly have the most impact. Find ways to connect with Judaism throughout the year. Show the people you love how much it means to you. Help them to love Jewish culture too.