Almost everything is ready to take a few days off
Had a nice group last night for our first 'Torah Readers Club' Meeting. We got to study a little together and share a little too. There's something special, holy about reading Torah. Reading ancient words, grappling with God's message within those words is one level. But there is a special joy in mastering a section - of combining the words with the music and letting the community hear those words done properly! For some of us this comes easily, for some of us ... it's always a challenge; but all of us connect with our community and with God in chanting from our sacred literature.
I look forward to coming back from a short break refreshed.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Friday, October 22, 2010
Reviewing this week
It's been a long, good week.
Sunday I officiated at the wedding of a woman whose Bat Mitzvah I facilitated in 1998. It was a beautiful wedding outside of an old mansion in Arlington, VA. The day was gorgeous. The weather was perfect. The bride and groom were delightful and beautiful. Only the planes flying in and out of Reagen gave pause to the perfection. A joyful celebration of two young people in love - one of the great pleasures of being a rabbi!
In the evening I flew down to Florida to assist my sisters with arrangements to move my parents back to NY for supervising their care. My mother has deteriorated in recent weeks due to recently discovered cirrhosis. So on Monday we cleaned up around the apartment, went through the box in the bank vault, met with their lawyer, picked up lunch for everyone together and sold my mother's car. It's more than sad that after 30 years part-time and full time in Florida - my parents needs require them to be closer to my sisters. Whew! - what a 27 hours round trip for me.
Tuesday Night I finished a mini-series workshop in the Upper School: Leading Junior Congregation. The course covered a mix of learning: skills, words, affect and cognition of our Saturday Morning Abbreviated Service. I hope I helped those who are already leading and will soon be leading ... to be better able to continue the tradition and educational experience provided for so many years by Larry Froehlich (z"l).
Wednesday's highlight was the Regional Rabbinical Assembly meeting. Beside seeing two long standing colleagues who are new the area, we had a thoughtful session with Rabbi David Rose to prepare us to teach/preach this Shabbat about Domestic Abuse. It's important to teach about this every once in a while - because it does exist in the Jewish community and someone could very well be helped by just opening the door to the resources that exist to assist those in distress and need.
Last night, we our monthly meeting of our CE21 (Congregational Education in the 11st Century) Task Force. The centerpiece was text and reflection about the nature of and our tolerance for risk. Change always has risk and changing a 100 year old model of synagogue learning involves great challenges to communal norm and individual perceptions and needs. It was a serious and worthwhile sharing.
Shabbat Shalom.
Sunday I officiated at the wedding of a woman whose Bat Mitzvah I facilitated in 1998. It was a beautiful wedding outside of an old mansion in Arlington, VA. The day was gorgeous. The weather was perfect. The bride and groom were delightful and beautiful. Only the planes flying in and out of Reagen gave pause to the perfection. A joyful celebration of two young people in love - one of the great pleasures of being a rabbi!
In the evening I flew down to Florida to assist my sisters with arrangements to move my parents back to NY for supervising their care. My mother has deteriorated in recent weeks due to recently discovered cirrhosis. So on Monday we cleaned up around the apartment, went through the box in the bank vault, met with their lawyer, picked up lunch for everyone together and sold my mother's car. It's more than sad that after 30 years part-time and full time in Florida - my parents needs require them to be closer to my sisters. Whew! - what a 27 hours round trip for me.
Tuesday Night I finished a mini-series workshop in the Upper School: Leading Junior Congregation. The course covered a mix of learning: skills, words, affect and cognition of our Saturday Morning Abbreviated Service. I hope I helped those who are already leading and will soon be leading ... to be better able to continue the tradition and educational experience provided for so many years by Larry Froehlich (z"l).
Wednesday's highlight was the Regional Rabbinical Assembly meeting. Beside seeing two long standing colleagues who are new the area, we had a thoughtful session with Rabbi David Rose to prepare us to teach/preach this Shabbat about Domestic Abuse. It's important to teach about this every once in a while - because it does exist in the Jewish community and someone could very well be helped by just opening the door to the resources that exist to assist those in distress and need.
Last night, we our monthly meeting of our CE21 (Congregational Education in the 11st Century) Task Force. The centerpiece was text and reflection about the nature of and our tolerance for risk. Change always has risk and changing a 100 year old model of synagogue learning involves great challenges to communal norm and individual perceptions and needs. It was a serious and worthwhile sharing.
Shabbat Shalom.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Yizkor Sermon 5771
Yizkor 5771
The essence of Mitch Albom “Have a Little Faith” is his relationship and preparations with Rabbi Al Lewis to deliver his eulogy after his impending death, even though it took amazing eight years journey. The creation of a eulogy is one of the sacred acts that a rabbi or anyone can experience.
This is the 30th Year since I was ordained. I would guestimate that I’ve delivered 390 eulogies (133 in 14 years at KS). Each … was a moment of trying to understand the story of a loved ones life, to articulate its central ideals through the story and to provide an avenue of comfort which is found in the truth that a person’s goodness does not end when their physical being goes to the other dimension.
Over the years I’ve developed a routine to prepare a eulogy that seems to work for me. Hopefully I can meet with the family the day before the funeral. Most of the time the mourners have had a chance to reflect on the death of their loved one and are ready to share stories and laughs and tears. Before going to bed, I organize the stories and themes of the life – and leave an outline on my computer. Also before going to sleep, I search for a text from the tradition that articulates and connects with the goodness of the loved one’s life. Then, I sleep on it. I wake up normally an hour earlier than usual – 6 instead of 7 am (thank God I have a morning biorhythm). And it almost always flows.
If I’ve done my prep right then I am able to answer some essential questions:
What’s this person’s story?
How do their loved ones remember him or her?
What did the person love?
What do the living most cherish about their life?
What lives on from what everyone talked about?
There have been some really tough losses in our community this year and several people have shared after my sermon on the 1st Day RH – other tragic passings of friends and loved ones in recent months.
So before I turn back to Mitch Albom’s eulogy journey, I ask each of you: What’s your own eulogy about? What are we writing every day in our Book of Life as we live?
How do you want to be remembered?
I hope the words will not be spoken for many, many years but …
How do you think you will be remembered?
If you’re not sure you know the answer to any of these questions… then I have a strong suggestion for you. Right after Yom Kippur – compose an ethical will. I assume everyone has a legal will for your property, a power of attorney if you’re not able to address your business of life needs and a living will and health care proxy if you were incapacitated. (Everyone who has any responsibility for other people, must have these documents) If you don’t have these documents – please do it online or contact legal help soon. And if you can: please leave instructions about your funeral. I’ve spoken in workshops but never previously from the pulpit about an experience almost 25 years ago. Mike, a wonderful member of the Temple Israel choir, was dying of brain cancer. He was sometimes lucid and other times not. About two weeks before his death I visited him at his sick bed at home. I asked several questions but then I asked him about his funeral. He said: rabbi, I don’t want to be buried in the synagogue cemetery. I want to be buried in the little cemetery because it’s close to my home and I’ll be close to my wife and children. I can’t even begin to tell you how much this meant and continued to mean to his family… let your loved ones know what you might want … it will be a comfort to you and to them. But about leaving our spiritual legacy – consider seriously an ethical will.
What’s an ethical will? It’s a document or just a letter talking about who we are, what we really wanted out of life and what dreams we realized and those that did not come to fruition. It articulates the values that were central to our life quest and frames the hopes and regrets that are part of our lives. I recently updated my ethical will and it always gives me perspective on my journey professional and with my loved ones and trying to make sure what’s really important is where I put my time and energy.
I’ve heard of people who instead of leaving their ethical will on the computer or in the safe deposit box – read it to their family while their still alive. If we actually expressed our innermost thoughts and feelings – we might truly touch our loved ones and maybe open our closest relationships in new and significant ways.
In recent years I’ve been video recording my father and I need to start doing the same with my mother. There something precious about hearing a loved one’s stories in their own words. With our technology today – make the time and get the stories … to record and remember generations that will not be here forever.
Now writing your own ethical will is not easy. It means you have to accept the fact that we are all mortal – and it’s not something any of us like to think about. But it is being realistic about what it means to be a human being, especially to leave behind our spirit and our goodness. Composing an ethical will is also hard because it forces to think about our values, what is right in our lives and what is wrong. That’s hard to do especially in our culture that says – what ever you feel is OK. But conveying our sense of right and wrong – even if we weren’t always consistent is a responsibility and moral imperative of our tradition. So I urge you to write an ethical will, If you do, you will leave a gift to the future, to children and perhaps several generation more, who will thank you and bless you for it. //
Well, in case you’re wondering, Mitch Albom did do the eulogy. He spoke about the eight years that Rabbi Lewis and he had together. He spoke about having his faith rekindled by witnessing a man who practiced it quietly and purely every day of his life.
He never did find out, why the Rab, as he called him, asked him to do his eulogy. Especially because Albom always knew the Rabbi could do it better than the writer could. When he finished his beautiful remarks which are in the book Albom sat down, the Rab’s grandson walked up to the pulpit holding a cassette tape, and put it in the player and pressed the button.
And one last time a familiar voice rang out over the loudspeakers, and it said, “Hello my friends, this is the voice of your past rabbi speaking!” He made a tape and hadn’t told anyone. It was very short, maybe a minute, but in it he answered the two questions he said he had been asked the most in his life as a man of faith. One was, “Do you believe in God?” He said he did. The other was, “What happens when we die?” To this he said, “My friends, the good news is by the time you hear this, I’ll know. The bad news is, now that I know, I can’t even tell you. You’re going to have to figure it out for yourselves.”
Albom continued: I think what he was saying and what I’m trying to say to you, was simple. You have to have a little faith. It is what will get you through the darkness, the sad times, the craziness, the maddening turn of events. Have a little faith and one day we may indeed figure it out for ourselves.
By the way, he did open that file on God. Albom went back a few months after the Rab had passed, stood on a chair, took it down in his arms and held it. He paused for a moment because the author was flashing on that Indiana Jones movie where they open the arc and he didn’t want his face to melt off. He writes: I really wished that the rabbi was there with me. But when I opened that file, he was. He was, because in it, were hundreds of pages of quotations and stories and articles, and questions written in the Rab’s handwriting, all about God. And I realized that I was holding what he’d always been trying to teach me. That it is not about having the answer, as many of you want to have right now. It’s about the search for the answer. You cannot fit God in a file. If you could, there would be no reason to believe in Him. You could take Him off the shelf any time you needed Him, like coffee.
It’s the choosing to believe in that which you cannot fit in a file. It’s the choosing to believe in that which you cannot see or touch. It’s the choosing to believe that we are here for something other than just taking what we want and turning into worm food. It’s the choosing to believe that there is a divine spark in every single person in this room; that can be touched and used to bring people together. It’s the choosing to believe that makes the whole thing, the maddening, crazy, wonderful, but always ultimately satisfying journey of faith. Don’t walk away from it, like Albom did for many years. Embrace it.
In the beginning, there was a question for Mitch Albom. Will you do my eulogy? In the end, that question and all the others will get answered. I believe, like the Rabbi, God sings and we all hum along. And there are many, many melodies, and we are all witness to it, but its all one song. All one song, one same, wonderful, human song.
So, as we prepare to recite the Yizkor prayers, let us ponder our legacies, those that have been passed along to us and those we are writing today for our posterity. Let the wonderful acts of our forebears ennoble us to act with kindness, care, love and devotion to one another. And if the memories or legacies are not so inspiring, let us pledge to do better and to seed inspiring legacies ourselves, because we are committed to changing the world for the better, one step at a time. Let us find comfort in our sacred task of remembering those who are no longer next to us physically, but who remain in our hearts, and therefore continue in our Book of Life.
The essence of Mitch Albom “Have a Little Faith” is his relationship and preparations with Rabbi Al Lewis to deliver his eulogy after his impending death, even though it took amazing eight years journey. The creation of a eulogy is one of the sacred acts that a rabbi or anyone can experience.
This is the 30th Year since I was ordained. I would guestimate that I’ve delivered 390 eulogies (133 in 14 years at KS). Each … was a moment of trying to understand the story of a loved ones life, to articulate its central ideals through the story and to provide an avenue of comfort which is found in the truth that a person’s goodness does not end when their physical being goes to the other dimension.
Over the years I’ve developed a routine to prepare a eulogy that seems to work for me. Hopefully I can meet with the family the day before the funeral. Most of the time the mourners have had a chance to reflect on the death of their loved one and are ready to share stories and laughs and tears. Before going to bed, I organize the stories and themes of the life – and leave an outline on my computer. Also before going to sleep, I search for a text from the tradition that articulates and connects with the goodness of the loved one’s life. Then, I sleep on it. I wake up normally an hour earlier than usual – 6 instead of 7 am (thank God I have a morning biorhythm). And it almost always flows.
If I’ve done my prep right then I am able to answer some essential questions:
What’s this person’s story?
How do their loved ones remember him or her?
What did the person love?
What do the living most cherish about their life?
What lives on from what everyone talked about?
There have been some really tough losses in our community this year and several people have shared after my sermon on the 1st Day RH – other tragic passings of friends and loved ones in recent months.
So before I turn back to Mitch Albom’s eulogy journey, I ask each of you: What’s your own eulogy about? What are we writing every day in our Book of Life as we live?
How do you want to be remembered?
I hope the words will not be spoken for many, many years but …
How do you think you will be remembered?
If you’re not sure you know the answer to any of these questions… then I have a strong suggestion for you. Right after Yom Kippur – compose an ethical will. I assume everyone has a legal will for your property, a power of attorney if you’re not able to address your business of life needs and a living will and health care proxy if you were incapacitated. (Everyone who has any responsibility for other people, must have these documents) If you don’t have these documents – please do it online or contact legal help soon. And if you can: please leave instructions about your funeral. I’ve spoken in workshops but never previously from the pulpit about an experience almost 25 years ago. Mike, a wonderful member of the Temple Israel choir, was dying of brain cancer. He was sometimes lucid and other times not. About two weeks before his death I visited him at his sick bed at home. I asked several questions but then I asked him about his funeral. He said: rabbi, I don’t want to be buried in the synagogue cemetery. I want to be buried in the little cemetery because it’s close to my home and I’ll be close to my wife and children. I can’t even begin to tell you how much this meant and continued to mean to his family… let your loved ones know what you might want … it will be a comfort to you and to them. But about leaving our spiritual legacy – consider seriously an ethical will.
What’s an ethical will? It’s a document or just a letter talking about who we are, what we really wanted out of life and what dreams we realized and those that did not come to fruition. It articulates the values that were central to our life quest and frames the hopes and regrets that are part of our lives. I recently updated my ethical will and it always gives me perspective on my journey professional and with my loved ones and trying to make sure what’s really important is where I put my time and energy.
I’ve heard of people who instead of leaving their ethical will on the computer or in the safe deposit box – read it to their family while their still alive. If we actually expressed our innermost thoughts and feelings – we might truly touch our loved ones and maybe open our closest relationships in new and significant ways.
In recent years I’ve been video recording my father and I need to start doing the same with my mother. There something precious about hearing a loved one’s stories in their own words. With our technology today – make the time and get the stories … to record and remember generations that will not be here forever.
Now writing your own ethical will is not easy. It means you have to accept the fact that we are all mortal – and it’s not something any of us like to think about. But it is being realistic about what it means to be a human being, especially to leave behind our spirit and our goodness. Composing an ethical will is also hard because it forces to think about our values, what is right in our lives and what is wrong. That’s hard to do especially in our culture that says – what ever you feel is OK. But conveying our sense of right and wrong – even if we weren’t always consistent is a responsibility and moral imperative of our tradition. So I urge you to write an ethical will, If you do, you will leave a gift to the future, to children and perhaps several generation more, who will thank you and bless you for it. //
Well, in case you’re wondering, Mitch Albom did do the eulogy. He spoke about the eight years that Rabbi Lewis and he had together. He spoke about having his faith rekindled by witnessing a man who practiced it quietly and purely every day of his life.
He never did find out, why the Rab, as he called him, asked him to do his eulogy. Especially because Albom always knew the Rabbi could do it better than the writer could. When he finished his beautiful remarks which are in the book Albom sat down, the Rab’s grandson walked up to the pulpit holding a cassette tape, and put it in the player and pressed the button.
And one last time a familiar voice rang out over the loudspeakers, and it said, “Hello my friends, this is the voice of your past rabbi speaking!” He made a tape and hadn’t told anyone. It was very short, maybe a minute, but in it he answered the two questions he said he had been asked the most in his life as a man of faith. One was, “Do you believe in God?” He said he did. The other was, “What happens when we die?” To this he said, “My friends, the good news is by the time you hear this, I’ll know. The bad news is, now that I know, I can’t even tell you. You’re going to have to figure it out for yourselves.”
Albom continued: I think what he was saying and what I’m trying to say to you, was simple. You have to have a little faith. It is what will get you through the darkness, the sad times, the craziness, the maddening turn of events. Have a little faith and one day we may indeed figure it out for ourselves.
By the way, he did open that file on God. Albom went back a few months after the Rab had passed, stood on a chair, took it down in his arms and held it. He paused for a moment because the author was flashing on that Indiana Jones movie where they open the arc and he didn’t want his face to melt off. He writes: I really wished that the rabbi was there with me. But when I opened that file, he was. He was, because in it, were hundreds of pages of quotations and stories and articles, and questions written in the Rab’s handwriting, all about God. And I realized that I was holding what he’d always been trying to teach me. That it is not about having the answer, as many of you want to have right now. It’s about the search for the answer. You cannot fit God in a file. If you could, there would be no reason to believe in Him. You could take Him off the shelf any time you needed Him, like coffee.
It’s the choosing to believe in that which you cannot fit in a file. It’s the choosing to believe in that which you cannot see or touch. It’s the choosing to believe that we are here for something other than just taking what we want and turning into worm food. It’s the choosing to believe that there is a divine spark in every single person in this room; that can be touched and used to bring people together. It’s the choosing to believe that makes the whole thing, the maddening, crazy, wonderful, but always ultimately satisfying journey of faith. Don’t walk away from it, like Albom did for many years. Embrace it.
In the beginning, there was a question for Mitch Albom. Will you do my eulogy? In the end, that question and all the others will get answered. I believe, like the Rabbi, God sings and we all hum along. And there are many, many melodies, and we are all witness to it, but its all one song. All one song, one same, wonderful, human song.
So, as we prepare to recite the Yizkor prayers, let us ponder our legacies, those that have been passed along to us and those we are writing today for our posterity. Let the wonderful acts of our forebears ennoble us to act with kindness, care, love and devotion to one another. And if the memories or legacies are not so inspiring, let us pledge to do better and to seed inspiring legacies ourselves, because we are committed to changing the world for the better, one step at a time. Let us find comfort in our sacred task of remembering those who are no longer next to us physically, but who remain in our hearts, and therefore continue in our Book of Life.
Kol Nidre Sermon
KOL NIDRE 5771
The two main characters in Mitch Albom’s “Have a Little Faith” are Rabbi Al Lewis, who I’ll talk about tomorrow and the Reverend Henry Covington, Senior Pastor of Pilgrim Church/I am My Brother's Keeper Ministries. Over many years Albom has become a supporter of the Church. The pastor and the writer talked week after week, visit after visit, as Albom came to know and trust him, and share the ministry's needs with readers who flooded in to help. Covington, meanwhile, says he kept the Jewish writer in his prayers, trusting God will do what He wills when God chooses.
Meanwhile, they focused on their biblical common ground and the relentless challenges before the faithful. In the book, Covington tells Albom, "What I do here, every day, for the rest of my life, is only my way of saying, 'Lord, regardless of what eternity holds for me, let me give something back to you. I know it don't even no scorecard. But let me make something of my life before I go.' "
And he befriended one particular homeless guy, a crack addict, named Cass, who was in an apartment, and Covington said to him, “You know, I can help you out if you need to, I can give you a job, you can help me unload the food trucks.” And Cass said, “Sure, I can do that.”
Unfortunately, Cass had a unique distribution system. It was one for the church, two for Cass. And he would take these things and sell them off and buy drugs. Henry could have said, “Be gone with you.” But he didn’t trap a man in his past, because he had been there himself. And so he waited, and waited. And one night someone broke into Cass’s apartment where he’d been squatting, stole the pipes for the copper, burst the water main and Cass woke up face down in water floating out of the apartment. He came to Henry the next morning and said, “Pastor, I can’t work for you today, because these are the only clothes I own and they are all soaked.”
Henry gave him new clothes. For the first time in three years the man had clean underwear. Then he said, “Cass, where will you live?” Cass said, “I ain’t got no place to live.” Henry thought for a moment and he said, “Why don’t you live with me?” and that night he moved this virtual stranger into his home, his tiny home, and the one available couch that they had, while Henry, his wife and his three children lived upstairs. Not for a night, not for a week, but for a year. An entire year. Until Cass was able to straighten his life out. And today, many years later, Cass is not only clean and sober, but he is an elder of the church.
And he is married, has a daughter. She was born prematurely, weighing only a couple of pounds. The doctors said she probably wouldn’t make it – but her parents prayed and she pulled though and now she is a ball of energy with a grin that could lure the cookies out of the jar. She’s at the church almost every night. She skips between the tables of the homeless and lets them rub her head playfully. Her father is one-legged man named Cass and her mother is a former addict named Marlene. They were married in the I Am My Brother’s Keeper church; Pastor Covington officiated. Her name, fittingly, is ‘Miracle.’ The human spirit is a thing to behold. All because of the kindness of one man, who refused to trap a man in his past. And showed he had faith in mankind.
Not only do we live with change, not only must we change, but positive change is possible.
Miraculous changes do happen. When I was ordained almost 30 years ago, it seemed like every bright sensitive young Jews was going to Nepal and becoming a JewBu. Today Hollywood celebrities are studying Kabbalah. Who could have foreseen a generation ago that Chabad Houses would be almost as commonplace around the world as Starbucks.
A year ago at this service I spoke at length about our experiment CE21 – Congregational Education in the 21st Century. After months of groundwork, the highlight of our efforts last year was the 8 conversations we had with groups of about 10 members in each. I think we spoke with a good sampling of our congregation. One of the most powerful things that we learned in our CE21 conversations was – the community who some of us thought we are … is not the community everyone enjoys. As is often the case, our greatest strengths are our greatest weaknesses. We are a warm and friendly community, but sometimes only to our core members. It’s often hard to break into the circle of friendships and relationships. In many ways we’re pretty good with families with kids – and sadly but not a surprise: not so great with empty nesters, even less engaging with singles in their 20s and 30s.
It’s caused me to really look in the mirror: Are we really there for our members? Do we really provide the opportunities for people to experience the richness of Jewish life on their own terms? ///
So: Where is CE21 going? In the coming year we will be working to design new models of learning for every age and background in our community. We know we need a new model to engage everyone from our youngest child to our oldest senior, from the person who attended Camp Ramah or Day School to someone who never even attended Sunday School.
I don’t know exactly what the model will be, but I hope to be a participant in a new way to learn that’s more like Jewish camp and less sitting at a table or desk. We do need to sometimes sit and master skills and information – but it is so much easier to understand and enjoy when we learn in a life experience and even better in an immersion experience. In so many conversations we heard about peak spiritual moments that were part of organic Jewish living: simchas, youth groups, family gathering – and never heard about a spiritual high in a frontal classroom setting.
From our conversations we’ve developed what I hope will be some attractive opportunities to grow Jewishly, most through experience, what we’ve called at CE21 “low hanging fruit.”
First, in the RS (we’ve developed with several other synagogues and received grant money from Federation) for Tiyyulim – literally trips. After Bnai Mitzvah some of our teens remain active in youth groups but don’t commit to come every Tuesday night for Upper School. Once a month Tiyyulim provides the opportunity for a teenager to be with other teens, to go to a location of Jewish interest and experience, to have a good time and learn a little. Our Upper School students are automatically enrolled in this program. If you have or know a teen who’s not experiencing Jewish life and community – give Mindy Silverstein a call.
2) Melton – one of the great Jewish learning experiences for adults in recent years is the Florence Melton Adult Mini-School program. Their slogan: give us two hours a week and we’ll give you 3,000 years. In conjunction with Congregation Or Chadash 10 minutes from here just off of 27 near Damascus, we’re offering a Taste of Melton: 15 sessions twice a month on Monday night instead of the full course. It is a challenging and inspiring and user-friendly course to build a strong foundation of Jewish learning to your daily life. There are flyers and booklets with more info
HANDS – interest?
3) I’ve thought for many years about a way to both train torah readers but also express our appreciation to the many people who read Torah in the sanctuary or in Junior Congregation. Next month there will be a first meeting of our Torah Readers Club. We’ll meet a few times a year to discuss aspects of reading in our sacred scroll, also find ways of sharing our love of reciting God’s words and finally celebrate during the year the joys of participating in sacred service through reading in the Torah.
We have an amazing, authentic, traditional Conservative worship here on Shabbat. One of the most important things we knew, but also heard over and over in our conversations is that the Saturday Morning service is too long and inaccessible. And there is simply not enough time in the year to come to a class that would help someone with the learning curve. And Jr. Congregation & Tot Shabbat are not for everyone. So: I’m putting on the table two new worship models.
a) What we’re calling for now a Satellite Service. I have four families who have volunteered their homes in the Up-County area for a one-hour long service from 10:30-11:30 AM every other month for people of all ages. The service will be the essentials of the Saturday morning liturgy, learning a little about the service and instead of a Torah reading: a dramatic/role-playing/ or reflective experience about the weekly portion. Of course, there will be refreshments after the service and a chance to meet and get to know others who want this spiritual experience.
INTEREST? Hands?
Last: similar but different location. One of the questions we’ve been asking ourselves: Is this building and this location itself an impediment to exciting, vital spiritual community? I’m also offering a few times during the year an Alternative Torah Service and prayers in the Social Hall during the Main Service. It will run from 10:30-11:15 doing the minimal requirements of the Morning Service and utilizing for adults biblio-drama, Storatelling and drama like Sidrah Scenes to reflect and learn from the Parshat Hashavua. After the service you can join back for the sermon and Musaf in the Main Sanctuary or have a light snack and enjoy Shabbat in your own way.
INTEREST? HANDS?
The most important thing about all of these experiments is that they are intentional about building relationships, about building community. And to do it right, we also need to empower and train others to lead these kind of learning and living experiences. What makes a faith community unique is the quest for sacred relationship with God which is most frequently found in the caring relationship we have with our friends in the synagogue fraternity. Without that sense of belonging, a sense of hevrah, we’re just consumers buying a service, a class, a celebration. And while that’s all some people want, most of us, I truly believe, want experiences that are significant and holy. Those moments Jewishly are almost always found as individual who is immersed in a community that feels like a family. ///
Shifting from the communal journey to the personal quest…
I conclude with a story about the journey to the sacred. Rabbi Brad Artson shares a moving story about his own ‘recalculating’ experience. When he was a student at the Jewish Theological Seminary he envied the many students whose fathers or grandfathers were rabbis and scholars. He did not come from a family of Jewish scholars and he determined that when he had children he would learn with them so that they would carry with them a legacy he never had. He and his wife were blessed with twins. His daughter, who has grown into a kind and compassionate young woman, was never interested in the intellectual pursuits of her father. And his son was diagnosed with autism. Rabbi Artson poignantly tells how he inferred from his children that God had given a thumbs down to his desire to create a hevruta, a study partnership, with his children. He grieved over that. But when his son became a bar mitzvah he asked his father to study Torah with him in preparation for the day. Rabbi Artson began to study with his son and they have continued to study the parasha every week. Rabbi Artson concludes that what he perceived as God’s dismissal of his dream was only due to his preconceived notion of what the fulfillment of that dream would look like. He had to “recalculate” what it meant for his dream to be actualized.
What I find so valuable in Rabbi Artson’s story is first that he comes to recognize that his blessings are right in front of his nose. So many of us consider our lives to be only partially fulfilled because our dreams go unsatisfied, but often they are not unsatisfied, it is simply that we repel what is staring us in the face because it does not fit our preconceived notion of what we thought the fulfillment of the dream would look like.
A second lesson that I draw from Rabbi Artson is that he did not despair when he thought his dream would not be achieved. For he continued to teach, and to learn Torah and he is recognized today as one of the premier teachers of Torah to American Jewry. Until his “Aha” moment when he realized that his dream had actually been achieved, he never stopped pursuing his commitment to spreading Torah to a contemporary audience. His personal disappointment did not undermine his belief in his ultimate ideals and values.
This kept him centered and whole. For most of us, our emotional pain comes from the gap between what we think we should be and who we truly are. We hold an image of ourselves that is imposed upon us by our parents, our society, by our status, by our dreams. But we live over here. Instead of appreciating who we are and what our uniqueness is, we are constantly striving to live the image of ourselves. And the gap between who we are and who we think we should be is the source of much of our pain and deters us from truly appreciating the blessings that constitute our lives.
I hope you will take advantage of the synagogue this year. Don’t be surprised if you receive a call from someone requesting your participation in something we thing you’d enjoy. And also don’t be afraid to call me, a member of the staff, Carrier Ettinger, Karen Klemow, or any other member of the Board or School Board with a way to connect to God and to old or new friends. Miracles do happen – because we are God’s hands in this word to heal the world and to find joy and inspiration in our daily lives.
The two main characters in Mitch Albom’s “Have a Little Faith” are Rabbi Al Lewis, who I’ll talk about tomorrow and the Reverend Henry Covington, Senior Pastor of Pilgrim Church/I am My Brother's Keeper Ministries. Over many years Albom has become a supporter of the Church. The pastor and the writer talked week after week, visit after visit, as Albom came to know and trust him, and share the ministry's needs with readers who flooded in to help. Covington, meanwhile, says he kept the Jewish writer in his prayers, trusting God will do what He wills when God chooses.
Meanwhile, they focused on their biblical common ground and the relentless challenges before the faithful. In the book, Covington tells Albom, "What I do here, every day, for the rest of my life, is only my way of saying, 'Lord, regardless of what eternity holds for me, let me give something back to you. I know it don't even no scorecard. But let me make something of my life before I go.' "
And he befriended one particular homeless guy, a crack addict, named Cass, who was in an apartment, and Covington said to him, “You know, I can help you out if you need to, I can give you a job, you can help me unload the food trucks.” And Cass said, “Sure, I can do that.”
Unfortunately, Cass had a unique distribution system. It was one for the church, two for Cass. And he would take these things and sell them off and buy drugs. Henry could have said, “Be gone with you.” But he didn’t trap a man in his past, because he had been there himself. And so he waited, and waited. And one night someone broke into Cass’s apartment where he’d been squatting, stole the pipes for the copper, burst the water main and Cass woke up face down in water floating out of the apartment. He came to Henry the next morning and said, “Pastor, I can’t work for you today, because these are the only clothes I own and they are all soaked.”
Henry gave him new clothes. For the first time in three years the man had clean underwear. Then he said, “Cass, where will you live?” Cass said, “I ain’t got no place to live.” Henry thought for a moment and he said, “Why don’t you live with me?” and that night he moved this virtual stranger into his home, his tiny home, and the one available couch that they had, while Henry, his wife and his three children lived upstairs. Not for a night, not for a week, but for a year. An entire year. Until Cass was able to straighten his life out. And today, many years later, Cass is not only clean and sober, but he is an elder of the church.
And he is married, has a daughter. She was born prematurely, weighing only a couple of pounds. The doctors said she probably wouldn’t make it – but her parents prayed and she pulled though and now she is a ball of energy with a grin that could lure the cookies out of the jar. She’s at the church almost every night. She skips between the tables of the homeless and lets them rub her head playfully. Her father is one-legged man named Cass and her mother is a former addict named Marlene. They were married in the I Am My Brother’s Keeper church; Pastor Covington officiated. Her name, fittingly, is ‘Miracle.’ The human spirit is a thing to behold. All because of the kindness of one man, who refused to trap a man in his past. And showed he had faith in mankind.
Not only do we live with change, not only must we change, but positive change is possible.
Miraculous changes do happen. When I was ordained almost 30 years ago, it seemed like every bright sensitive young Jews was going to Nepal and becoming a JewBu. Today Hollywood celebrities are studying Kabbalah. Who could have foreseen a generation ago that Chabad Houses would be almost as commonplace around the world as Starbucks.
A year ago at this service I spoke at length about our experiment CE21 – Congregational Education in the 21st Century. After months of groundwork, the highlight of our efforts last year was the 8 conversations we had with groups of about 10 members in each. I think we spoke with a good sampling of our congregation. One of the most powerful things that we learned in our CE21 conversations was – the community who some of us thought we are … is not the community everyone enjoys. As is often the case, our greatest strengths are our greatest weaknesses. We are a warm and friendly community, but sometimes only to our core members. It’s often hard to break into the circle of friendships and relationships. In many ways we’re pretty good with families with kids – and sadly but not a surprise: not so great with empty nesters, even less engaging with singles in their 20s and 30s.
It’s caused me to really look in the mirror: Are we really there for our members? Do we really provide the opportunities for people to experience the richness of Jewish life on their own terms? ///
So: Where is CE21 going? In the coming year we will be working to design new models of learning for every age and background in our community. We know we need a new model to engage everyone from our youngest child to our oldest senior, from the person who attended Camp Ramah or Day School to someone who never even attended Sunday School.
I don’t know exactly what the model will be, but I hope to be a participant in a new way to learn that’s more like Jewish camp and less sitting at a table or desk. We do need to sometimes sit and master skills and information – but it is so much easier to understand and enjoy when we learn in a life experience and even better in an immersion experience. In so many conversations we heard about peak spiritual moments that were part of organic Jewish living: simchas, youth groups, family gathering – and never heard about a spiritual high in a frontal classroom setting.
From our conversations we’ve developed what I hope will be some attractive opportunities to grow Jewishly, most through experience, what we’ve called at CE21 “low hanging fruit.”
First, in the RS (we’ve developed with several other synagogues and received grant money from Federation) for Tiyyulim – literally trips. After Bnai Mitzvah some of our teens remain active in youth groups but don’t commit to come every Tuesday night for Upper School. Once a month Tiyyulim provides the opportunity for a teenager to be with other teens, to go to a location of Jewish interest and experience, to have a good time and learn a little. Our Upper School students are automatically enrolled in this program. If you have or know a teen who’s not experiencing Jewish life and community – give Mindy Silverstein a call.
2) Melton – one of the great Jewish learning experiences for adults in recent years is the Florence Melton Adult Mini-School program. Their slogan: give us two hours a week and we’ll give you 3,000 years. In conjunction with Congregation Or Chadash 10 minutes from here just off of 27 near Damascus, we’re offering a Taste of Melton: 15 sessions twice a month on Monday night instead of the full course. It is a challenging and inspiring and user-friendly course to build a strong foundation of Jewish learning to your daily life. There are flyers and booklets with more info
HANDS – interest?
3) I’ve thought for many years about a way to both train torah readers but also express our appreciation to the many people who read Torah in the sanctuary or in Junior Congregation. Next month there will be a first meeting of our Torah Readers Club. We’ll meet a few times a year to discuss aspects of reading in our sacred scroll, also find ways of sharing our love of reciting God’s words and finally celebrate during the year the joys of participating in sacred service through reading in the Torah.
We have an amazing, authentic, traditional Conservative worship here on Shabbat. One of the most important things we knew, but also heard over and over in our conversations is that the Saturday Morning service is too long and inaccessible. And there is simply not enough time in the year to come to a class that would help someone with the learning curve. And Jr. Congregation & Tot Shabbat are not for everyone. So: I’m putting on the table two new worship models.
a) What we’re calling for now a Satellite Service. I have four families who have volunteered their homes in the Up-County area for a one-hour long service from 10:30-11:30 AM every other month for people of all ages. The service will be the essentials of the Saturday morning liturgy, learning a little about the service and instead of a Torah reading: a dramatic/role-playing/ or reflective experience about the weekly portion. Of course, there will be refreshments after the service and a chance to meet and get to know others who want this spiritual experience.
INTEREST? Hands?
Last: similar but different location. One of the questions we’ve been asking ourselves: Is this building and this location itself an impediment to exciting, vital spiritual community? I’m also offering a few times during the year an Alternative Torah Service and prayers in the Social Hall during the Main Service. It will run from 10:30-11:15 doing the minimal requirements of the Morning Service and utilizing for adults biblio-drama, Storatelling and drama like Sidrah Scenes to reflect and learn from the Parshat Hashavua. After the service you can join back for the sermon and Musaf in the Main Sanctuary or have a light snack and enjoy Shabbat in your own way.
INTEREST? HANDS?
The most important thing about all of these experiments is that they are intentional about building relationships, about building community. And to do it right, we also need to empower and train others to lead these kind of learning and living experiences. What makes a faith community unique is the quest for sacred relationship with God which is most frequently found in the caring relationship we have with our friends in the synagogue fraternity. Without that sense of belonging, a sense of hevrah, we’re just consumers buying a service, a class, a celebration. And while that’s all some people want, most of us, I truly believe, want experiences that are significant and holy. Those moments Jewishly are almost always found as individual who is immersed in a community that feels like a family. ///
Shifting from the communal journey to the personal quest…
I conclude with a story about the journey to the sacred. Rabbi Brad Artson shares a moving story about his own ‘recalculating’ experience. When he was a student at the Jewish Theological Seminary he envied the many students whose fathers or grandfathers were rabbis and scholars. He did not come from a family of Jewish scholars and he determined that when he had children he would learn with them so that they would carry with them a legacy he never had. He and his wife were blessed with twins. His daughter, who has grown into a kind and compassionate young woman, was never interested in the intellectual pursuits of her father. And his son was diagnosed with autism. Rabbi Artson poignantly tells how he inferred from his children that God had given a thumbs down to his desire to create a hevruta, a study partnership, with his children. He grieved over that. But when his son became a bar mitzvah he asked his father to study Torah with him in preparation for the day. Rabbi Artson began to study with his son and they have continued to study the parasha every week. Rabbi Artson concludes that what he perceived as God’s dismissal of his dream was only due to his preconceived notion of what the fulfillment of that dream would look like. He had to “recalculate” what it meant for his dream to be actualized.
What I find so valuable in Rabbi Artson’s story is first that he comes to recognize that his blessings are right in front of his nose. So many of us consider our lives to be only partially fulfilled because our dreams go unsatisfied, but often they are not unsatisfied, it is simply that we repel what is staring us in the face because it does not fit our preconceived notion of what we thought the fulfillment of the dream would look like.
A second lesson that I draw from Rabbi Artson is that he did not despair when he thought his dream would not be achieved. For he continued to teach, and to learn Torah and he is recognized today as one of the premier teachers of Torah to American Jewry. Until his “Aha” moment when he realized that his dream had actually been achieved, he never stopped pursuing his commitment to spreading Torah to a contemporary audience. His personal disappointment did not undermine his belief in his ultimate ideals and values.
This kept him centered and whole. For most of us, our emotional pain comes from the gap between what we think we should be and who we truly are. We hold an image of ourselves that is imposed upon us by our parents, our society, by our status, by our dreams. But we live over here. Instead of appreciating who we are and what our uniqueness is, we are constantly striving to live the image of ourselves. And the gap between who we are and who we think we should be is the source of much of our pain and deters us from truly appreciating the blessings that constitute our lives.
I hope you will take advantage of the synagogue this year. Don’t be surprised if you receive a call from someone requesting your participation in something we thing you’d enjoy. And also don’t be afraid to call me, a member of the staff, Carrier Ettinger, Karen Klemow, or any other member of the Board or School Board with a way to connect to God and to old or new friends. Miracles do happen – because we are God’s hands in this word to heal the world and to find joy and inspiration in our daily lives.
High Holidays Sermons 2
ROSH HASHANAH 2ND DAY 5771
Continuing to build on yesterday from “Have A Little Faith” by Mitch Albom. He writes: I want to share with you a story about another person, who grew up the same time as he did. His name was Henry Covington. An African-American child, one of seven, born to a man who worked as a hustler and a woman who worked as a maid. When he was five years old, his mother was taken away to prison after trying to shoot his father. His family was so poor that at night they would put huge pots of rice on the counter in the kitchen, so that the rats would jump into the pots of rice and not come into their bedrooms.
The young Henry was thrown out of school when he was 12 years old for fighting. When he was 13 his father died. He became a petty thief at 14, a bigger one at 15. By the time he was 19 years old he had so many enemies that one of them fingered him in the killing of a cop. And even though he was nowhere near the scene, he was advised to plead guilty to manslaughter, lest he be found guilty for murder. And he was sent away for seven years to a federal penitentiary for a crime he did not commit. He swore that the world would owe him when he got out.
He didn’t think of all the crimes he hadn’t been punished for. When he got out, he made good on that promise and he got into the drug trade, and he did very well for a period of time. He sold drugs and at one point, he earned a half a million dollars a year. And then Henry Covington made a nearly fatal error, he tried some of his own product. Pretty soon he was as desperate and strung out as all the junkies he’d been selling to. And a few years later, he had just passed his 30th birthday, alone, without any money, desperate, he robbed his own drug dealers, which is never a good idea.
And he banged waved the gun in their faces and said, “You know what this is.” And they almost laughed at him. They gave him some drugs and he took off. He went home, he got high and in the middle of all that he realized, “uh oh, they know where I live.” And he ran out front of his apartment and he lay on the ground and he held a shotgun and he put a bunch of trash cans in front of him, and there on the ground, waiting for a car to come around the corner to murder him. Sure that the next set of headlights would contain his killer and that would be the end, he did what many people do in moments like that. “God? Get me out of this. If you save me tonight, you can have me in the morning. Help me, Lord. Spare me Lord. Save me, Lord.”
And Henry detoxxed himself. And he became a minister serving the lowest of the low – the poor, the mentally ill and the drug addicts. Under Covington's ministry, nine people live at the church year round, nearly 50 sleep on donated mattresses in the gym, and when there are meals during the week, 100 people will show up for dinner. Typical Sunday worship draws 60 to 100 people — neighbors, volunteers and some folks who, minutes before, were wandering the boulevard conversing with unseen voices. He just gives food, clothing and shelter with no judgment. He just gives life with no strings attached.
When people tell him that he’s good, my response is “I’m trying.” But there’s some people who know him from back when – anytime he makes that trip to NY – and when they hear he’s the pastor of a church, all of a sudden, it’s like “I know you getting’ paid boy. I know you getting paid. I know you. “
No he says, You knew me, You knew that person, but you don’t know the person that I’m trying to become.
That’s the theme of this sermon and this sacred season: You are not your past! Change is possible: in our nation, in our synagogues and in our own lives.
Nearly two millennia ago the Temple of Jerusalem was destroyed. I’m sure many people thought that would be the end of Judaism. But Judaism changed. Sacrifices were replaced with prayer. The Temple itself was replaced with rituals at home. And more than rituals - acts of lovingkindness are our pathway to forgiveness and healing.
I believe: We live in a time of change. We feel the need in our country, in our faiths and in our personal lives. I was reading a recent article in the NY Times about the changes in life for those in their 20s and earlier 30s. A professor at my alma mater, Clark University, Jeffrey Jensen Arnett, believes there’s a new reality: emerging adolescence. With extended life expectance, the possibility of later in life pregnancy, the on-going quest for career and meaning – people are not only marrying later, but taking their time figuring out what they want to do. There’s no rush to find it either. The old expectations that you would marry in your 20s, have your career locked down, start a family in your mid-20s and settle down – are not normative in mainstream American middle and upper class families. A century ago scholars debated whether adolescence was a stage of development – clearly in most cultures it is. And: There’s an interesting debate in the sociological community as to whether this “emerging adulthood” is a new state of development or just a blip in our culture. Either way: we’re not yet prepared to meet the social and spiritual needs of this part of our American community. Change is part of life and culture and part of being alive is adjusting and addressing those changes.
I know we’re looking for changes in our national life. We want the essential services our governments offer us: education, infrastructure, security … but there’s so much inefficiency – is it really worth the cost? We’re angry at the inability of our systems to protect the poor, to prevent greed from destroying charities and lives, and to empower those who want to succeed in making a life for their families have a chance to achieve their dreams.
I really am concerned. I’m not sure my parents were happier, but my parents (may they have a healthy year) were more affluent that I am: it was clear from their income, their homes, their cars and their vacations. Unless things change: I foresee that my son will have a life-style less comfortable than the one that I enjoy. The things we possess are not all that important – but the dream that our children will be better off than we are … was true for my great-parents and grandparents – what has to change for this value to continue? I don’t know the answer to this question, but I feel a moral imperative to part of finding the answer.
100 years ago prognosticators and newspapers were predicting the end of Reform Judaism. And before WWII social commentators were certain of the demise of Orthodox Judaism in this country. But even movements change: new ideas, new dynamic leaders, touching people lives with significance and sanctity. The same is true today for Conservative Judaism – we are on the cusp of major transformation as a movement and within our synagogue communities.
I want to reflect on the nature of those changes.
(At KN – I’ll be talking about some directions for change)
If we could travel back forty years, we would find a different congregation at its founding than we have today. At that time people were moving out of DC and from down-county; almost everyone had rich memories their immigrant parents or grandparents. Then, our members felt a strong sense of nostalgia. They loved the smell of brisket and gefilte fish and they had heard Yiddish actually spoken. Reform Judaism did not appeal to them because it was so...Reform. On the other hand, our members knew full well they weren't Orthodox. They wanted to sit together as a family on Shabbat and were more likely to attend services late Friday night than Shabbat morning. They wanted a synagogue that felt traditional but wasn’t too religious. There was a gap between who they were and how they perceived themselves, but that didn’t matter because that was how most Jews saw themselves.
Fast forward today. The nostalgia that inspired membership in Conservative congregations is all but gone. McDonalds has replaced brisket as the food of choice. People don’t join congregations because it reminds them of their Bubbe & Zaide. Young families have a whole variety of conflicting priorities. Synagogue membership and religious school are at not at the top of the list. Truth be told, if all you're concerned about is having a "Bar Mitzvah," then there are alternatives to the traditional path of religious school: you can hire a tutor or find a one day a week alternative which promises you a Bar/Bat Mitzvah even if the Bar Mitzvah date is in a few months. Chabad & JEWEL understands this - and they've jumped on this reality. KS created its religious school from the perspective that Bar/Bat Mitzvah is a privilege and not a right, accorded to the child who has attained a modicum of knowledge and Jewish skills. The alternative schools dangle the prize with minimal expectations – we’ll make it convenient, we won’t charge you very much, you’ll learn the little bit we can give in two hours… this fits well with where most families are coming from today.
A member of our congregation shared with me a story that sums up one of our dilemmas. She met a young family that had just moved into town. When she asked if they had considered enrolling their children in our religious school, the young mother responded: "No, we're sending them to Chabad - that's good enough for our kids." When, in all your life, did you hear a Jewish parent settle for "good enough" for their children? We want our children to really learn and to grow strong not only academically, but morally and spiritually. Learning how to read Hebrew, knowing something about Jewish history & developing a love of Israel are unimportant in such a 1-day program. I can speak about it but we share a responsibility to promote high quality Jewish learning for our children and for ourselves.
Having said that, I haven’t yet addressed the question of how we should do in the face of these challenges. What do we have to offer? We are standing, I would suggest, at the crossroads. The choices we make in the next year or two will determine the future of our congregation. We can follow the path of the alternative Sunday schools and provide a loving environment; but only a minimal, convenient education … or we can challenge people to find the best in themselves, to see Judaism as a life choice, and not just an opportunity for a party.
I want to tell you a secret: nobody ever joined a synagogue because they love contributing money. That's not what brings or keeps people here. If all we're doing is engaging in acts of self-preservation, then we've lost our way and it's time to shut the door. KS needs to have a vision of Jewish life that it wishes to share with others. That’s what CE21 has been working on and what our strategic planning initiative has been grappling with. Every program that takes place inside and outside this building - even fund raising - must be about that vision. And it cannot just be about this building - it must be about helping people get the most out of living a Jewish life.
Why are we here?
To teach Torah.
To inspire people through prayer and our religious traditions.
To help people find the sacred dimension in their lives.
To be a member of a religious community – questing for that holiness in life.
To find comfort and solace in times of loss and to share joys in happy times.
To engaged in acts of Tikkun Olam, tzedakah and hesed (loving kindness) with our fellow Jews.
If you don’t know: our board is struggling to make ends meet. It takes as much money to run a 350 family congregation as it takes to run a 275 family congregation. And this has been our challenge. But we should not lose sight of why we are here or what it means to be Jewish.
So what happens then when we fall short? We must make changes and down size or we need to turn to all of you to play a more active role in the life of our congregation; not talking about money, about doing. And maybe that's a good thing - a synagogue should not be about living vicariously through the clergy.
Synagogue life is not a football game where thousands of people watch a bunch of husky guys in tights play the game. This is a participatory experience. It has no meaning without personal and regular engagement. We need to empower our members and challenge oursevles to participate in the joys of Jewish living. I need to engage you more – to enable you find your spiritual niche in our community. You need to stop listening to the rabbi and cantor and waiting for the baal korei to read the Torah. We shouldn’t presume that the minyan will be there for us if we never attend. And we shouldn’t think that if we have a strong congregation, it doesn’t matter what we do in our personal lives. Jewish life needs actively engaged Jews and not bigger buildings or more programs.
It's not too late for KS. We are an extraordinary congregation, with passionate and caring members, a strong core from which to build Jewish life, and a vision of what Jewish community should be. We need to refocus from worrying only about dollars and start worrying even more about deeds. We need to stop encouraging passive Judaism and encourage people to step up to the plate and be part of the community. The issue is not whether we have a budget (we will have one) but whether we are a community. We need to ReJEWvenate ourselves! It’s a time of change – we need to rejuvenate…
There is a great joke that you might have heard that purports to be the actual radio conversation (released by the Chief of Naval Operations no less) of a US naval ship with Canadian authorities off the coast of Newfoundland in October 1995.
CANADIANS: "Please divert your course 15 degrees to the south to avoid a collision." AMERICANS: "Recommend YOU divert your course 15 degrees to the north to avoid a collision."
CANADIANS: "Negative. You will have to divert your course 15 degrees to the south to avoid a collision." AMERICANS: "This is the captain of a US Navy ship. I say again, divert YOUR course."
CANADIANS: "No, I say again, you divert your course"
AMERICANS: "This is the Aircraft Carrier USS LINCOLN, the second largest ship in the United States Atlantic Fleet. We are accompanied with three Destroyers, three Cruisers and numerous support vessels. I DEMAND that you change your course 15 degrees north. I say again, that's one-five degrees north, or counter-measures will be undertaken to ensure the safety of this ship"
CANADIANS: "This is a LIGHTHOUSE. Your call"
Change is forced upon us. But we can direct that change – we have real choices. That’s what these Days of Awe are really about. And while I must talk about Jewish life, the liturgy is much more about our personal lives. We must change and we can change to make our interpersonal relations richer, healthier and happier. We are present here to reflect on the one or two things that need transformation and can be improved. With our spouses, with our children, with our families: we know we need to change, not them, because that is not in our power, but only ourselves – for that’s the only thing over which we have some control. May God give us the wisdom, the strength and the courage to do the real avodah – the real sacred work of these days: to make the concrete plan to make a few small changes for a year of life. Amen
Continuing to build on yesterday from “Have A Little Faith” by Mitch Albom. He writes: I want to share with you a story about another person, who grew up the same time as he did. His name was Henry Covington. An African-American child, one of seven, born to a man who worked as a hustler and a woman who worked as a maid. When he was five years old, his mother was taken away to prison after trying to shoot his father. His family was so poor that at night they would put huge pots of rice on the counter in the kitchen, so that the rats would jump into the pots of rice and not come into their bedrooms.
The young Henry was thrown out of school when he was 12 years old for fighting. When he was 13 his father died. He became a petty thief at 14, a bigger one at 15. By the time he was 19 years old he had so many enemies that one of them fingered him in the killing of a cop. And even though he was nowhere near the scene, he was advised to plead guilty to manslaughter, lest he be found guilty for murder. And he was sent away for seven years to a federal penitentiary for a crime he did not commit. He swore that the world would owe him when he got out.
He didn’t think of all the crimes he hadn’t been punished for. When he got out, he made good on that promise and he got into the drug trade, and he did very well for a period of time. He sold drugs and at one point, he earned a half a million dollars a year. And then Henry Covington made a nearly fatal error, he tried some of his own product. Pretty soon he was as desperate and strung out as all the junkies he’d been selling to. And a few years later, he had just passed his 30th birthday, alone, without any money, desperate, he robbed his own drug dealers, which is never a good idea.
And he banged waved the gun in their faces and said, “You know what this is.” And they almost laughed at him. They gave him some drugs and he took off. He went home, he got high and in the middle of all that he realized, “uh oh, they know where I live.” And he ran out front of his apartment and he lay on the ground and he held a shotgun and he put a bunch of trash cans in front of him, and there on the ground, waiting for a car to come around the corner to murder him. Sure that the next set of headlights would contain his killer and that would be the end, he did what many people do in moments like that. “God? Get me out of this. If you save me tonight, you can have me in the morning. Help me, Lord. Spare me Lord. Save me, Lord.”
And Henry detoxxed himself. And he became a minister serving the lowest of the low – the poor, the mentally ill and the drug addicts. Under Covington's ministry, nine people live at the church year round, nearly 50 sleep on donated mattresses in the gym, and when there are meals during the week, 100 people will show up for dinner. Typical Sunday worship draws 60 to 100 people — neighbors, volunteers and some folks who, minutes before, were wandering the boulevard conversing with unseen voices. He just gives food, clothing and shelter with no judgment. He just gives life with no strings attached.
When people tell him that he’s good, my response is “I’m trying.” But there’s some people who know him from back when – anytime he makes that trip to NY – and when they hear he’s the pastor of a church, all of a sudden, it’s like “I know you getting’ paid boy. I know you getting paid. I know you. “
No he says, You knew me, You knew that person, but you don’t know the person that I’m trying to become.
That’s the theme of this sermon and this sacred season: You are not your past! Change is possible: in our nation, in our synagogues and in our own lives.
Nearly two millennia ago the Temple of Jerusalem was destroyed. I’m sure many people thought that would be the end of Judaism. But Judaism changed. Sacrifices were replaced with prayer. The Temple itself was replaced with rituals at home. And more than rituals - acts of lovingkindness are our pathway to forgiveness and healing.
I believe: We live in a time of change. We feel the need in our country, in our faiths and in our personal lives. I was reading a recent article in the NY Times about the changes in life for those in their 20s and earlier 30s. A professor at my alma mater, Clark University, Jeffrey Jensen Arnett, believes there’s a new reality: emerging adolescence. With extended life expectance, the possibility of later in life pregnancy, the on-going quest for career and meaning – people are not only marrying later, but taking their time figuring out what they want to do. There’s no rush to find it either. The old expectations that you would marry in your 20s, have your career locked down, start a family in your mid-20s and settle down – are not normative in mainstream American middle and upper class families. A century ago scholars debated whether adolescence was a stage of development – clearly in most cultures it is. And: There’s an interesting debate in the sociological community as to whether this “emerging adulthood” is a new state of development or just a blip in our culture. Either way: we’re not yet prepared to meet the social and spiritual needs of this part of our American community. Change is part of life and culture and part of being alive is adjusting and addressing those changes.
I know we’re looking for changes in our national life. We want the essential services our governments offer us: education, infrastructure, security … but there’s so much inefficiency – is it really worth the cost? We’re angry at the inability of our systems to protect the poor, to prevent greed from destroying charities and lives, and to empower those who want to succeed in making a life for their families have a chance to achieve their dreams.
I really am concerned. I’m not sure my parents were happier, but my parents (may they have a healthy year) were more affluent that I am: it was clear from their income, their homes, their cars and their vacations. Unless things change: I foresee that my son will have a life-style less comfortable than the one that I enjoy. The things we possess are not all that important – but the dream that our children will be better off than we are … was true for my great-parents and grandparents – what has to change for this value to continue? I don’t know the answer to this question, but I feel a moral imperative to part of finding the answer.
100 years ago prognosticators and newspapers were predicting the end of Reform Judaism. And before WWII social commentators were certain of the demise of Orthodox Judaism in this country. But even movements change: new ideas, new dynamic leaders, touching people lives with significance and sanctity. The same is true today for Conservative Judaism – we are on the cusp of major transformation as a movement and within our synagogue communities.
I want to reflect on the nature of those changes.
(At KN – I’ll be talking about some directions for change)
If we could travel back forty years, we would find a different congregation at its founding than we have today. At that time people were moving out of DC and from down-county; almost everyone had rich memories their immigrant parents or grandparents. Then, our members felt a strong sense of nostalgia. They loved the smell of brisket and gefilte fish and they had heard Yiddish actually spoken. Reform Judaism did not appeal to them because it was so...Reform. On the other hand, our members knew full well they weren't Orthodox. They wanted to sit together as a family on Shabbat and were more likely to attend services late Friday night than Shabbat morning. They wanted a synagogue that felt traditional but wasn’t too religious. There was a gap between who they were and how they perceived themselves, but that didn’t matter because that was how most Jews saw themselves.
Fast forward today. The nostalgia that inspired membership in Conservative congregations is all but gone. McDonalds has replaced brisket as the food of choice. People don’t join congregations because it reminds them of their Bubbe & Zaide. Young families have a whole variety of conflicting priorities. Synagogue membership and religious school are at not at the top of the list. Truth be told, if all you're concerned about is having a "Bar Mitzvah," then there are alternatives to the traditional path of religious school: you can hire a tutor or find a one day a week alternative which promises you a Bar/Bat Mitzvah even if the Bar Mitzvah date is in a few months. Chabad & JEWEL understands this - and they've jumped on this reality. KS created its religious school from the perspective that Bar/Bat Mitzvah is a privilege and not a right, accorded to the child who has attained a modicum of knowledge and Jewish skills. The alternative schools dangle the prize with minimal expectations – we’ll make it convenient, we won’t charge you very much, you’ll learn the little bit we can give in two hours… this fits well with where most families are coming from today.
A member of our congregation shared with me a story that sums up one of our dilemmas. She met a young family that had just moved into town. When she asked if they had considered enrolling their children in our religious school, the young mother responded: "No, we're sending them to Chabad - that's good enough for our kids." When, in all your life, did you hear a Jewish parent settle for "good enough" for their children? We want our children to really learn and to grow strong not only academically, but morally and spiritually. Learning how to read Hebrew, knowing something about Jewish history & developing a love of Israel are unimportant in such a 1-day program. I can speak about it but we share a responsibility to promote high quality Jewish learning for our children and for ourselves.
Having said that, I haven’t yet addressed the question of how we should do in the face of these challenges. What do we have to offer? We are standing, I would suggest, at the crossroads. The choices we make in the next year or two will determine the future of our congregation. We can follow the path of the alternative Sunday schools and provide a loving environment; but only a minimal, convenient education … or we can challenge people to find the best in themselves, to see Judaism as a life choice, and not just an opportunity for a party.
I want to tell you a secret: nobody ever joined a synagogue because they love contributing money. That's not what brings or keeps people here. If all we're doing is engaging in acts of self-preservation, then we've lost our way and it's time to shut the door. KS needs to have a vision of Jewish life that it wishes to share with others. That’s what CE21 has been working on and what our strategic planning initiative has been grappling with. Every program that takes place inside and outside this building - even fund raising - must be about that vision. And it cannot just be about this building - it must be about helping people get the most out of living a Jewish life.
Why are we here?
To teach Torah.
To inspire people through prayer and our religious traditions.
To help people find the sacred dimension in their lives.
To be a member of a religious community – questing for that holiness in life.
To find comfort and solace in times of loss and to share joys in happy times.
To engaged in acts of Tikkun Olam, tzedakah and hesed (loving kindness) with our fellow Jews.
If you don’t know: our board is struggling to make ends meet. It takes as much money to run a 350 family congregation as it takes to run a 275 family congregation. And this has been our challenge. But we should not lose sight of why we are here or what it means to be Jewish.
So what happens then when we fall short? We must make changes and down size or we need to turn to all of you to play a more active role in the life of our congregation; not talking about money, about doing. And maybe that's a good thing - a synagogue should not be about living vicariously through the clergy.
Synagogue life is not a football game where thousands of people watch a bunch of husky guys in tights play the game. This is a participatory experience. It has no meaning without personal and regular engagement. We need to empower our members and challenge oursevles to participate in the joys of Jewish living. I need to engage you more – to enable you find your spiritual niche in our community. You need to stop listening to the rabbi and cantor and waiting for the baal korei to read the Torah. We shouldn’t presume that the minyan will be there for us if we never attend. And we shouldn’t think that if we have a strong congregation, it doesn’t matter what we do in our personal lives. Jewish life needs actively engaged Jews and not bigger buildings or more programs.
It's not too late for KS. We are an extraordinary congregation, with passionate and caring members, a strong core from which to build Jewish life, and a vision of what Jewish community should be. We need to refocus from worrying only about dollars and start worrying even more about deeds. We need to stop encouraging passive Judaism and encourage people to step up to the plate and be part of the community. The issue is not whether we have a budget (we will have one) but whether we are a community. We need to ReJEWvenate ourselves! It’s a time of change – we need to rejuvenate…
There is a great joke that you might have heard that purports to be the actual radio conversation (released by the Chief of Naval Operations no less) of a US naval ship with Canadian authorities off the coast of Newfoundland in October 1995.
CANADIANS: "Please divert your course 15 degrees to the south to avoid a collision." AMERICANS: "Recommend YOU divert your course 15 degrees to the north to avoid a collision."
CANADIANS: "Negative. You will have to divert your course 15 degrees to the south to avoid a collision." AMERICANS: "This is the captain of a US Navy ship. I say again, divert YOUR course."
CANADIANS: "No, I say again, you divert your course"
AMERICANS: "This is the Aircraft Carrier USS LINCOLN, the second largest ship in the United States Atlantic Fleet. We are accompanied with three Destroyers, three Cruisers and numerous support vessels. I DEMAND that you change your course 15 degrees north. I say again, that's one-five degrees north, or counter-measures will be undertaken to ensure the safety of this ship"
CANADIANS: "This is a LIGHTHOUSE. Your call"
Change is forced upon us. But we can direct that change – we have real choices. That’s what these Days of Awe are really about. And while I must talk about Jewish life, the liturgy is much more about our personal lives. We must change and we can change to make our interpersonal relations richer, healthier and happier. We are present here to reflect on the one or two things that need transformation and can be improved. With our spouses, with our children, with our families: we know we need to change, not them, because that is not in our power, but only ourselves – for that’s the only thing over which we have some control. May God give us the wisdom, the strength and the courage to do the real avodah – the real sacred work of these days: to make the concrete plan to make a few small changes for a year of life. Amen
High Holidays Sermons 1
ROSH HASHANAH 1ST DAY 5771
There was a country preacher who decided one Sunday that he was going to try to put the fear of God into his parish congregation, and so he came out and began his sermon by saying, “Remember, everyone in this parish is going to die.” And he noticed this one guy up front was kind of smiling. And he looked at him and said, “What are you so happy about?” and the guy said, “I’m not from this parish … I’m just visiting my sister.”
This is a story told by Mitch Albom – the Detroit Free Press & ESPN reporter and famous writer. This year I’m going to base my sermons on themes from his most recent “Have A Little Faith.”
The book begins about ten years ago, when Albom came back to his home town Cherry Hill, NJ to give a talk and after he finished, the rabbi of the synagogue that he had grown up in, now 82 years old, using a cane, pulled him aside in the hall and asked me a question that would change his life forever. This was the question. “Will you do my eulogy?”
To which he answered, “huh?” Will you do my eulogy? Who was I to accept that? I just said I wasn’t very religious and besides, who does a eulogy for the guy who does eulogies? I figured rabbis, priests, pastors, they had this stuff all worked out with one another ahead of time, you know, like “if I go first, you do me, if you go first, I’ll do you.”
So how I got into this loop was beyond me. But not wanting to disappoint him I said, “Well if you want me to speak at your funeral, I need to get to know you as you lived. I mean, it’s true I’ve known you my whole life I guess, but always from the seats and the cheap seats at that. I need to get to know you if you want me to do your eulogy as a man.” To which he said, “I accept.”
And that began a series of visits to this rabbi, Albert Lewis, Temple Beth Shalom; Cherry Hill, NJ. (33 years ago he was my teacher of homiletics at JTS) They were quite funny even from the very first because when I arrived, I drove to his house, I had never done that before; I parked in his driveway, I had never done that before; I walked up to his front door, I had never done that before and so the doorbell kind of threw me because I didn’t know that priests or pastors or rabbis had doorbells. I just thought they sensed you coming.
But we walked in and he welcomed me down to his office. We went inside and sat down in his office, a room I had never been in before. I’d never been to his home before. I’d never seen him in anything other than a robe or a suit before, and now he was wearing Bermuda shorts with socks and sandals... which is never a good look.
And we sat in his office and I looked around and I saw all these books and papers and I saw files on all these shelves. On the top shelf, was this huge big fat file right in the center and across the front it read, “God.” He had a file on God.
I always wanted to ask him what was in that file, but I didn’t have the nerve, so I decided I would begin my little process here with a very appropriate question. I took out a yellow pad, trying to do this eulogy thing very straight with a yellow pad and a pencil. I sat down and the first question I asked this 82 year old man of faith was, “Do you believe in God?” And he said, “Yes I do.” “Do you talk to God?” “I talk to God all the time,” he said. “And what do you say to God?” I asked.
And he had a habit of singing his answer and he chose this time to sing his answer and he said, “These days I say ‘Dear Lord if you’re going to take me, take me already! And if you’re going to leave me here, leave me with enough strength that I can help my congregation.’”
“Do you ever get an answer?” I asked. He looked at me and smiled. “Still waiting,” he said. Return to this theme at the end… Over eight years Albom and Lewis met for laughs and inspiration and the anguish that come from sickness and finally death.
2nd Central Character of the Book is: Rev Henry Covington (talk more about him tomorrow) But let me just mention: Henry had been a drug dealer and drug addict. But God came into his life at his lowest and now he selfless leads a Church in Detroit providing God’s unconditional love as well as food, clothing and shelter to the lowest of the low.
Rev Covington’s Church in the slums of Detroit is a metaphor for life and the quest for meaning and hope. The church had once been the largest Presbyterian Church in the entire Midwest, but that was in the 1880s when it was built. Today it has been left to rot in one of the worst sections of Detroit. Windows broken, bricks falling off of it and a massive hole in its roof and ceiling through which rain and snow literally poured in on top of the congregants when they tried to pray; buckets strategically placed to catch the water pouring through. And it got so cold inside this church that at one point they had to build a plastic tent, made of two-by-fours and plasticine, just to be able to huddle together on Sundays, to have a place that was semi-dry and warm, to pray. A plastic tent, in a church, in the 21st century in the United States of America.
That’s the metaphor I want to talk about today: There’s a hole in every roof
Brokenness is part of being alive.
I feel it even more this year: illness in my own family, sickness and death in the congregation, the demographics changes and costs of synagogue which is a scary Catch 22, and of course, the course of our country suffering through an on-going recession.
The world is broken – there’s a hole in our personal roofs and the rain and snow of living and dying just pours in on us. What can we do with the holes in our roofs and the brokenness of our lives?
One of the most inspiring things about Jewish mysticism is its central story about the fundamental brokenness of the universe. It’s there according the Kaballah by design, part of God’s plan, essential for the human partnership with God. In Hebrew it’s called: Shevirat Hakaylim. When God began creation, God contracted God’s self to make space for the creation. He/She/It made the matter of the universe in that space where God was not fully present. Then God sent the Divine Light into the matter, but the physical could not hold that spiritual light and shattered. The light became enmeshed with the material. The world is broken with the divine mixed up with the mundane. Why did God allow this mistake to occur? So that people could heal the world – so that we could understand the universe (someday) and treat all aspects of God’s creation in a way that will repair the damage of the shattering and bring harmony and peace to creation. When we choose the good, when we do an act of kindness, when we do a mitzvah (ritual or ethical) – we help heal the Universe – that’s a Jewish answer to why we’re here.
Brokenness plays a big part in our rituals on this day, especially in Shofar blowing. The middle note of the shofar cycle is called Shevarim – literally the broken note.
It’s supposed to be the sound of sighing - it reflects our disappointments, bereavements, dreams lost – Shevarim is the echo of the broken heart
What do we learn from this sound? We learn about the preciousness of life. Life is short and because life is so precious every soul is irreplaceable and every passing therefore tragic. We know that life is uncertain, so how do we cherish every day: we take no day for granted. Especially at this Season we remind ourselves: Don’t put off the good deed, the kind word, the phone call of love. Today we feel it in our souls: There’s no guarantee for tomorrow
In one of his books Rabbi Harold Kushner’s explains Mourners Kaddish. You probably know there’s nothing in Kaddish about death. Instead it praises God for the world God has given us. Mourners recite it as a way over time of expressing gratitude for a person’s life, what he or she added to the world rather than grief for the person’s absence. The Shevarim note then is a tribute to life, to how much a single life can mean. Gratitude ten is the spiritual balance to brokenness.
The Kotzker Rebbe used to say: “There’s nothing as whole as a broken heart”
It is through pain and heartbreak we learn how to feel. When our hearts break, they create an opening for all kinds of emotions (good and not so good) to rush in. It creates an experience of cleansing: When we purge our souls of old dreams that never happened, we create space for new dreams, new dimensions of understanding.
Over the years as difficult as it is: I’ve observed in myself and others: We’re so alive when we cry. Our souls are alive in sadness and anguish when we’re sick, when our loved ones are ill and when we’ve lost a friend or loved one. I read an article fair number of years ago, that many people went to see the movie Titanic, over and over again. Not because it was a great movie or even a great story. It was to be in a place where it was OK to express real feelings. Feeling the brokenness of life is about letting ourselves feel – a truly feeling the love which is greater than the loss.
One of my favorite psalms of the service every day, just before the 1st Mourner’s Kaddish in the morning is Psalm 30:
Years ago one of my teachers said this is the schizophrenic psalm: The author says: God’s anger last for a moment and my tears linger for a night
Nothing can shake me if you’re with me but I’m still terrified
What good is it if I die and am silenced, but you are gracious and my help
You transform mourning into dancing and sackcloth into robes of joy
I will praise you forever…
Reciting this Psalm this year though – through all the tragedies and almost tragedies: I feel in a powerful way that while I used to serve God because I had it so good, now I try to serve God – because God is God. I sense the brokenness around me and in me in new ways and I pray for the strength to be there for others – because that is the pathway to healing for us all.
In some mysterious way, realizing what I’ve almost lost and lost this year – make me whole even with what’s missing.
We see the world as it really is. The world isn’t a birthday party where if you’ve been good, you get what ever you want. It’s an unpredictable place, with hours of brilliant sunshine, mixed with hours of excruciating darkness and redeemed by occasional flashes of courage and love.
Last: There’s a story told about a young Chasid, a young student, who approached his rabbi with a problem. He said ‘Rebbe, no matter how hard I try to draw close to God, I’m blocked. I know you taught me, ‘Ivdu et HaShem b’simchah, that we must worship our Creator with joy, but I can’t find the joy. There is just so much suffering in this world, so much hardship, so much loss, so much that I can’t accept. What can I do?’ His rabbi replied, ‘There is one man who can teach how to overcome your obstacle. You must go and see Reb Zusya of Hanipoli. He can show you how to find the joy even with all the hardship of life.’ The young Chasid trusted his rabbi, and so he set out on the journey to find this Reb Zusya. After a lengthy trip, he arrived at what he was told was this great teacher’s address. As soon as the young Chasid beheld Zusya’s home, he understood why his rabbi sent him here: it was the most miserable little hovel he had ever seen in his life. Here was a man who understood hardship and the worst kind of suffering. When the young Chasid knocked on the door and was bid to come in, what he beheld astonished him even more: the conditions of the inside of the hovel were worse than the outside, and this Reb Zusya who stood before him was a man in abject poverty, near starvation, who had clearly been battered by illness and difficult times his whole life. ‘Reb Zusya, thank you so much for welcoming me,’ said the young Chasid. ‘My rabbi has sent me here because he said that only you could teach me the wisdom of learning how to accept the terrible suffering of life, and still find joy and closeness to God.’ ‘He sent you to learn what from me?’ asked Reb Zusya. ‘…To learn how to accept life’s suffering with joy.’ Reb Zusya laughed. ‘Young man, I’m so sorry to disappoint you, but I really have no idea why your rebbe sent you hear to learn such a lesson from me. I have nothing to tell you about such matters. You see, God has been very good to me my whole life. Maybe you should go and learn from someone who has had some real misfortunes, God forbid.”
Zusya isn’t just showing us that if we think about life and its misfortunes differently, if we adjust our expectations, then life will look all right. Rather he says, “When we behold this world through the deepest part of our souls, we no longer have eyes for lack and for loss. We can see the goodness and the bracha, the blessing of life, of all of it... It’s that life really IS blessing. There really IS abundance. It doesn’t matter how bad it seems to be: Life really IS okay!”
That’s why we come together in the High Holiday Season. We come to reflect on all that is broken in our life and all that is blessed in our lives. We use our liturgy and our sacred text as a mirror to gain perspective on where we are, where we’re going and how to heal the holes in our personal spiritual and interpersonal roofs. May God grant us a manageable portion of brokenness this coming year and the healing to know God’s love in our lives.
There was a country preacher who decided one Sunday that he was going to try to put the fear of God into his parish congregation, and so he came out and began his sermon by saying, “Remember, everyone in this parish is going to die.” And he noticed this one guy up front was kind of smiling. And he looked at him and said, “What are you so happy about?” and the guy said, “I’m not from this parish … I’m just visiting my sister.”
This is a story told by Mitch Albom – the Detroit Free Press & ESPN reporter and famous writer. This year I’m going to base my sermons on themes from his most recent “Have A Little Faith.”
The book begins about ten years ago, when Albom came back to his home town Cherry Hill, NJ to give a talk and after he finished, the rabbi of the synagogue that he had grown up in, now 82 years old, using a cane, pulled him aside in the hall and asked me a question that would change his life forever. This was the question. “Will you do my eulogy?”
To which he answered, “huh?” Will you do my eulogy? Who was I to accept that? I just said I wasn’t very religious and besides, who does a eulogy for the guy who does eulogies? I figured rabbis, priests, pastors, they had this stuff all worked out with one another ahead of time, you know, like “if I go first, you do me, if you go first, I’ll do you.”
So how I got into this loop was beyond me. But not wanting to disappoint him I said, “Well if you want me to speak at your funeral, I need to get to know you as you lived. I mean, it’s true I’ve known you my whole life I guess, but always from the seats and the cheap seats at that. I need to get to know you if you want me to do your eulogy as a man.” To which he said, “I accept.”
And that began a series of visits to this rabbi, Albert Lewis, Temple Beth Shalom; Cherry Hill, NJ. (33 years ago he was my teacher of homiletics at JTS) They were quite funny even from the very first because when I arrived, I drove to his house, I had never done that before; I parked in his driveway, I had never done that before; I walked up to his front door, I had never done that before and so the doorbell kind of threw me because I didn’t know that priests or pastors or rabbis had doorbells. I just thought they sensed you coming.
But we walked in and he welcomed me down to his office. We went inside and sat down in his office, a room I had never been in before. I’d never been to his home before. I’d never seen him in anything other than a robe or a suit before, and now he was wearing Bermuda shorts with socks and sandals... which is never a good look.
And we sat in his office and I looked around and I saw all these books and papers and I saw files on all these shelves. On the top shelf, was this huge big fat file right in the center and across the front it read, “God.” He had a file on God.
I always wanted to ask him what was in that file, but I didn’t have the nerve, so I decided I would begin my little process here with a very appropriate question. I took out a yellow pad, trying to do this eulogy thing very straight with a yellow pad and a pencil. I sat down and the first question I asked this 82 year old man of faith was, “Do you believe in God?” And he said, “Yes I do.” “Do you talk to God?” “I talk to God all the time,” he said. “And what do you say to God?” I asked.
And he had a habit of singing his answer and he chose this time to sing his answer and he said, “These days I say ‘Dear Lord if you’re going to take me, take me already! And if you’re going to leave me here, leave me with enough strength that I can help my congregation.’”
“Do you ever get an answer?” I asked. He looked at me and smiled. “Still waiting,” he said. Return to this theme at the end… Over eight years Albom and Lewis met for laughs and inspiration and the anguish that come from sickness and finally death.
2nd Central Character of the Book is: Rev Henry Covington (talk more about him tomorrow) But let me just mention: Henry had been a drug dealer and drug addict. But God came into his life at his lowest and now he selfless leads a Church in Detroit providing God’s unconditional love as well as food, clothing and shelter to the lowest of the low.
Rev Covington’s Church in the slums of Detroit is a metaphor for life and the quest for meaning and hope. The church had once been the largest Presbyterian Church in the entire Midwest, but that was in the 1880s when it was built. Today it has been left to rot in one of the worst sections of Detroit. Windows broken, bricks falling off of it and a massive hole in its roof and ceiling through which rain and snow literally poured in on top of the congregants when they tried to pray; buckets strategically placed to catch the water pouring through. And it got so cold inside this church that at one point they had to build a plastic tent, made of two-by-fours and plasticine, just to be able to huddle together on Sundays, to have a place that was semi-dry and warm, to pray. A plastic tent, in a church, in the 21st century in the United States of America.
That’s the metaphor I want to talk about today: There’s a hole in every roof
Brokenness is part of being alive.
I feel it even more this year: illness in my own family, sickness and death in the congregation, the demographics changes and costs of synagogue which is a scary Catch 22, and of course, the course of our country suffering through an on-going recession.
The world is broken – there’s a hole in our personal roofs and the rain and snow of living and dying just pours in on us. What can we do with the holes in our roofs and the brokenness of our lives?
One of the most inspiring things about Jewish mysticism is its central story about the fundamental brokenness of the universe. It’s there according the Kaballah by design, part of God’s plan, essential for the human partnership with God. In Hebrew it’s called: Shevirat Hakaylim. When God began creation, God contracted God’s self to make space for the creation. He/She/It made the matter of the universe in that space where God was not fully present. Then God sent the Divine Light into the matter, but the physical could not hold that spiritual light and shattered. The light became enmeshed with the material. The world is broken with the divine mixed up with the mundane. Why did God allow this mistake to occur? So that people could heal the world – so that we could understand the universe (someday) and treat all aspects of God’s creation in a way that will repair the damage of the shattering and bring harmony and peace to creation. When we choose the good, when we do an act of kindness, when we do a mitzvah (ritual or ethical) – we help heal the Universe – that’s a Jewish answer to why we’re here.
Brokenness plays a big part in our rituals on this day, especially in Shofar blowing. The middle note of the shofar cycle is called Shevarim – literally the broken note.
It’s supposed to be the sound of sighing - it reflects our disappointments, bereavements, dreams lost – Shevarim is the echo of the broken heart
What do we learn from this sound? We learn about the preciousness of life. Life is short and because life is so precious every soul is irreplaceable and every passing therefore tragic. We know that life is uncertain, so how do we cherish every day: we take no day for granted. Especially at this Season we remind ourselves: Don’t put off the good deed, the kind word, the phone call of love. Today we feel it in our souls: There’s no guarantee for tomorrow
In one of his books Rabbi Harold Kushner’s explains Mourners Kaddish. You probably know there’s nothing in Kaddish about death. Instead it praises God for the world God has given us. Mourners recite it as a way over time of expressing gratitude for a person’s life, what he or she added to the world rather than grief for the person’s absence. The Shevarim note then is a tribute to life, to how much a single life can mean. Gratitude ten is the spiritual balance to brokenness.
The Kotzker Rebbe used to say: “There’s nothing as whole as a broken heart”
It is through pain and heartbreak we learn how to feel. When our hearts break, they create an opening for all kinds of emotions (good and not so good) to rush in. It creates an experience of cleansing: When we purge our souls of old dreams that never happened, we create space for new dreams, new dimensions of understanding.
Over the years as difficult as it is: I’ve observed in myself and others: We’re so alive when we cry. Our souls are alive in sadness and anguish when we’re sick, when our loved ones are ill and when we’ve lost a friend or loved one. I read an article fair number of years ago, that many people went to see the movie Titanic, over and over again. Not because it was a great movie or even a great story. It was to be in a place where it was OK to express real feelings. Feeling the brokenness of life is about letting ourselves feel – a truly feeling the love which is greater than the loss.
One of my favorite psalms of the service every day, just before the 1st Mourner’s Kaddish in the morning is Psalm 30:
Years ago one of my teachers said this is the schizophrenic psalm: The author says: God’s anger last for a moment and my tears linger for a night
Nothing can shake me if you’re with me but I’m still terrified
What good is it if I die and am silenced, but you are gracious and my help
You transform mourning into dancing and sackcloth into robes of joy
I will praise you forever…
Reciting this Psalm this year though – through all the tragedies and almost tragedies: I feel in a powerful way that while I used to serve God because I had it so good, now I try to serve God – because God is God. I sense the brokenness around me and in me in new ways and I pray for the strength to be there for others – because that is the pathway to healing for us all.
In some mysterious way, realizing what I’ve almost lost and lost this year – make me whole even with what’s missing.
We see the world as it really is. The world isn’t a birthday party where if you’ve been good, you get what ever you want. It’s an unpredictable place, with hours of brilliant sunshine, mixed with hours of excruciating darkness and redeemed by occasional flashes of courage and love.
Last: There’s a story told about a young Chasid, a young student, who approached his rabbi with a problem. He said ‘Rebbe, no matter how hard I try to draw close to God, I’m blocked. I know you taught me, ‘Ivdu et HaShem b’simchah, that we must worship our Creator with joy, but I can’t find the joy. There is just so much suffering in this world, so much hardship, so much loss, so much that I can’t accept. What can I do?’ His rabbi replied, ‘There is one man who can teach how to overcome your obstacle. You must go and see Reb Zusya of Hanipoli. He can show you how to find the joy even with all the hardship of life.’ The young Chasid trusted his rabbi, and so he set out on the journey to find this Reb Zusya. After a lengthy trip, he arrived at what he was told was this great teacher’s address. As soon as the young Chasid beheld Zusya’s home, he understood why his rabbi sent him here: it was the most miserable little hovel he had ever seen in his life. Here was a man who understood hardship and the worst kind of suffering. When the young Chasid knocked on the door and was bid to come in, what he beheld astonished him even more: the conditions of the inside of the hovel were worse than the outside, and this Reb Zusya who stood before him was a man in abject poverty, near starvation, who had clearly been battered by illness and difficult times his whole life. ‘Reb Zusya, thank you so much for welcoming me,’ said the young Chasid. ‘My rabbi has sent me here because he said that only you could teach me the wisdom of learning how to accept the terrible suffering of life, and still find joy and closeness to God.’ ‘He sent you to learn what from me?’ asked Reb Zusya. ‘…To learn how to accept life’s suffering with joy.’ Reb Zusya laughed. ‘Young man, I’m so sorry to disappoint you, but I really have no idea why your rebbe sent you hear to learn such a lesson from me. I have nothing to tell you about such matters. You see, God has been very good to me my whole life. Maybe you should go and learn from someone who has had some real misfortunes, God forbid.”
Zusya isn’t just showing us that if we think about life and its misfortunes differently, if we adjust our expectations, then life will look all right. Rather he says, “When we behold this world through the deepest part of our souls, we no longer have eyes for lack and for loss. We can see the goodness and the bracha, the blessing of life, of all of it... It’s that life really IS blessing. There really IS abundance. It doesn’t matter how bad it seems to be: Life really IS okay!”
That’s why we come together in the High Holiday Season. We come to reflect on all that is broken in our life and all that is blessed in our lives. We use our liturgy and our sacred text as a mirror to gain perspective on where we are, where we’re going and how to heal the holes in our personal spiritual and interpersonal roofs. May God grant us a manageable portion of brokenness this coming year and the healing to know God’s love in our lives.
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