Parshat Lech Lecha; Genesis 12:1 – 17:27 By: Rabbi Denise L. Eger
“A journey of 1000 miles begins with one step,” states the Chinese folk saying. This week’s portion, Lech Lecha, begins Abraham’s journey to Israel. But in truth this week’s journey is larger than that a trip to a physical place. With God’s call to Abraham (still Abram in the beginning of the portion) an unfolding love story between God and the Jewish people begins. This journey of Abram is a physical journey from Ur to Haran to Canaan which will become the Promised Land, Eretz Yisrael, the land of Israel. This journey of Abram will be a spiritual journey to become the people Israel which will be realized through his son, Isaac and grandchild, Jacob and their descendants. This journey will be a metaphor for Abram to become a different and more spiritual human being whose close relationship with the Divine not only changes him but his entire family!
God’s call to Abram to leave his home and his father’s house is also a call away from the pagan worship of his homeland. Our rabbis taught that Terach, Abram’s father was a maker of idols. One day, the midrash teaches, Terach left his son, Abram in charge of the idol store. Abram couldn’t see the logic in worshipping statues that had been made from stone and wood. He smashed them to pieces. Upon his father’s return, Terach was upset and dismayed. “What happened here?” his father demanded to know. Abram explained that the idols got into an argument and destroyed one another. Terach dismissed this answer by saying to Abram, “You know they are only wood and stone they couldn’t have done this.” Abram asks his father, then why do you worship them if they are powerless?”
God’s call to Abram, “Go for yourself, away from your land, from your heritage, from your father’s house to the land that I will show you.” (Gen. 12:1) is a call to Abram to establish a relationship with the Divine unique and different from his father’s spiritual expression. Abram must not merely follow blindly in his father’s footsteps but establishes and take responsibility for his own mature relationship with the Divine, the One God. This unique bond will be represented by the covenant that is made between God and Abram. God promises blessing and nationhood as the Divine gift of his loyalty and faith.
It takes great courage for Abram to heed the call from God he can’t see to leave his home, his birthright and his people and move his family to a place that God has not yet even revealed to him. This takes incredible faith, trust, and strength.
It also takes incredible strength and courage for each one of us to have our own unique relationship with God and our covenant. We must not only rely on our parents’ version of Judaism for our own relationship to our tradition and to the Divine. At some point we must take upon ourselves our own covenantal responsibilities. Theoretically the Bar or Bat Mitzvah ceremony has been the acknowledgement of adult entrance into Jewish life. But for most thirteen year olds this is just a theory. In the Reform movement this was recognized early on and the ceremony of Confirmation was added usually at sixteen years of age. Confirmation allowed a young man or woman in their mid-teens to consider a deeper call from God through the exploration of the deeper ethics and values of our tradition. They confirmed their faith and their acceptance of our Torah and our covenant as part of the ritual. Sixteen years of age in most places is a time of greater responsibility since most teens acquire a driver’s license or permit. Just as they go out into the world in a different way, they can heed a call of accountability and conscientiousness in their own spiritual outlook.
Even at sixteen however, we are not fully formed. A mature relationship with the Divine comes with time and age and experience. We human beings should always be examining that spiritual dimension of our lives throughout our lifetime. That is but one of the many reasons Judaism encourages life long Torah study. It helps us evolve, grow and change. It helps us examine our beliefs and deepens our faith and builds that mature relationship with the sacred.
God’s call to Abram should be a call to each one of us. Let us hear the words spoken to Abram as call to journey toward the Divine. Let us hear the call of Lech Lecha, Go to yourself, Go for yourself, Go towards yourself and to the Holy One of Blessing who calls out to You. This week let us examine our own faith and pledge to deepen it, study it and make it our own as Abram and Sarai did through their covenant with God.
Parshat Noach; Genesis 6:9-11:32, By Rabbi Denise L. Eger
This week we read about the story of Noah, his family and the flood that God sends to destroy the earth and cleanse it of its corruption. Was it only last week that we read of the creation of the world and the story of the Garden of Eden? Now we read only a week later (although the story in the Torah tells us many, many generations have passed since Creation) God’s creation has been polluted by humanity’s evil ways. “Now the earth had become corrupt before God and the earth had become filled with robbery.”(Gen. 6:11). So much so that God feels the need to destroy the corrupt ones and leave just a remnant. That remnant will be Noah and his family and the animals that God instructs Noah to save.
Traditional Jewish sources, such as Rashi, compare Noah and Abraham who we will meet in next week’s portion-Lech Lecha. Noah was righteous says Rashi but only comparatively to those who were so evil in his generation. If he had been in the generation of Abraham he would not have stood out. While others comment that since Noah walked with God, he clearly had a special and unique relationship, an intimate relationship with the Divine One.
In an era when the world was so corrupt, Noah had the fortitude to walk a different path and more importantly to hear God’s call. Standing up for a life of sanctity and holiness in a time of chaos and evil is difficult. It takes great courage and strength to hold fast to one’s principles and to live a life of compassion, justice and hope when everyone around you is living a different way.
Even in our own day and age when the world is so chaotic it takes an equal portion of compassion, justice and hope to resist the path of distorted values that seem to rule our society. For Jews our system of mitzvot helps shape us to have that courage. Our system of caring for self, family, community and the world provides us with a strong framework for our own walk with the Divine Holy One.
God made a promise not to destroy the earth again through such a flood. This covenant with Noah was symbolized in the Rainbow that appeared. Each time we see a rainbow we are to be reminded of that promise. Yet, we Jews were given an amazing set of tools to help purify and heal the world of its corruption, violence and brutality. This gift is the Torah. When we share Torah with our children, our family and our community we help to purify and cleanse the world of its moral decay. That is why we believe that our task, the Jewish task, is to help repair the world—that which we call Tikkun Olam.
So let the Rainbows we see remind us not just of the covenant –the brit – made with Noah but of our task to help cleanse and heal the world of its evil and pain. Then we too can walk with God as Noah and as Abraham will do in next week’s portion.
Parshat Bereishit; Genesis 1:1 – 6:8: By Rabbi Denise L. Eger
The annual cycle of reading of the Torah commences this week as we read Parashat Bereshit, the opening chapters of the book of Genesis. Most of us are familiar with the traditional stories of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. But also a part of this week’s portion is the story of their children, Cain and Abel. These brothers are born after Adam and Eve have been ejected from the Garden of Eden.
Cain is the eldest and is a farmer. Abel is born second and becomes a shepherd. Both bring offerings before God. Cain brings fruit of the land and Abel a firstling of the flock. The text tells us that God favored the offerings of Abel. This begins a trend in our Torah of the youngest being favored over the eldest. We will see this played out again and again when Isaac is favored over Ishmael, Jacob is favored over Esau, Joseph being favored over his elder brothers, and Moses is favored over Miriam and Aaron.
This seeming favoritism by God causes Cain much distress and God even speaks directly to Cain, “Why are you distressed and why is your face fallen? (Gen 4:6). God even reminds Cain that if he will do the right thing he will master goodness and it is implied God’s blessing.
Why should Abel’s offering be taken over Cain’s? Does God prefer meat to vegetables and fruit? Does God prefer the youngest son over the eldest? The detail is in the kind of offering brought. Abel brings the choicest offering. The best of the best for God while Cain’s offering is not described that way at all. God holds out to Cain the possibility of acceptance if he will do the right thing. One way we understand this text is that God demands our best not just as an offering but also our best in the world, our best behavior, our best aspirations, our highest ideals and our highest moral responsibilities. Cain in bringing an offering but not in bringing his best as did his brother Abel, displays an attitude that says I want to appease but not please. I won’t offer the best that I can. Cain’s offering although a gift, is seemingly given without much consideration that this is a gift to God and if he can’t bring the choicest of his harvest to God is there a selfishness that pervades his attitude? These hints of selfishness and not giving to God the proper thanks colors Cain’s personality.
Cain ultimately truly fails the test (and many traditional commentators call this a test of Cain) because his anger and disappointment spill over into the ultimate violence of murder. He kills his brother in a jealous rage. This is a grave sin and God had warned Cain that “sin couches at your door,” (Gen. 4:7). This is further exacerbated because when God again directly asks Cain about his brother’s whereabouts (reminiscent of when God asked his parents, Adam and Eve, where they were in the Garden of Eden.) Cain replies, “I do not know. Am I my brother’s keeper? ” (Gen 4:9). Again, Cain has a chance to take responsibility for his actions and fails to do so by evading God’s direct question.
During this week of festive joy we celebrate Sukkot, the Feast of Tabernacles. But we end the week with even greater rejoicing! We celebrate the cycle of our Torah. The torah has its own rhythm and we will end and begin the cycle of reading of our weekly portions on Simchat Torah. For Reform Jews this day happens on the eighth day or shemini atzeret, the same as in the land of Israel. For Conservative and Orthodox Jews outside of Israel, Simchat Torah happens on what would be the ninth day since the beginning of Sukkot.
Since we just ended the old year and began a new one, it doesn’t seem so strange to end and begin other things. On Simchat Torah we read the last verses of Deuteronomy and immediately proceed to read the opening verses of the Torah from Genesis. This immediacy brings with it a message. It teaches us that Torah is never ending. God’s covenant is never ending. Our values and ethics are never ending. Jewish study and learning should be never ending.
Even though we have read the stories of the Torah year in and year out, each year of living changes us. So too the way we approach a story. We see it through different eyes each year. Thus whether reading of Abraham’s journey to Mt. Moriah or Moses’ encounter with the burning bush, we see them through a different lens each time we encounter these stories. That is the challenge of Torah in our lives; to make the learning speak to us in new ways –not because the stories change but because we have changed and our world has changed.
One of the highlights of Simchat Torah is the opportunity to take the scrolls out and parade them around the synagogue seven times. Each circuit or hakafah is a chance for the community to surround themselves with Torah and dance and celebrate this Divine gift! The seven circuits or hakafot remind us of the seven branches of the menorah which spread Divine light in the ancient temple. The Torah scrolls in our day and time spread Divine enlightenment to each one of us. On Simchat Torah we want to reflect that Divine enlightment in our celebration and festivities. That is why the book of Proverbs teaches us the Mitzvah is a lamp, the Torah is a light (Proverbs 6:23)
So on this Simchat Torah when we end the reading of the Torah with the great light of our teacher Moses and then immediately read about the first act of Creation by God, “Let there be light (Gen. 1:3)” we are to remember that all of Torah is that light that can lead us to a life filled with hope and knowledge, goodness and blessing. On Simchat Torah may we be filled with the light of God’s love and God’s enduring power.
OPEN THE ARK DOORS AND HELP THE JEWISH PEOPLE LIVE: By Rabbi Denise L. Eger
For thousands of years we Jews have held what was most precious and holy to us inside the Aron HaKodesh; inside the Holy Ark. In locales around the world, in arks ornate, in some places just simple boxes, we have lovingly and gently held the sacred words of Torah. These words have guided us, taught us, inspired us, frustrated us, confounded us, and but most importantly linked us from generation to generation -- L’dor v’dor. The Torah scrolls in these arks have provided a common language and framework for our People. The Torah has been the glue that has held us together as a people. Even when we argued with God, —the Torah and its stories, myths, teachings, history and laws have provided a unique bond with all Jews everywhere. The Torah has provided our unique bond with the Divine.
Even prior to the idea of a synagogue when the Holy Temple still stood in Jerusalem, in the Holy of Holies, the sacred inner ground of the Mishkan where only the High Priest, the Cohen Gadol could tread on Yom Kippur Day was a sacred box. The Ark of the Covenant was covered in gold with two cherubs on top. It, too, contained that which was most precious to us. In Solomon’s temple and in the portable Ohel Mo’ed-the Tent of Meeting, that ark, carried up from desert wanderings, held the Ten Commandments: The core of our tradition and indeed all of Western Civilization.
Etched in stone, the Ten Commandments gave life to our people and connection to our God. They provided and continue to provide a roadmap of civil living and religious connection. The Ten Commandments are our basic rules of engagement that provide social connection in a spiritual context. It is the foundation of our covenant with God and what helps to form as a People.
The Talmud (Berakot 8b) however teaches that there was also a second ark. This one contained the broken pieces of the first set of Ten Commandments, smashed by Moses upon seeing the Golden Calf and the sins of the Israelites.
Another section of the Talmud Baba Bathra 14b, teaches us instead that there was only one ark in side the Mishkan, but side by side within were the shattered pieces of the first and the whole pieces of the second Ten Commandments that reminded our new Israelite nation both of its sin and indeed of the forgiveness of God—who took us back in love and covenant. Certainly on this Kol Nidre night, when we come face to face with God, before our ark, and we confess our sins, let this aron, let this ark remind us that we too can be forgiven and taken in back in love and covenant by our God – no matter what commandments we have shattered or how we have been shattered. Our ark and what it contains helps us paste our lives together on this sacred day and throughout the year.
Like Ark of the Covenant and the Ark of the Shattered Pieces, our ark here holds our precious legacy. That legacy, our legacy is the Torah.
The Torah is called the Tree of Life, Etz Chaim because these words of Torah, these words of Torah give meaning and vibrancy to our existence. These scrolls remind us of our past and propel us to our future. In truth our Torah scrolls are a physical reminder of our link to Jews around the world. It is the powerful symbol of our connection. It is what we have in common.
This precious legacy is more than just something to look at. Our scrolls must be more than just admired from a distance as totem poles of a lost people. Our Torah scrolls must be used—taken out, held, rolled to the right portion and read, translated, chanted. Our Torah and its words must be taken out and examined, studied, struggled with to keep it vibrant. If our Torah scrolls are only objects seen from afar, or paraded around a couple of times a year then, we might as well keep them locked in the ark, hidden from view. Or like in the Temple days of old when the Ark of the covenant was never to be seen except by one Man, on One day a year, ultimately to be lost forever—as were the Ten Commandments and Ark of the Covenant lost when the Babylonians conquered Jerusalem so long ago.
Tradition teaches us that the prophet Jeremiah was charged with removing the ark prior to the siege of Jerusalem by Nebuchadnezzar. Traditional stories tell that he took it across the Jordan River and hid it in cave on Mt. Nebo. Some say King Josiah buried it in a deep well or tunnel beneath the Temple Mount. While still others claim it is in Ethiopia or Egypt. But the Ark that contained our most precious legacy, the Ten Commandments broken and whole is certainly lost to us. Gone. Hidden or buried. But now it is only a vague memory of legend and lore. The Ark of the Covenant no longer binds us as a people.
On this Holy Night we must ask will our Torah go the same way. Will we be a people without our precious legacy? Can we find the unique voice of our people as embodied in the Torah if we no longer connect with it; no longer live it?
Truth is we don’t read the Torah or study it very much. We don’t share words of Torah with our family or friends. Unfortunately, the Torah is an icon for many rather than a guide for living Jewish lives. The torah to keep us together must be a living and breathing document that lives inside of you.
Truth is we are one of the most educated Jewish populations ever. More of us according to the National Jewish Population Survey have advanced degrees and post secondary educations. In the 20th century the Jewish emphasis on education was fulfilled through secular studies, rather than knowledge of our own Jewish texts. Our own Jewish educations are lacking. We can read and analyze the greatest literature in the world, from Shakespeare to Phillip Roth and yet, we have never read the greatest story ever told – the Tanach—Our Bible. This leads us down a path that puts our legacy in jeopardy. There are myriads of you who have studied the law—and practice as lawyers. Even more of you who went to law school and were trained in the law but whose primary work are in business or political science or teaching. But Jewish law? To many it seems obsolete and seems to have little claim upon our lives.
And for those of us who have Jewish children, there are many who do nothing to give their children a Jewish spiritual and educational foundation. How will the next generation of Jews be made? How will the Torah in the ark be made relevant if at all if our children do not learn and we ourselves remain ignorant of what we believe, what we stand for and what it means to be Jewish except in some vague general way? If the Torah symbolized the heritage handed down to us—from generation to generation—will it stop with us?
Robert Putnam, a Harvard sociologist in his book entitled Bowling Alone, (2000), documents his argument that American adults have distanced themselves from one another in the past three decades and people have become increasingly disconnected from family, friends, neighbors, and community. Putnam contends that the social glue that once connected Americans in previous generations has decayed and thus imposed a tremendous impoverishment of our lives. He writes: ‘Television, two-career families, suburban sprawl, generational changes in values--these and other factors in American society have meant that fewer and fewer of us find that the League of Women Voters, or the United Way, or the Shriners, or the monthly bridge club, or even a Sunday picnic with friends fits the way we have come to live. Our growing social-capital deficit threatens educational performance, safe neighborhoods, equitable tax collection, democratic responsiveness, everyday honesty, and even our health and happiness.”
So too among American Jews according to sociologist Stephen Cohen who is a research professor of Jewish social policy at the Hebrew Union College and Jack Wertheimer provost and professor of American Jewish History at the Jewish Theological Seminary. Cohen said in a lecture I attended this summer at the Hartman Institute that he is “alarmed at the systematic decline of relationships between Jews. Younger Jews are less tied to older Jews.” He has documented that fewer Jews live in Jewish neighborhoods, the number of Jews with Jewish friends is declining, and that social relations among Jews is less thick. We are less connected. Less bound as a people
All of this comes at a price to our people. Membership in Jewish organizations has fallen 20% and attachment to Israel has fallen off extraordinarily. In fact Cohen has documented this phenomenon especially among 20 and 30 somethings. He has even created an acronym to describe it. He calls it the ABCD problem. Jews are A) Alienated from Judaism and its institutions. Many Jews believe that B) Judaism is Bland, routine, the same not diverse. C) It is coercive: many Jews feel that the community has an agenda for them rather than listening to what they want and that Israel is obsolete. D) Judaism and its institution are divisive-it divides Jews from Jews as well as non-Jews.
What he concludes then is that in the long run ethnicity is not enough. Israel is not enough. Memories of the Holocaust are not enough to bind us as a people.
And while Cohen and Wertheimer’s study focused on Jews in their 20’s and 30’s I would dare say that some of us in our 40’s, 50’s 60’s and beyond feel the same way. At times alienated and that worship doesn’t touch us and we can’t make hide nor hair of being Jewish in this world let alone have it be relevant.
So what can? What can we do as a community to find a way to bind ourselves to one another? Will we just be individuals on individual journeys? Or is there a way to be a people once again? Do we risk losing… losing ourselves –just as the ark of the covenant and the Ten Commandments were lost so many generations ago? Or is there away that we can return to a renewed and reinvigorated sense of Peoplehood and be accepted in love and forgiveness for who we are?
Tonight provides a bit of an answer. On Kol Nidre we Jews, even the most disaffected of us come home for a Jewish shot in the soul! We come here looking for meaning and inspiration in a world of tohu v’vohu---chaos and void. We come here once a year looking to connect to one another and to Jews around the world who like us, seek out our People on this night. We come here to meet God and our history, to seek forgiveness and connection, to stand before the ark and hold that precious legacy close. We hear the ancient sounds and feel comforted. We meet Jews of many ages and see hope. On one night a year we take Stephen Cohen’s ABCD theory and smash it like an Abraham smashing the idols in his father’s shop. For one night a year we are not alienated, our Judaism not Bland, No one coerces you to be here and we are not divisive—not Jew fighting Jew—but rather Jews around the world whether in Hong Kong or the Hamptons are doing the same thing.
There is a certain incredible uplift that comes from being part of this extraordinary people on this night. We are tied together in a profound way by actually living the words of our torah and reaffirming our core values. That what you are doing tonight
But one night a year won’t make a people. One night a year won’t keep us whole. Instead it will be just a memory. One night a year is not enough to sustain us—not enough to sustain us spiritually or intellectually or as a Jewish people. Torah must be with us beyond tonight. The covenant must become real to us beyond these few hours together
So often we end up on the search for meaning in many other corners. And yet in our own corner of the world, we forget to look. It is not just for one night a year but for many nights. Our own tradition has a way to frame and re-frame the world so that meaning and spirituality will infuse your being. But to do so, you have to encounter it. You have to meet it. You have to explore and study it. You have to chew on it. You have to take the Torah scrolls from the ark and actually read what is inside. You have to argue with it as our ancestors did. It is not some pabulum that requires blind faith. But a thoughtful spiritual Judaism requires your intellect as well as your heart.
Just as the V’ahavta prayer tells, You shall love Adonai your God with all your heart, with all your soul and with your mind!
But too often many of us just walk away if we find something that bothers us.
This summer was a powerful experience for me. Being in Israel is special indeed surrounded by the Jewish people bringing new life to an ancient land. Even if we have a different take on being Jewish being together in Israel deepens and enriches the Jewish people. Being in Israel where every stone, every corner speaks of our history and makes it come alive. Being there, even in the midst of the war, brought home to me the fragility of our people and the threats from without that constantly knock at our door.
But the threat from within is perhaps even greater. What we do to ourselves as a people—by ignoring our traditions, ignoring our life blood of study and engagement in Jewish thinking, by shutting the door and walking away. I think poses a greater threat.
That is why this year I am inviting you to become engaged. Engaged in Judaism. Engaged in living Torah. Make this year the one that your search for meaning begins by opening the doors to the aron HaKodesh—the doors of the holy ark to discover the divine splendor of Judaism and the deep an abiding connection in the legacy of our Torah. Tonight on Kol Nidre make one small promise to the Jewish people and to yourself. Make this your year you do something to connect yourself and your soul to the souls of our people through Jewish learning and study. Take the torah out and open its scroll.
Make this the year you do something to help the Jewish people survive. Make this the year you help strengthen our people. Make this the year you begin to develop and redevelop yourself Jewishly. Make this the year that you invite the Holy Divine One back into your life. Make this the year you help to take the bland and help us spice up and flavor a new Jewish reality with your presence, your thoughts and your gifts and strengths to the Jewish people.
Pirke Avot teaches us Al tifros min hatzibbur – do not separate yourself from the community. Judaism cannot be lived in isolation. We don’t do Jewish by ourselves—it takes a community—a group of people engaged—concerned for one another to make it so. If you are involved already invite someone who isn’t to join with you. If you are someone who is hesitant about joining, scared about commitments this is the year to open your heart. For being part of a community, part of a people is to be open to them and dare to risk.
One way to be engaged in Torah is to come to a class—once a month is not too invasive we have several to choose from—Judaism 101, What does the rest of the Bible say, Downtown study Circle, Reader’s salon, or our scholar in residence in February. Come to pray and meditate—there are services and experiences for every schedule. Come eat in the sukkah or read a Jewish book together. Come to be Jewish more than one day a year. Help feed the hungry together at Sova with us. Say Kaddish for a loved one. Bring your gifts and talents to the Jewish people. Come hear Jewish music at one of our concerts, Come see Jewish art in our galleries. Come make a friend. Or better yet, come play your music, lift your voice with ours, and bring your art to share! Torah means Torah in the largest sense—not just the scroll itself but the breadth of Jewish learning and experience. Torah is not just the dry, didactic learning of religious school but exploring a living vibrant heritage from every angle . Come be part of something that will repair the damage done by the weakened social capital of our day. Take your Judaism out of hiding—and help the Jewish people live.
For our future is you and in you. The Jewish people need you.
It has been taught: Rabbi Simon ben Yohai says: Come and see how beloved are Israel before God. For in every place to which they were exiled the Shechinah [God's presence] went with them.
They were exiled to Egypt and the Shechinah was with them, as it says, "Did I surely reveal myself unto the house of your father when they were in Egypt. (I Samuel 2:27)." They were exiled to Babylon, and the Shechinah was with them, as it says, "For your
sake I was sent to Babylon. (Isaiah 43:14)"
And so, when they will be redeemed in the future, the Shechinah will be with them, as it says, "Then Adonai God will return [with] your captivity. (Deuteronomy 30:3)" It does not say here veheshiv [and God shall bring back] but veshav [and God shall return].
This teaches us that the Holy One, blessed Be, will return with them from the places
of exile. (B. Avodah Zarah 29a)
God is with us wherever we are. That Divine Spirit, Source
of Being, the Shechinah goes where we go—the Shekinah dwells
where we dwell and indeed with us in our exile. But oh how
sweet and wonderful it will be when we are no longer in exile from
ourselves. When the Jewish people will live with strength, not
threatened from without or within. When we will re-invest in our
connection to our people and our Torah that has and still can unify
us as a people. When we engage as a people—reaching
out to carry the ark of our tradition, our values And our life to a
place of sacred ground. Tonight we feel it. Let us carry this deep
connection into the New Year and beyond. So that the Jewish
people will still live. Let our generation keep it alive so that we too
can pass it L’Dor
vador—from generation to generation—and together we will say—
Yom Kippur Day is a day when we confess our sins and ask God and our fellow human beings for forgiveness. We daven and shuckle, bend and pray, sing and beat our chests all the while wanting the release from the errors of our ways. Only to be washed clean of promises that we made this past year and that we have broken. This is the power of Yom Kippur.
Each of us has made a million little promises this past year. How many times did you run into someone and say, “I’ll call you,” only to avoid them at the next cocktail party because you didn’t keep your promise. How many times did you say to yourself, “This is the year I am going to get a new job,” only to get caught up in the drama of the workplace and the hectic schedule of living. How many times did you say this year I am going to be more spiritual, but never taking time for the life of the spirit? These broken promises large and small each take its toll on our lives, on our character and in the world demeaning and lessening our standing.
And each year when we come to this day –our promises loom large. We should remember the promises that we made last year at this time—but didn’t honor. Somehow by the time Sukkot made an appearance we had all but forgotten them. We are usually earnest in the moment about the changes we vow to make on this morning but if history is our teacher then we need some extra inspiration and commitment to keep the promises that we have made. We need some help to keep the promises we make to others and the promises we make to our selves and certainly on Yom Kippur the promises we make now to God.
Our Torah portion this morning will also remind us of the promise God made to us and we make to God. Our covenant—Our Brit, received at Sinai, affirmed by the generations is our promise and our hope. It defines our way of life as the Jewish People.
The promise that we make on this day is to uphold our covenant. To fulfill the words and deeds of our covenant that God made not only with Abraham and our ancestors but a promise of life for each and every one of us. This morning our Torah portion will remind us that “This mitzvah is not too difficult to follow, nor too remote from you. For it is not in heaven.” This promise made in an earthly setting in the wilderness is a promise that is obtainable for each and every one of us.
On this Yom Kippur morning God reaffirms for us the choices before us—and in doing so affirms our values—See I set before you today life and good or death and evil—I set before you blessing and curse that you might choose life. Our Jewish values side with the promise of life and blessing. This is why it is particularly difficult for us to understand the terrorist mindset that uplifts death and destruction over life. We reject that idea, we reject that way of being because our promise –right here in our Torah on the holiest day of the year is a promise we make and God makes to us of life! CHOOSE LIFE.
But it is not just the choosing of life –but the promise itself that affects us and our way of being in the world. On this Yom Kippur day as we are about to make promises for the New Year—promises of life, and right living I want to share a story with you by way of Rabbi Gerry Weider who heard it from Rabbi David Whiman.
It is a story that was told by Author Roy Hoffman... and it begins on a rainy Saturday in 1912, just outside Mobile, Alabama. A young farmer named John was bringing a load of watermelons to market, but the muddy road made for slow going and by the time John arrived in the city, all the produce markets were closing for the day. So John headed his cart towards a cluster of small shops, one of which was still open. There, another young man, Morris Hoffman, the author's grandfather, was still setting out
items in front of his store.
“Howdy,” John said. “I see I’m not the only one getting in a last attempt to sell something today.” John sensed that Morris was a bit different from the other merchants in town, and so he leaned over to get a closer look. “Where y’all from anyway?”
Morris extended his hand. “We’re from Romania. We’re Jews.”
“I’m Baptist myself, name’s John.”
“How’d you like to buy some watermelons? I’ve got 50.”
Morris looked at John and said, “Well, I’d like to help but I can’t buy ‘em all. But, listen, is it okay to buy one watermelon, for one pair of socks?”
“You got yourself a deal,” said John. So John lugged a fat melon from the back of the cart.
Morris looked over the load and said, “I will buy your 50 watermelons, if we can make a contract. I promise to buy one watermelon a year for fifty years.” And you know what, they shook on it.
The next summer when John appeared with a watermelon, Morris paid him with a handkerchief, and they spent the afternoon in conversation.
In 1914, the watermelon was exchanged for a belt. The next year for a pair of pants. By 1917, the watermelon was already an excuse for a yearly conversation on a hot summer afternoon. By the early 20s Morris’ sons were old enough to visit John’s farm and by the mid 1920s John was delivering the annual watermelon in a new ford pickup to Morris’ expanded general merchandise emporium. The watermelon was traded for shoes one year, a coat the next.
The years brought prosperity, until the Great Depression when once again Morris could only pay John with a handkerchief or a pair of socks. The men talked over hard times, but they still honored their promise as though honoring it was a ritual that assured they would both endure one year longer.
After the Depression Morris’ merchandise again became valuable and his business picked up again... but more importantly, his exchange with John became a yearly gift. A pot-bellied stove one year, a battery powered radio, an Aladdin lamp.
In the 1940s, Morris’ children had children and each summer on seeing John arrive at the store with a watermelon on his shoulder, Morris would recite the Shehecheyanu. He taught the words to John and explained that the Hebrew was a praise of God who extended the gift of life for yet another year.
Yet as the 50’s progressed both men knew that the seasons however joyous were not innumerable. In 1955, Morris made a gesture of friendship. In exchange for the watermelon John received bedroom furniture, a mattress and new box springs.
But then, in 1956, when John arrived at the store, Miriam met him sadly. John put down the watermelon slowly as Miriam told him of Morris’ death that April.
“My old friend is gone,” John said quietly. I always thought I’d be the first not to honor the promise. For three more years, John came each summer, fulfilling a contract, keeping a promise and honoring the memory of a man whose friendship he had come to cherish.
In 1959, John did not show up. Folks at the store heard that John had died. The promise had been kept for 47 years.
Author Roy Hoffman, Morris’ grandson, continues with the story. My father was a lawyer and he handled some legal matters for John’s sons over the years, and John’s offspring have shopped in the store from time to time, but the ritual connection between families no longer exists. A watermelon for a pot-bellied stove seems a mark of the past. But for my grandfather and the farmer, a watermelon was enough to inspire a promise that gave meaning and structure to the lives of two men for almost half a century.
Why do I tell you this story on this most significant day of Yom Kippur? Because,
we Jews are part of a promise. We are part of a cosmic promise -the promise of life and blessing as part of our covenant. We could forget that promise or decide not show up but somehow the very fabric and structure of our lives and our world would be irrevocably changed. Morris and John’s word was gold. They made a promise to one another and kept it throughout. And the truth is they reaped enormous benefits from their promise—more than the tasty fruit of the watermelon on a hot day or a belt or pair of socks. The benefit was in the relationship that was built through trust and honor.
These are basic Jewish values—that we need so much in this world today.
So as this holy day unfolds—and as we stand to recite the prayers and confess our sins, our errors and ask forgiveness from promises broken—let us affirm for ourselves and be inspired by the promise kept by John and Morris. Let their special promise be a model for each one of us that our words matter and our integrity rests upon it.
Let us assert our values in the world—values of truth and honor, integrity and life even when it seems convenient to do otherwise. We have a higher calling—Yom Kippur is here to help us get there.
Our world needs us to assert those values even as others try to tear them down or make them seem obsolete. There are nations in the world who choose death over life. There are madmen around who preach evil and hopelessness. Let our people – the Jewish people-let us take a stand here and now that says—goodness, life and blessing —these are what we aspire to, these are what we commit to, these are the promises we make this day! These values can heal us now and heal our world.
May God grant us the will and the strength to live the promise and may we take comfort from one another in the promise making—and promise keeping. Heal us Now.
Ken Yehi Ratzon.
In a few moments we will rise to hear the haunting melody and words of the El Maleh Rachamim prayer. Our cantor will chant the ancient words asking God to bring peace to the souls of our dead loved ones. We say “El Maleh Rachamim—God full of compassion who sits on High, grant perfect rest to the souls of the departed.” We pray on this Yom Kippur afternoon for the souls of our parents, and grandparents, spouses and lovers, children and friends to be at peace. A Perfect rest we say. But what is the peace we ask for?
Is it that their souls are wandering through some purgatory, a limbo land —looking for a place to rest?
Are they having trouble finding their way to the heavenly abode?
When our loved ones die—especially when we have witnessed their suffering, or battle with illness, we say he is at peace now. So if she is at peace in death, then why ask the Holy Compassionate One for something that already has happened?
Or are we in asking for rest for them—are we really asking for perfect peace for ourselves? Are we asking that the void, the pit of loneliness and grief that can overwhelms us, tear at us and causes such great restlessness, to be removed?
Are we intimating that our loss is so great, so disturbing to our beings, that our rest, our lives are unsettled?
Joan Didion’s award winning book, “The Year of Magical Thinking,” documents her year of grief and mourning following the sudden death of her beloved husband and famed writer, John Gregory Dunne and the illness of their daughter Quintana.
She writes,
“Grief turns out to be a place none of us know until we reach it. We anticipate (we know) that someone close to us could die, but we do not look beyond the few days or weeks that immediately follow such an imagined death. We misconstrue the nature of even those few days or weeks. We might expect if the death is sudden to feel shock. We do not expect this shock to be obliterative, dislocating to both body and mind. We might expect that we will be prostrate, inconsolable, crazy with loss. We do not expect to be literally crazy, cool customers who believe that their husband is about to return and need his shoes. In the version of grief we imagine, the model will be “healing.” A certain forward movement will prevail. The worst days will be the earliest days….Nor can we know ahead of the fact (and here lies the heart of the difference between grief as we imagine it and grief as it is) the unending absence that follows, the void, the very opposite of meaning, the relentless succession of moments during which we will confront the experience of meaninglessness itself (p188-189).”
Didion captures the deep and disturbing pain that envelops
us when death comes to our loved ones. I think she articulates the emptiness and futility that grief brings to our lives.
Although many of us try to avoid dealing with that sense of loss. We stifle it. Refuse to give in to it. Deny it. Only to have it eat at us in different ways; shutting down a part of our very being. That very grief if left unattended can destroy us and our sense of personhood. We can lose ourselves in that grief.
Or we can use time honored methods and traditions of coping and renewal. We Jews through our rituals of grief and mourning try to countermand these trends in human nature. By reciting the Kaddish, we have an organized formula for helping us fill the void. The communal nature of reciting the kaddish prayer, a minyan –a quorum of ten Jews is required to say this prayer in memory of the dead. This is in part the antidote to pulling away from life when the grief is overwhelming. Yes, in coming to say Kaddish, you are commanded to be with others, even when it might seem easier to hide at home. But the truth is that isolation can kill us. It can starve us of proper relationships and intimacy.
Our wise and wonderful Jewish tradition commands us to have a funeral, not to ignore the life of the deceased but to honor her life and her deeds. This value is called Kavod HaMet, giving honor to the dead. No mere celebration of life, or party to mask our sadness, we acknowledge our loss and our human fraility and theirs. Our tradition teaches us to honor how he lived through acts of tzedakah to bring justice and healing to others even as we ourselves are in need of healing. Judaism tells us to remember the dead at the yarzeit, and four other times a year at the Yizkor service on this Yom Kippur Day, at the end of Sukkot, at the end of Pesach and on Shavuot. At these sacred seasons you are recalling the generations of your life and the chain of tradition that you are a part of.
As many of you know my own dear mother, Estelle, died this May. Confined to assisted living and nursing homes these last twelve years, my family tried to bring a sense of dignity to her very narrowed world. And as her dementia deepened in the last couple of years, until she no longer recognized her family, but could still communicate her needs and desires, we mourned not her death but her loss of vibrancy. And now we mourn her death and all she had once been - a loving, vibrant soul full of thirst for knowledge, a person with a great sense of humor and a deep and abiding faith in God’s goodness and protection even in the face of adversity. A wife and mother, grandmother and great-grandmother. Hadassah and sisterhood president, bookkeeper and songwriter. Many of you extended yourself to me through your kind words and loving presence. You helped to ease the days of overwhelming grief through your gentleness and understanding. As a member of the community, you opened your own hearts and helped to fill my void. And while the void left by the death of a parent can never be fully filled—the comfort of friends and community can help restore us to day to day life. As you helped me.
We build a community together and have shared rituals and rites that carry us through the years—As Jews these help us not to avoid the mourning but rather go through it so that on the other side we might find life again… Our life. Yes, it will be changed. We will be changed. But when we ignore our customs, skip over the shiva, and kaddish, or skip the funeral itself as too sad, give no tzedakah in memory of them…we only give in to the void of Didion’s magical thinking. And then where are we? Alone and adrift.
So today during our Yizkor service when we are so engaged in trying to sweep away the sins of the past year, and renew our very being, our plea and remembrance of those who have died is for their eternal rest and protection by the Divine be somehow extended to us through our remembrance of them. In their perfect rest and peace, we shall find peace here on earth, and not be swallowed whole by the pit of grief. By hearing the El Maleh Rachamim prayer and reciting the Kaddish we participate in something so beyond our ownselves that we literally lift ourselves up from the edge of darkness to life and light. We place our hope in God and in the power of our connection to earlier generations.
The actual Yizkor prayer states that, “In remembrance of my beloved I shall perform acts of tzedakah and kindness.” Our deeds as well as our memories are divine and holy treasures that link our essence to their eternal essence, their souls. And thus the Divine protection extended to the dead through our righteous acts shall also be extended to us.
May their memories be a blessing to us and to future generations. And may our recitation of the El Maleh Rachamim help link us to them through God’s overwhelming and great loving compassion.
