PROMISES: By Rabbi Denise L. Eger

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.

Posted by Lee at October 4, 2006 11:55 AM