Catching Stones and Healing Breaks- Kol Nidre 5781

 Catching Stones and Healing Breaks

Kol Nidre 5781

September 27, 2020

Rabbi Alan Cook

Sinai Temple, Champaign, Illinois

 

         There’s a well-known (well-worn) phrase with which many of us are undoubtedly familiar, though we all may not be aware of its origin.  It says, “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.”

 

         If you’ll indulge me what may initially seem to be an odd mixing of metaphors at one of the holiest moments on the Jewish calendar, I’ll fill you in—it’s derived from an episode in the New Testament book of John.  A woman is accused of adultery, and the community seeks to put her to death by stoning, as the letter of the law prescribes.  Jesus prevents such mob violence with the admonition that no individual should seek to cast a stone unless he (or, presumably, she) is fully blameless of other punishable transgressions.  By thus appealing to the crowd, who must then admit that none of them are fully innocent, Jesus ensures that no stones are cast.

 

         We don’t need to embrace the theological underpinnings of this parable to understand that its lesson is important for people of any faith to absorb.  Yet, in truth, our humanity does not merely call us to refrain from casting stones.  We should also turn our attention toward catching the stones that others may seek to cast.  When we stand up for those who are vulnerable in our society, who are most likely to feel the weight of stones being cast at them, then we strive toward holiness and begin to fulfill our true potential.

 

         Author and attorney Bryan Stevenson, founding director of the Equal Justice Initiative, underscores the need for stone catching in his book Just Mercy.  In his narrative, he introduces us to a woman whom he calls Mrs. Jennings, who acknowledges, “we’ve all been through a lot… some of us have been through more than others.  But—”Mrs. Jennings continues—“if we don’t expect more from each other, hope better for one another, and recover from the hurt we experience, we are surely doomed.”[1]

 

         I believe that the key to surviving the human condition, the key to what Mrs. Jennings is alluding to, is to learn to engage in the stone catching that Stevenson encourages us to undertake.  When we learn to lift up the hopes and dreams of others and assuage their hurts, we begin to come together as a society.

 

         Several generations ago, the leaders of the Reform movement abandoned the traditional reading for Yom Kippur morning—Leviticus 16, which details the duties of the priesthood and the sacrificial rituals of Yom Kippur.  They cited multiple reasons for doing so, but that’s a discussion for another time.  The passage they chose to be read in its place, from the end of Deuteronomy, captures another important angle of this holy day.  It articulates that the fates and fortunes of every individual are intertwined.  It seeks to emphasize that no matter one’s profession or socio-economic status, each of us has an equal stake in Torah, an equal opportunity to enjoy God’s blessings.  The text proclaims, “You stand here today…all the individuals in Israel…even the stranger in your camp…from woodchopper to waterdrawer.”[2]   Further on, the text underscores that every individual has an equal stake in learning and an equal opportunity to forge a close relationship with the Divine:

 

Surely, this Instruction which I enjoin upon you this day is not too baffling for you, nor is it beyond reach. It is not in the heavens, that you should say, “Who among us can go up to the heavens and get it for us and impart it to us, that we may observe it?” Neither is it beyond the sea, that you should say, “Who among us can cross to the other side of the sea and get it for us and impart it to us, that we may observe it?”  No, the thing is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart, to observe it.[3]

 

         The Torah’s language, crafted millennia ago, exhorts us to treat one another fairly.  It reminds us to be stonecatchers; it exhorts us to remember that all have an equal right to, and stake in, working for the betterment of the community.  This is further exemplified by the portion read on Yom Kippur afternoon, the so-called Holiness Code, which begins with the instruction, “Be holy!  For I, Adonai your God, am holy.”[4]

 

         But how do we embody and exemplify holiness?  Unlike many other mitzvot, such as holding a Passover seder, or hearing the shofar’s call, holiness does not represent a concrete action that takes place within a definitive time frame. If we were playing a game and the leader called out, “Simon says, ‘Be Holy!’” it’s likely we would not know how to respond.  We are not ourselves divine beings, and thus we cannot exemplify holiness in the exact manner that God does so.

 

         Nonetheless, we know that ignoring the call to holiness is not a viable option.  Neither the Torah nor Jewish tradition in general would look kindly upon us if we failed to complete this homework and proclaimed that we did not understand the assignment.  Thus, we seek out opportunities to emulate God—opportunities to work in partnership with God to engage in holy acts such as feeding the hungry, nurturing the sick, standing up for the oppressed and wronged.  We strive to be holy when we act as stonecatchers in our world, preventing harm from coming to others.

 

         One of the most-repeated mitzvot in the Torah is the reminder to love the stranger, for we were strangers in the land of Mitzrayim.  It’s even offered as a rational for some of the obligations enumerated in the holiness code.  Because of the way in which our identity as a people is intertwined with our memory of oppression during slavery, we are urged to live our lives in a manner that shows empathy for others who find themselves in similar situations.  Our people has known brokenness; now we have the sacred responsibility of fixing and healing the brokenness of others.

 

         Bryan Stevenson notes that, “We are all broken by something.  We have all hurt someone and have been hurt.  We all share the condition of brokenness, even if our brokenness is not equivalent…”[5]  I think that in many ways, this is what Yom Kippur is all about: as difficult as the process of seeking forgiveness and forgiving others may be, it represents a recognition of human imperfection.  We acknowledge that we have not always conducted ourselves in a holy manner, in a manner consistent with that which is expected form us.  By taking this time to seek forgiveness for ourselves and to grant it to others, we acknowledge the brokenness of humanity that causes us to sometimes behave in negative ways.  But we also begin to clean up from that messy brokenness and build a brighter future.

 

         As Stevenson writes, “our brokenness is also the source of our common humanity, the basis for our shared search for comfort, meaning, and healing.  Our shared vulnerability and imperfection nurtures and sustains our capacity for compassion… There is no wholeness outside of our reciprocal humanity.”[6]

 

         We are likely all familiar with the quotation from Reverend Martin Niemöller, who wrote:

         First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a socialist.

Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out— because I was not a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.[7]

Niemöller’s words have been taken as a rallying cry for all of us to stand up for one another in recognition of the fact that we are all one human family—what hurts one of us can cause harm to all of us.

 

         Being a stonecatcher, assuaging others’ brokenness, acknowledging the validity of one another’s hopes, dreams, fears, and concerns—and their basic humanity—stands starkly at the heart of our work on teshuvah this day and always.  We are taught that for sins of one human being against another, Yom Kippur does not atone unless we have made an honest effort to make personal amends for our wrongdoing.[8]  Our work on this sacred day, therefore, will be inherently incomplete until and unless we pledge ourselves to be stonecatchers.  It will be incomplete until and unless we can name the problems plaguing our society: yes, the anti-Semitism of which we as Jews are acutely aware, but also the entrenched racism, the Islamophobia,  the homophobia, the xenophobia displayed toward immigrants, the socio-economic inequities and striations of class, the fetishization of guns and violence, the rejection of science…just to name a few.  We must be able to say that black lives matter, to affirm that science is real, to proclaim that love is love is love.

 

         The prophet Isaiah, in the Haftarah for tomorrow morning, exhorts the Israelites of his time to do right and return to God.  Then, he declares, “your light will break forth like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness will go before you, and the glory of ADONAI will be your rear guard.”[9]

 

         When we learn to care for all as one human family, when we catch the stones beforethey can be cast, then we truly begin the healing work of teshuvah and position ourselves for a bright and wondrous future.

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[1] Stevenson, Bryan Just Mercy (New York: Spiegel & Grau, 2014) p. 126

[2] Partial quote of Deuteronomy 29:9-10

[3] Deuteronomy 30:11-14

[4] Leviticus 19:2

[5] Stevenson, p. 289

[6] Stevenson, p. 289-290

[7] Niemöller revisited the statement several times in his life.  This version of the quote appears at the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum.

[8] See Mishnah Yoma 8:9

[9] Isaiah 58:8

Remembering in All Directions: Yom Kippur 5781

 Remembering in All Direction

Yom Kippur Morning 5781

September 28, 2020

Sinai Temple, Champaign, Illinois

Rabbi Alan Cook

 

 

‘I don’t understand you,’ said Alice. ‘It’s dreadfully confusing!’

‘That’s the effect of living backwards,’ the Queen said kindly: ‘it always makes one a little giddy at first—’

‘Living backwards!’ Alice repeated in great astonishment. ‘I never heard of such a thing!’

‘—but there’s one great advantage in it, that one’s memory works both ways.’

‘I’m sure mine only works one way,’ Alice remarked. ‘I can’t remember things before they happen.’

‘It’s a poor sort of memory that only works backwards,’ the Queen remarked.[1]

 

Alice’s conversation with the White Queen is indeed confusing and confounding; that’s to be expected in the nonsensical world that author Lewis Carroll created.  But as befuddled as the White Queen may appear to Alice, she may perhaps have a point: we are well served if we not only consider our past, but also have the imagination to look ahead to the future and envision the opportunities that lie in store.

 

Throughout the nascency of our people, there was a tendency to cling to and revere the past.  The Torah urges us to recount the story of the Exodus to our children, and to always remember the evil behavior of the tribe of Amalek.[2]  In the rabbinic period, sages debated over precisely which historical remembrance was to be emphasized as more pivotal to our understanding of our place in the world: ma’aseh v’reishit, the work of creation, or y’tziat Mitzrayim.  In the end, they decided to focus on each equally, leading to the passage in the Shabbat Kiddush that names both events as central.[3]  And from the early days of a formalized Jewish liturgy, a central part of the service has been a focus on zchut avot, the merits of our ancestors, asking God to remember the deeds of our famous patriarchs (and, more contemporarily, our matriarchs), if we ourselves are not found worthy of blessing.[4]

 

The 20^th century theologian Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote, “We are a people in whom the past endures, in whom the present is inconceivable without moments gone by…What happened once upon a time happens all the time.”[5]  Rabbi Heschel recognized how pivotal the past has been in shaping our identity as modern Jews.  Certainly, our expression of Judaism has continued to evolve throughout the ages—so much so that there are aspects of our modern practice that would be unrecognizable to Moses or the rabbis of the Talmud or perhaps even to Rabbi Heschel himself.  Yet we nonetheless chart that evolution as occurring within the bounds of shalshelet ha-kabbalah, the unbroken chain of transmission that, generations later, continues to tie us to that initial moment of revelation at Sinai.  

 

If you have a student in Sinai Temple Religious School, you’ve hopefully seen Rabbi Jody’s wonderful video explaining our plans for our school in the coming year.  In it, she tells the story of Rabbi Yochanan Ben Zakkai. 

 

According to legend, Rabbi Yochanan witnessed the destruction of the Temple and its environs by the Romans in the year 70 of the common era.  As Jerusalem was being besieged, and some of Judaism’s greatest leaders and teachers were being arrested and tortured, Rabbi Yochanan and his students hatched a plan.  They placed Rabbi Yochanan in a coffin and carried him out of the city’s gates as though they were preparing to bury him.  The Romans allowed this procession, which appeared to be a funeral, to proceed unmolested.

 

Once outside of the confines of Jerusalem, Rabbi Yochanan emerged from the coffin.  He went to Vespasian, the leader of the local Roman legions.  As he approached, Rabbi Yochanan hailed Vespasian as king.  Vespasian was annoyed, as he thought that the rabbi was mocking him.  But as they spoke, messengers arrived from Rome to inform Vespasian that the emperor had died and that he, Vespasian, had been appointed as the new ruler.

 

Pleasantly surprised by this turn of events, Vespasian turned to Rabbi Yochanan and said, “Because you have foretold truthfully, I will grant you a request.”  Yochanan replied, “Give me Yavneh and its sages.”[6]

 

Rabbi Yochanan did not only look to the traditions of the past.  He recognized that there was a need for revolution in Jewish teaching and practice if there was to be any hope of a future for Jewish life.  His innovation—temporarily relocating the center of Jewish learning from Jerusalem to Yavneh—enabled Judaism to pivot and to survive.  

 

Arguably, Rabbi Yochanan was able to answer the White Queen’s challenge: he was able to live in both directions simultaneously.  The academy that he and his disciples established at Yavneh paid homage to those Jewish practices that had been central to Jewish religious expression in the days when the Temple stood.  Yet they worked to introduce new forms of study and prayer that could move beyond the practice of animal sacrifice in order to allow Jews to commune with God in other ways.  This forward-thinking enterprise paved the way for diaspora Jewry to grow and thrive.

 

So, we look to the future.  We plant and develop and innovate for the sake of our children and their children after them.  Mindful of the wonderful foundation that our forbears bequeathed to us, we seek to continue to strengthen and enrich it for future generations.  The V’ahavta teaches use: V’shinantam l’vanecha v’dibarta bam: You must diligently teach your children to embrace and adhere to the beauty and breadth of Jewish practice.

 

At our Kever Avot cemetery memorial service prior to Rosh Hashanah, I took a moment to wander through Sinai Temple’s section at Mount Hope and take note of all of the pillars of our community from past generations who are lovingly remembered there.  Some of these names continue to be carried forward by younger generations who continue to call our community their home; others have only us as their spiritual descendants to build upon the legacies that they established in the past.  We are grateful to those trailblazing Jews who first organized a congregation, meeting informally through the 1890s and then incorporating as Sinai Temple in 1904.  We owe a tremendous debt to those who undertook the establishment of the congregation’s first permanent home at State and Clark streets, and to those who had the vision to purchase farmland in southwest Champaign to rebuild following the fire at that building in the 1970s.  In the late 1990s, yet another set of visionary leaders oversaw the expansion of our Temple home, undertaking a renovation that added important spaces at Temple such as the Davis Chapel and a new wing of classrooms.

 

Now we are poised to undertake another renovation.  The Sanctuary Renovation Committee has been working diligently with our architectural firm, Landau|Zinder, and plans to beautify and improve accessibility to our sacred spaces are key components of the design.  When completed, the space will honor the historic past of our congregation, while also ensuring that our facility is well-poised to address the needs of the future.  The name of the campaign, Yesod leAtid, “a foundation for the future,” speaks to this two-pronged approach.  We are building so that our children and grandchildren can continue to enjoy a vibrant Jewish life here in east central Illinois.

 

Many congregant families have already contributed generously toward the project.  If you’ve not yet had the opportunity to make a pledge, I encourage you to do so following the holiday. Any amount that you are able to contribute will go a long way toward creating a bright future for the next generations who will make their spiritual home at Sinai Temple.  If you have found your way to our service today and are not already affiliated with the Sinai Temple community, we welcome you warmly, and ask you to consider making a supporting contribution as well. 

 

I urge you to take a moment to “remember the future,” as the White Queen encouraged Alice.  See in your mind’s eye some of the young people who currently populate our congregation taking their places as adult members of Sinai Temple.  They have celebrated B’nai Mitzvah, confirmations, and perhaps even some weddings in the space that was so beautifully and lovingly refreshed during their childhood.  Some have welcomed their own children into the covenant within these walls.  They have dined and socialized together in the pods or on the Sudman patio in the Cohen garden.  They have schmoozed and texted their friends on their new-fangled iPhone 47s from the Levin Lounge.  They have proudly shown off their spiritual home to non-Jewish friends and neighbors with whom they have sought fellowship, and they have turned to the Temple as a place of refuge when life has taken a sad turn or the world has become frightening.

 

If we allow ourselves to “remember” such a future we may recognize that the dreams we have for those who come after us look remarkably similar to the dreams others once imagined for us.  For a fully realized remembrance of the future is one that imagines opportunity and the full realization of each individual’s potential.  “Remembering a future” of possibility for all people, regardless of the color of their skin, their gender identity, the religion they practice, or whom they love means, in the words of Rabbi Lauren Holtzblatt, that even if you happen “to be born into a world that does not see you, that does not believe in your potential…[that] despite this, [you are able] to see beyond the world you are in [and] to imagine that something can be different.”[7] It dares to envision that we will achieve all our hearts’ desires.  It has the audacity to hope.

 

Now, some would say that there is no use in becoming mired in the past, and that projecting into the future is futile and fruitless daydreaming.  They would urge us to focus on the present moment.

 

There is certainly some satisfaction that can be found in focusing chiefly on the moment at hand.  For several summers while I was in college, and continuing until I entered rabbinical school, I worked at the URJ’s Henry S. Jacobs Camp in Utica, Mississippi, a sister camp to OSRUI.  The founding director, Macy B. Hart, would end every staff orientation, every opening day for campers, and virtually every program in which he had an opportunity to speak with his catchphrase, “Don’t waste a minute!”  It was the camp mantra, and as with any oft-repeated phrase, many of us began to laugh about it or brush it off when we heard it.

 

But there is indeed truth to the statement: time is precious, and every moment is fleeting.  There will never be another chance to claim this second right here. Or right here.  Or right here…well, you get the picture…

 

The musical La Cage Aux Folles put it another way: “So hold this moment fast/ and live and love as hard as you know how/ and make this moment last/ because the best of times is now.”[8]  As we stand here on the threshold of a new year, it is certainly significant to remember and build upon—and hopefully, even grow from—the lessons of our past.  It is important to have hope and forethought to look to a brighter future.  But it is also essential that we expend most of our energy living in the current moment, nurturing relationships, learning skills and information, standing for just causes.  As Rabbi Hillel says, “Do not say, ‘I will study when I find the time,’ lest you never find the time.’”[9]  The same could be said for nearly every task for which we might procrastinate—reaching out to a friend, taking control of our health, accomplishing a desired goal.  It’s easy to put these things off until tomorrow.  But that tomorrow may not arrive.

 

In this new year, and always, let us continue to have reverence for the past.  Let us strive to “remember the future” and dream of a bright tomorrow.  But let us also be certain to make the most of the moment in which we live.  Limnot yameinu kein hoda, v’navi l’vav chochma.  Teach us, God, to make each and every day count, so that we may continue to grow wise in heart.[10]

 

 

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[1] Carroll, Lewis.  Through the Looking Glass.  Chapter 5.  Retrieved from https://www.gutenberg.org/files/12/12-h/12-h.htm , September 11, 2020

[2] Cf. Exouds 12:26, Deuteronomy 25:17-19

[3] See the Shabbat evening Kiddush, which explains the importance of the Sabbath as both a remembrance of the work of creation and a remembrance of the Exodus from Egypt.

[4] See the Avot (V’Imahot) prayer in each Jewish service.

[5] Heschel, Abraham Joshua. Israel: An Echo of Eternity. (New York: MacMillan, 1987) p. 128

[6] Recounted in Avot deRabbi Natan 4:5

[7] From words delivered by Rabbi Lauren Holtzblatt at a memorial for Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg.  Reported by the Washington Post at https://www.washingtonpost.com/religion/2020/09/23/ginsburg-memorial-rabbi-jewish/ Retrieved Sepember 25, 2020.

[8] “The Best of Times,” from La Cage Aux Folles, music and lyrics by Jerry Herman.

[9] Mishnah Avot 2:5

[10] Psalm 90

Rosh Hashanah morning sermon, 5781: Embracing the Ram

 Sermon for Rosh Hashanah morning 5781, delivered September 19 and September 20, 2020 at SInai Temple, Champaign IL.  Note that the text of the sermon was finalized before learning of the passing of Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, z"l

       There’s an intriguing body of Midrash—some of us studied it together a few months ago in our Monday Adult Education discussion—that explores the notion that in the final moments of the week of Creation, prior to God implementing the first Shabbat, God created a number of items that would later have great significance in the unfolding of Torah narratives, and held them in reserve for a later date.[1]  The list, which undergoes a number of permutations in the evolution of Jewish texts, includes items such as the rainbow witnessed by Noah, the mouth of the Earth which swallows Korach and his fellow rebels, the manna, and the mouth of the donkey who speaks to Bilaam.  The midrash attempts to address a theological conundrum: if the six days of creation described in Genesis define a finite period, after which God did not introduce any new handiworks into our world, how could these unique and previously unheard of phenomena have appeared precisely at the time when they were required?  The only possible solution, in the rabbinic mind, is that at twilight on the sixth day, referred to poetically by the rabbis as bein hash’mashot, “between the suns,” God created these items and held them in abeyance until the appropriate moment.

 

       A key element found in most of the accounts of these items is the ram which appears at the perfect time caught in the thicket at Mount Moriah and is offered as a thanksgiving sacrifice to God in lieu of Isaac.  Throughout the first dozen verses of the Akedah narrative, the ram is neither seen nor spoken of.  It is only through the intercession of the angel, who stays Abraham’s hand and prevents him from harming Isaac, that Abraham opens his eyes and is alerted to the presence of the animal.[2]  The ram—like the other items that were said to have been created bein hash’mashot—was brought into the world to fulfill a specific destiny.   Though nowadays ewe may frown upon the notion animal sacrifice, we can perhaps still be grateful that ram was there at the precise moment it was required, and thus Isaac was spared.  So often our examination of the Akedah story focuses on Abraham’s actions, or Isaac’s reactions.  Perhaps we even dare to question God’s motives in putting the entire episode into motion.  But I imagine that few of us ever consider that in many ways, the ram is the true hero of the parsha.  Had the ram not been present in that climactic moment on Mount Moriah, can we be certain that Isaac would have survived the ordeal?  Could the fortunes of the Jewish people have unfolded in quite the same way we have come to know if Abraham’s hand had not been stayed?

 

       Our liturgy for this day proclaims, “As the shepherd seeks out the flock, and makes the sheep pass under the staff, so do You muster and number and consider every soul, setting the bounds of every creature’s life, and decreeing its destiny.”[3]  In this understanding of Divine judgement, every creature on earth was created to fulfill a specific purpose.  Like the ram, we await our opportunity to play our part within the larger story of the world.  How will we best live up to our potential, and serve that purpose for which we have been called?

       Within Jewish history, perhaps the best-known example of an individual being awakened to his or her destiny is Queen Esther.  In the Purim story, Mordecai implores her to intercede with King Ahashverosh to put an end to Haman’s plot, reminding her that she is uniquely positioned to plead the case for the Jewish people.  Mordecai urges his cousin, “If you keep silent in this crisis, relief and deliverance will come to the Jews from another quarter, while you and your father’s house will perish.  And who knows, perhaps you have attained to royal position for just such a crisis.”[4]  As Esther reflects on Mordecai’s words, she comes to accept that indeed she has merited her position in the palace in order to thwart Haman’s bigoted policies.

       We may not prevent a sacrifice, as the ram did, or reshape Persian domestic policy, like Esther did, but we can each play a part in shaping the world for the better.  We spend this season each year engaged in cheshbon ha-nefesh, an intense self-examination.   We ponder what decisions we hope to make and what actions we hope to take in the coming year that may continue to guide us in paths of goodness.  Through such an exercise, we may begin to glimpse what lies in store for us, what achievements we must undertake in order to fulfill our calling.

       One easy way to make an impact on society is through one’s vote.  We are fortunate to live in a country that gives us the opportunity to make our voices heard.  Vote for those candidates or issues who speak to your sense of Jewish values.  Vote for whomever you feel will work to build this country, state, and/or community into a place where we and the generations to come after us may thrive.  Mark your ballot in a manner that you find to be consistent with your understanding of justice and fairness.  Elections do have consequences.  So please, on or before November 3, make and exercise a plan to vote.  It would be fabulous to have 100% turnout from eligible voters in this congregation.  Whether you participate by absentee ballot, or by going to your polling place in person, be certain to exercise your civic responsibility.  We have been taught: “Al tifrosh min ha-tzibbur, do not separate yourself from the community,”[5]  The burden and blessing of being part of our community is that we have the right and the obligation to participate in that community actively.  We are the ram; we intervene for the benefit of society.

       Another way to fulfill our calling is to act to make a difference when we find ourselves in the right place at the right time.  In July, Mariangela Abeo, the manager of the apartment building in Seattle where she is also a resident, woke up to hear someone crying near the garbage bins.  She looked out her window to see a middle-aged man seemingly having a breakdown.  He was digging up the plants in the planters in the front of the building, throwing them in the trash, and sobbing.   Abeo rushed to put on some shoes to go outside.  As she did, she saw two people who had been walking past pull out their phones.  She opened her window and yelled, “Please don't call the police on him; I am headed down.”

 

As Abeo went down, she encountered two more people from the building,  one of whom said, “Oh are you taking care of it? I was about to call the cops.”  When she got downstairs, the man was sitting on the concrete, holding the flowers complete with their roots in his hands, and sobbing inconsolably.  Abeo called the local hospital, who told her that a local agency could be dispatched instead of the police, because the situation was not life-threatening.

 

Once the man had been taken to get some help, Abeo began cleaning up the property, 

sweeping the dirt and replanting the flowers.  A neighbor from across the street who had witnessed the incident called out, “Ugh, what a mess!  That [stinks] that he did that to your flowers! Did you call the police!!?”  Abeo replied, “These flowers were $6.99 each at Lowe’s. They don't matter. Did you see the man sobbing on the ground earlier holding them like babies? That’s what was horrible about the situation.”[6]  Abeo recognized that standing up for the safety and dignity of a fellow human being—even someone who was unknown to her—was more important than the damage to her property.  It happens that the man in this incident was also a Person of Color, a factor which can impact how both law enforcement personnel and bystanders respond to a situation.  By intervening to de-escalate, by refusing to judge the man  superficially, Abeo likely significantly shaped the outcome of what could have been a very difficult situation.

 

       When we have the opportunity to be God’s partners in lifting up the fallen and keeping faith with those who sleep in the dust, we should seize upon these moments.  We can fulfill our potential by stepping in and stepping up to help make our world a better place.  We are the ram; we lift up the voice of those whose cries are unanswered.

Last month, actor Chadwick Boseman passed away.  Boseman endured colon cancer fairly privately for a number of years prior to his death, and has received posthumous acclaim for his compassionate outreach to young fans who were also living with cancer.  He was known for playing Jackie Robinson and Thurgood Marshall in biopics about those historical figures, but was perhaps most famous for his portrayal of the superhero Black Panther.  This latter role brought him to the attention of industry professionals and fans alike, who celebrated him for embodying a strong and independent African American heroic figure.

At the height of his Black Panther fame, Boseman was invited to be the commencement speaker at his alma mater, Howard University.  In his remarks, he spoke of his first professional acting role: being cast in a soap opera in which he was asked to play a black gang member.  When he attempted to offer suggestions to the writers and producers to round out his character and ensure that he was not just a simplistic stereotype, Boseman was fired and the role was recast.

As he recounted the sting of losing that job, Boseman exhorted the graduates that rather than searching for a job or a career, they should seek a purpose.  He noted, 

Purpose crosses disciplines. Purpose is an essential element of you. It is the reason you are on the planet at this particular time in history. Your very existence is wrapped up in the things you are here to fulfill. Whatever you choose for a career path, remember, the struggles along the way are only meant to shape you for your purpose… I don’t know what your future is, but if you are willing to take the harder way, the more complicated one, the one with more failures at first than successes, the one that has ultimately proven to have more meaning, more victory, more glory then you will not regret it.[7]

The climb to fame had not been easy for Boseman, but in talking to the Howard graduates he was able to look back and take pride in the sometimes difficult decisions he had made to get himself to a place of pride and achievement.   Indeed, doing what we need to do in order to leave our mark on this world may not always come easily to us.  Last fall, actress Alex Borstein received the Emmy for Best Supporting Actress in a Comedy Series for her work on The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel.  In her acceptance speech, Borstein paid tribute to her grandmother, a survivor of the Shoah.  Borstein noted that her grandmother was in line to be shot in a mass execution, but somehow found the courage to question a guard.  “What happens,” Borstein’s grandmother asked, “if I step out of line?”

       The guard replied, “I don’t have the heart to shoot you, but somebody will.”  Borstein’s grandmother determined that she was willing to take that risk.  “And for that,” Borstein stated, “I am here and my children are here.  So, step out of line, ladies.  Step out of line.”

       Whether we are Chadwick Boseman standing up to racist stereotypes or Alex Borstein’s grandmother, standing up to bigotry and injustice, we are the ram; we disrupt and upset norms in the name of justice and peace.  

       In this new year, 5781, let us be like the ram, but let us go one step beyond.  Unlike the lamb, we will not be idly led to the slaughter.  Let us strive to fulfill our destiny, to make a positive mark on society.  Let us stand up for the less fortunate in our communities.  Let us disrupt norms and speak out against injustice.  Today, we each take our individual places in doing this work.  “Tomorrow, there’ll be more of us.”[8]

 

            

 

 

 

 

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[1] My colleague Rabbi Elisa Koppel has compiled an excellent resource on this subject, available at https://www.sefaria.org/sheets/242741?lang=bi (retrieved August 16, 2020).  As Rabbi Koppel notes, the list of items varies in different sources.  Historically, the first reference to such an idea appears in Mishnah Avot 5:6.

[2] Cf. Genesis 22, especially verse 13.

[3] A phrase from the Unetaneh Tokef.  Translation from Gates of Repentance (New York: CCAR Press, 1996) p. 313.

[4] Esther 4:13

[5] Rabbi Hillel, Mishnah Avot 2:5

[6] Posted on personal Facebook page of Mariangela Abeo, July 28, 2020.  Retrieved August 15, 2020 from https://www.facebook.com/mabeo .

[7] Chadwick Boseman, 2018 Commencement Address at Howard University.  Retrieved from https://www.washingtonpost.com/education/2020/08/29/chadwick-boseman-praised-student-protesters-2018-commencement-speech-howard-university-watch-video/ August 31, 2020.

[8] Spoken by John Laurens in “Hamilton: An American Musical,” words and music by Lin-Manuel Miranda.

Erev Rosh Hashanah 5781: What Does a Yellow Light Mean?

Sermon for Erev Rosh Hashanah, delivered at Sinai Temple, Champaign, IL on September 18, 2020

 What Does A Yellow Light Mean?

 

       There’s a scene from the TV series Taxi that has continually come to my mind in the recent weeks and months.  Christopher Lloyd, playing the burned-out hippie “Reverend” Jim Ignatowski tries to get a job driving for the Sunshine Cab Company.  The other cabbies befriend him and accompany him to the DMV to help him with the written portion of his licensing test.

 

       Jim looks at the exam and is already befuddled by the first question.  He whispers to Bobby Wheeler (portrayed by Jeff Conaway), “What does a yellow light mean?”  Bobby replies through gritted teeth, “Slow down.”

 

       But then, Jim, misunderstanding Bobby’s response, just proceeds to ask the question slower: “What…does…a…yellow…light…mean?”  Bobby again repeats the answer, “Slow down,” and so the confused Jim shrugs his shoulders and tries again: “Whaaaat….doooes….aaaa….yellllooow….liiiight….meeean?”  The scene proceeds in this manner for several minutes before the camera cuts away.[1]

 

       Here’s the thing, though: we all could stand to slow down a bit.  We all need some yellow lights in our lives.  Before we dismiss Reverend Jim as a kook who was too “burnt out” to understand what Bobby was telling him in the context of the moment, let’s take time to think about how pacing ourselves can be beneficial.

 

       If you drive anything like I do (which I don’t necessarily recommend!), you may view the yellow light not as a warning to slow down, but as a nudge to hurry up so you can make it through the light.  But life, along with the Illinois Department of Transportation, encourages us instead to approach these yellow lights with caution, to slow down and take a moment to experience the world around us, to “stop and smell the roses.”  The Chassidic sage known as the Ba’al Shem Tov taught, “the world is full of miracles and wonders, but we take our little hands and cover our eyes and see nothing.”[2]  Since the Ba’al Shem Tov lived in the 18^th century, he of course knew nothing of yellow traffic lights in his lifetime.  Yet he understood that if we live our lives at too rapid a pace, we are liable to miss important opportunities to experience beauty and awe.

 

       Certainly, the past several months we spent realigning our behavior in response to the COVID-19 pandemic have caused many of us to modify our usual routines and perhaps to slow down a bit.  Having restricted ourselves from interactions with others, our calendars are taking new shape, and many of us have found respite from some of the constant running we used to do.  One friend and colleague reported that she had been able to enjoy more than 125 consecutive family dinners together; unheard of—particularly for rabbis—in a pre-COVID-19 schedule.  At Sinai, I’ve certainly noted that a number of you have participated more broadly in services and programming being offered online, now that you can just step into your living room (or wherever you keep your computer) and connect with these events instantaneously.  I do understand and empathize that for some, your experience has been the exact opposite, and life in the pandemic has not afforded you leisure.  If you are experiencing additional stresses or anxieties due to the current situation I do not mean to be dismissive of that reality.  I do pray that we can continue to support one another in sacred community, and that—at least during these days in which we carry a heightened sense of holiness—we can each find some degree of respite from the insistent onslaught of pressures and demands on our time.  Even if only for a moment, I pray that we can heed the cautionary call of the yellow light.

 

       When we have (and avail ourselves of) the chance to slow down, we may in turn develop a heightened sense of gratitude for the blessings in our lives.  During this season in which we have a heightened sense of self—engaging in self-reflection, striving for self-improvement—let us not lose sight of the need to be thankful to others.  For even in this age of COVID-19, when we are likely far more isolated than we might ordinarily be, we still acknowledge that there is a wide-reaching network of individuals and objects contributing to our daily existence.

 

       Rosh Hashanah was proclaimed by the rabbis to be “Yom Harat Olam,”[3] colloquially, the day of the birth of the world.  From the very first moment of Creation, God understood that as majestic and beautiful and awe-inspiring as the individual elements of the world might be, it would be all too easy for humanity to allow them to blend into the background and be taken for granted.  From the outset, therefore, God attempted to mitigate against this, admonishing Adam, “Look at my works! See how beautiful they are — how excellent! For your sake I created them all. See to it that you do not spoil and destroy My world; for if you do, there will be no one else to repair it.”[4]  Throughout the Torah, God continues to remind the Israelite community (and us, as their descendants who continue to study Torah and absorb its teachings into our daily lives) to acknowledge and appreciate that many of the gifts of this world are enjoyed not as the result of our own labors, but thanks to the efforts of others, as well.  In the 19^th century, Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch wrote that one of the questions we’ll be asked by God when our time on earth is done and we stand before the Divine throne is, “Have you seen my Alps?”[5]  In other words, Hirsch imagined that God wants us to heed the yellow lights in our lives in order that we might maintain an awareness of—and, by extension, a thankfulness for—everything around us.

 

       Author and humorist AJ Jacobs determined that he wanted to be sure to be adequately thankful for the comforts he enjoys in his life.  He recognized that when, for instance, he eats a tomato, hundreds of individuals have helped to shepherd it from seed to mature fruit, and to transport it from farm to grocery to his home.  He set out to thank as many individuals as he could in the supply chains for the various goods and services he enjoyed during his daily routine.  Ultimately, he determined that while he did indeed hope to feel—and express—gratitude for each of those things, he was casting too wide a net for his project to be practical.  Instead, he decided to zero in on one item: his morning cup of coffee.  He set out to thank the barista, the owner of the company, the coffee farmers, the truck drivers who deliver the beans, and so forth.  In the book he wrote about the experience, Thanks a Thousand!, Jacobs chronicles how he spent about a year individually thanking more than one thousand individuals who each had a hand—some perhaps more indirectly than others—in getting his morning cup of joe into his hands.  Though Jacobs created his book as a work of humor, there are some very poignant (and very Jewish) moments within his quest.  Most of the people to whom he talks are unaccustomed to being thanked for their work; how many Americans are in the habit of directly and earnestly showing gratitude to service personnel such as grocery stock clerks or municipal water safety supervisors?  

 

Jacobs notes that “humans are genetically programmed to pay attention to what goes wrong.”[6]  It takes specific effort, therefore, for us to celebrate what is good and right in our lives.  But Jacobs further reminds us that for gratitude to be effective, it “should be a two-way street.  It should be helpful to both the thanker and the thankee.  It’s not just a self-help tool, it should brighten other lives.”[7]  It would be wonderful if we all entered this new year with a spirit of thankfulness and kindness toward others.  Ideally, however, we would engage in such a practice not only to make ourselves feel good or to earn some “divine brownie points,” but because we truly wish to improve other people’s experiences.  

 

As a side note, Jacobs notes that there is a certain amount of privilege in showing gratitude.  Some of the people whom he thanked have very few options about how they make their livelihood, due to socioeconomic or geographic circumstances.  Jacobs acknowledges that it is purely luck that positioned him as a consumer of coffee able to offer thanks to others, rather than a player at some other point on the supply chain.[8]  It is good and important to offer thanks to those who do things for us; it is equally significant to recognize the bigger picture, and work for just wages and breadth of opportunity for all.

 

As much as this season is one of introspection, the shofar’s call stirs us to action and cautions us against turning fully inward.  It reminds us that if we truly wish to engage in self-examination and be reflective about our past so that we can build a brighter future, we must open our eyes, minds, hands, and hearts to those who daily impact us—for good and for ill.  In the words of the poet Gwendolyn Brooks, we are reminded that “we are each other’s harvest / we are each other’s business / we are each other’s magnitude and bond.”[9]  Or, as the rabbis put it, “Kol Yisrael arevin zeh ba-zeh.—the lives of each member of the Jewish community are intertwined with one another.”[10]  We are called to recognize the myriad ways that others touch and bless our lives, to appreciate that each individual whom we encounter is a significant strand in the tapestry of our society.

 

Judaism is a faith that emphasizes blessings; tradition holds that one should strive to say one hundred blessings every day.  So it should come as no surprise that there is a wonderful blessing for when we see or experience something extraordinary, something that changes our mood and outlook for the better: Baruch Ata Adonai, Elohein Melech HaOlam, She-Kacha Lo B’olamo—Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Sovereign of the universe, Who has given us such things in this world.[11]  Perhaps if we adopt a habit of trying to recite this blessing on a daily basis, our eyes will be more attuned to seeking out the unusual, beautiful, miraculous, or helpful things we regularly encounter.  Perhaps it will heighten our sense of gratitude.

 

Yom Harat Olam, that nickname for Rosh Hashanah that I mentioned earlier, literally means, “The Day on Which the World is Pregnant.”  This New Year 5781 that we now begin is indeed pregnant with a multitude of opportunities.  How will we rise to the occasion?  What story will we write for ourselves on this blank slate of a year that now lies before us?

 

May we each seek ways to embrace the many possibilities that present themselves to us.  May we each experience and embody gratitude for all the beauty and goodness in our lives.  May we each acknowledge that the yellow lights we encounter are there for a purpose, and may we learn to slow down for them, so we may better appreciate the world in which we live.

 

 

 

 

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[1] “Reverend Jim, A Space Odyssey,” season 2, episode 3.  Written by Glen Charles and Les Charles, originally aired September 25, 1979.

[2] Oft cited, but original source unknown

[3] In a liturgical poem for Rosh Hashanah that appears in the Machzor

[4] Ecclesiastes Rabbah 7:13

[5] Another oft-retold tale whose origin is unclear.

[6] Jacobs, A.J. Thanks a Thousand: A Gratitude Journey (New York: TED Books, 2018), p. 5.

[7] Ibid, p. 33

[8] Ibid, p. 103

[9] Brooks, Gwendolyn. “Paul Robeson,” from Blacks (Third World Press, 1984)

[10] Babylonian Talmud, Shevuot 39a

[11] This blessing is attested to in the Babylonian Talmud, Berachot 58b