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What's Next? Yom Kippur Morning 5784
What's Next?
Yom Kippur Morning 5784
September 26, 2023
Rabbi Alan Cook
Sinai Temple, Champaign, Illinois
A few weeks ago, Champaign-Urbana Jewish Federation sponsored a preview showing of “Golda,” a new Biopic of Golda Meir starring Helen Mirren and directed by Guy Nattiv. It was nice to see many from our Sinai Temple community at this screening. The film focuses largely on Golda Meir’s actions during the Yom Kippur War in 1973.
During one scene, set about two weeks into the war, Prime Minister Meir welcomes Secretary of State Henry Kissinger into her home as she prepares to speak with him to ask the U.S. to intercede. Before getting down to business, she offers him a bowl of some borscht that her housekeeper, Leah, has prepared. Kissinger initially declines, saying that he is full. Golda admonishes him, saying, “You have to eat it, Henry. She’s a survivor.”[1]
While the visit between the two leaders did indeed occur, it’s likely that the borscht scene was invented or embellished for the movie. But the themes underscored in that moment have long existed within Jewish identity. We are survivors, and we revere our survival. It’s a core part of our narrative that has allowed us to flourish from generation to generation.
Many of you are familiar with the old joke that the story of Jewish history can be summarized as, “They tried to kill us; we won. Let’s eat.” Our Haggadah puts it more prosaically: “For more than one enemy has risen against us to destroy us. But the Holy One, Blessed be God, saved us from their hand.”[2] However one slices it, our understanding of ourselves and what it means to be Jewish seems inextricably tied to celebrating our triumph over the trials and tribulations faced by our ancestors.
But indeed we must ask ourselves how and why we have survived. While we mock Pharaoh at Pesach or Haman at Purim, they and other leaders whom we have faced in our past were not the buffoons we caricature at our Pesach seders or Purim shpiels, but dangerous despots who sought our destruction. Yes, we have persevered, but for what purpose? And how do we ensure our continued renewal and resilience?
The late Rabbi Shimon Maslin wrote:
We Jews have not survived for 4000 years in order to leave to the world a legacy of lox and bagels, nor in order to leave a legacy of ethnic comedy and best-selling fiction, not even to leave a legacy of Nobel Prize winners. We have not survived for 4000 years in order to produce a generation that proudly wears chais around the neck, golfs in the low 80s, reads the New York Times and donates over a billion dollars annually to philanthropy. While condemning none of this and participating in some of it, I do not see any of it as providing a clue to the survival of the Jewish people.[3]
If, as Rabbi Maslin argued, these sociological and cultural touchstones are not responsible for our endurance, the question remains: what is?
Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote, “We are a people in whom the past endures, in whom the present is inconceivable
without moments gone by. The stories of Abraham and Sarah
and our other ancient ancestors lasted just a moment, but it was a moment enduring forever. What happened once upon a time happens all the time.”[4] When we reenact stories of our past—by building booths at Sukkot, for instance, or recounting the moment of Revelation during Shavuot, we place ourselves in that context for a brief moment, forming an additional link in shalshelet ha-kabbalah, the chain of received tradition that binds us to the past.
And remembering from whence we came is certainly valuable. This summer, Pixar released its 27th feature film, called Elemental. On its surface, it presents a universe in which the various natural elements-- fire, water, air, and earth—are each living families, commingling in one society. The movie did not initially succeed at the box office, but through word of mouth has grown an audience. It was particularly successful in South Korea, where moviegoers recognized and embraced the movie’s secondary plotline about immigrant parents striving to have their children embrace and uphold cultural traditions in order to ensure their preservation for future generations.
Given the emphasis of this theme, we could recognize Elemental as also being a Jewish story. For a key to our people’s continuity is certainly the transmission of Jewish belief and practice mi’dor la-dor—from generation to generation. As Tevye put it, Jewish survival is predicated on our ongoing embrace of tradition, with a capital “T.”[5]
Without revealing too many spoilers, the cultural storyline of Elemental focuses on a young woman from the Fire culture who strives to keep alive the blue flame that her parents brought with them from the “old country.” Her father reminds her, “Our blue flame holds all our traditions and gives us strength to burn bright.”[6] But aside from the family’s traditions literally being embodied in the blue flame, Ember feels them also to be metaphorically ingrained in her parents’ store, which they hope she will continue to operate, thus maintaining their legacy for future generations.
In the climax of the film—apologies again for any spoilers—after an emotional confrontation between Ember and her parents, Ember’s father assures her, “The shop was never the dream. You were the dream. You were always the dream.” In this way, the film reminds us that it is possible to maintain our traditions while being true to ourselves. In the fictional world that Ember inhabits, as in our own world, continuity and survival is not dependent upon objects or places, but on each individual embracing and embodying those tenets of our faith and culture that are meaningful to them.
The late author Amos Oz wrote, “We have inherited a houseful of furniture from the Jewish past. We must decide what goes into the living room, and what goes into the attic.”[7] In every generation, we will engage in the act of rearranging that Oz describes. Each of us will undertake this metaphorical task of interior design in a different manner. But so long as we carry with us something of meaning that we have inherited from the past, we can endure.
Each Pesach in our Haggadot, we read the rabbinic descriptions of the character of four types of children. We look with disdain upon the so-called “wicked” or “rasha” child, who asks, “What does all this mean to you?”[8] Tradition has understood this child’s question as dismissive; because the child asks what the ritual means to their elders, they imply that it bears no meaning or relevance to their own experience. But perhaps all these years we have misjudged the tenor of the rasha’s query. Maybe what they are truly saying is, “Help me to understand what this has meant to previous generations so that I can internalize that and put my own spin on it, in order to proudly be able to say, ‘This is what it now means to ME.’”
If we understand their statement in this manner, then we should celebrate this individual who has been unfairly cast as the rasha and acknowledge that their mode of thinking may indeed unlock a key tool in understanding Jewish continuity. Judaism is not static. It is the responsibility of each generation to stand on the shoulders of those who have come before, taking the foundation that others have constructed and adding their own scaffolding as they draw in the elements of culture and practice that are meaningful to them, and perhaps even innovate in unique ways.
We live in a time that presents significant challenges for organized Judaism. Organizations are consolidating—Hebrew Union College, the Reform seminary, has plans to sunset its rabbinic studies program in Cincinnati, where Rabbi Jody and I studied and met. The Union for Reform Judaism is reimagining its biennial conventions, once robust gatherings that drew thousands of Reform Jews from all across North America for Jewish learning and celebration, in a significantly smaller scale. Synagogues are closing or merging. Institutions are coming to terms with decades of ethical impropriety. Philanthropic giving has seen a decline. Some of these shifts, undoubtedly, come on the heels of COVID; no organization, no matter how worthy, could weather a global pandemic completely unchanged. But many of these shifts come as a result of changing attitudes about how people wish to immerse themselves in Jewish communities.
To be sure, other faiths are grappling with similar challenges; we are certainly not alone in this. And this is not the first generation in which demographers have expressed alarm at trend shifts among the generations. I don’t believe Judaism is endangered in any way—from within. The challenges we face due to antisemitism sadly are myriad in our modern society; entire symposia, let alone sermons, have been devoted to this topic. Yet in the face of threats from these nefarious outside forces, we must not do their work for them. Philosopher Emil Fackenheim spoke of a 614th commandment: that we have the imperative to survive as Jews, lest we give Nazis and other anti-Semites (may their names be blotted out) a posthumous victory by ridding the world of Jews through our own apathy and attrition.[9]
While I’m certainly not ready to write an obituary for organized Judaism, I do believe that as Jews, every individual among us needs to explore the degree of ownership we are willing to take in our Jewish lives. Progressive Judaism affords us the autonomy to discover and determine for ourselves which elements of tradition and culture most fully inspire us. As Amos Oz put it, we are free to rearrange the furniture in a different manner than our parents, our grandparents, our friends, or our neighbors. But we cannot abandon it completely.
Some of you may be familiar with a famous story that is told of Rabbi Israel Ba’al Shem Tov, the founder of Chasidic Judaism, and his students:
When the great Rabbi Israel Baal Shem-Tov saw misfortune threatening the Jews it was his custom to go into a certain part of the forest to meditate. There he would light a fire, say a special prayer, and the miracle would be accomplished and misfortune averted.
Later, when his disciple, the celebrated Magid of Mezritch, had occasion, for the same reason, to intercede with heaven, he would go to the same place in the forest and say: “Master of the Universe, listen! I do not know how to light the fire, but I am still able to say the prayers.” And again the miracle would be accomplished.
Still later, Rabbi Moshe-Leib of Sasov, in order to save his people once more, would go into the forest and say: “I do not know how to light the fire, I do not know the prayer, but I know the place and this must be sufficient.” It was sufficient, and the miracle was accomplished.
Then it fell to Rabbi Israel of Rizhyn to overcome misfortune. Sitting in his armchair, his head in his hands, he spoke to God: “I am unable to light the fire and I do not know the prayer; I cannot even find the place in the forest. All I can do is to tell the story, and that must be sufficient.” And it was sufficient.[10]
Some of us will carry forward all of the same elements of our tradition that previous generations embraced. Others may only embrace those elements that they find elevate their personal sense of belonging. But if we can emulate Rabbi Israel of Rizhyn, so long as we continue to remember, embody, and retell our story, we have faith that this will be sufficient, and the radiant flame of our heritage will continue to shine brightly.
[1] “Golda,” written by Nicholas Martin. Piccadilly Pictures/ Big Entrance/ Embankment Films/ Lipsync Productions/ Qwerty Films, 2023.
[2] From the text of “V’hi She’amda…” a passage in the Passover Haggadah.
[3] Quoted by Rabbi Gary Bretton-Granatoor in a Facebook post. The quote was first spoken at the installation service of Rabbi Jeff Salkin in Port Wahsington, NY in 1996.
[4] Heschel, Abraham Joshua. Israel: An Echo of Eternity (New York: Farrar, Strauss, and Giroux: 1987) p. 128.
[5] Referring to “Fiddler on the Roof,” book by Joseph Stein, lyrics by Sheldon Harnick, music by Jerry Bock
[6] “Elemental,” written by John Hoberg, Kat Likkel, and Brenda Hsueh from a story by Peter Sohn, John Hoberg, Kat Likkel, and Brenda Hsueh.
[7] Oz apparently said variations on this a number of times in his life. This version was cited by Rabbi Jeff Salkin, who paraphrased it from an opinion piece by Yarin Raban in The Jerusalem Post, January 7, 2019.
[8] From the traditional text of the Passover Haggadah, reflecting on Exodus 12:26
[9] Based on Fackenheim, Emil. To Mend the World: Foundations of Post-Holocaust Jewish Thought (Bloomingston, IN: Indiana University Press, 1994).
[10] Elie Wiesel, in The Gates of the Forest (New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston, 1966).
Troubled Committed- Kol Nidre 5784
Troubled Committted
Kol Nidre 5784
September 25, 2023
Rabbi Alan Cook
Sinai Temple, Champaign, Illinois
A well-worn aphorism states that it is the role of journalism to “comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.”[1] Perhaps the same could be said of High Holiday sermons.
I’m going to make use of a term that I know from experience is likely to make a few of you uncomfortable. It’s a word that a number of North American Jewish congregations have tended to avoid in recent years, and some have argued that it is so polarizing that it has no place in polite conversation, especially on Yom Kippur, our holiest day of the year.
The word is Israel. As I said, I understand that my mention of the Jewish state bothers some of you. Perhaps you grew up steeped in a classical Reform tradition, which rejected Zionism in all forms, preferring to focus upon issues facing Jews domestically. Maybe your discomfort is predicated on concern for the Palestinian people who also reside within that region, and the challenges of their lives. It could be that you are distrustful of Prime Minister Netanyahu and his cabinet threatening the institutions of democracy within the country. Or there may be other, more personal reasons that cause you to have a negative reaction when I say, “Israel.” My remarks over these next few minutes ultimately may not change your mind. But I ask that you not dismiss them out of hand.
“Lma’an Tziyon lo echesheh—for the sake of Zion, I shall not be silent.”[2] Please hear me out on why I believe American Jews’ continued engagement with Israel is not only warranted, not only worthy of a sermon on this holiest of nights, but actually essential to our existence.
In contrast to Marc Antony speaking after Caesar’s death, I come tonight neither to bury Israel nor to blindly praise her,[3] but rather to attempt to unpack her many intricacies. For I believe that despite her flaws and imperfections, despite the heartache that she occasionally arouses among individuals who seek to love her, despite what has been noted as “a gap between Israel as it [is] and Israel as I [believe] it should be,”[4]despite the misguided and often willfully destructive behaviors of her elected officials-- Ein li eretz acheret-[5] I have no other land. I have no other land so dedicated to Jewish hopes and promises, no other land that calls me to be a member of this community called Yisrael and to wrestle with these myriad contradictions and complexities. On her 75th birthday; on the 50th anniversary of the war waged on this holy day by enemies bent on her destruction, I think it is fitting that we talk a bit about Israel, and how American Jews engage with her.
Thomas Friedman noted in an essay last year that “The Israel We Knew is Gone.”[6] Whether you are a fan or a critic of Mr. Friedman and his journalism, it is true, as Friedman writes, that “a fundamental question [is roiling] synagogues in America and across the globe: ‘Do I support this Israel or not support it?’”[7] And Friedman posited this question even before the so-called judicial reforms were proposed earlier this year, further exposing widening fissures within Israeli society, and raising further questions regarding allegiance from Jews in the diaspora watching the situation unfold from afar.
Rabbi Dr. Donniel Hartman, president of the Shalom Hartman Institute, plots engagement with Israel into four quadrants. One can be “untroubled uncommitted,” that is, not troubled by any of Israel’s actions or policies, and not at all engaged with any emotional connection to the nation. One can be “troubled uncommitted,” meaning that you are deeply disturbed by her policies, but, feeling no visceral connection to Israel, you rarely, if ever, engage. One can be “untroubled committed,” finding oneself fully invested in the future and well-being of the country yet wholly unbothered by the actions her leaders take in pursuit of securing her future. Or, one can be “troubled committed,” as Hartman personally identifies. Hartman states that he is “unconditionally committed to Israel’s survival,” and “troubled because Israel, however committed to peace, is no longer resolute in pursuing it.”[8] Hartman notes that “The dominant discourse in response to criticism of Israel’s behavior and policies [within diaspora Judaism] is still shaped by the ‘untroubled committed.’” Further, he points out, “’Troubled committed’ ought only to be a temporary status. If it becomes permanent, it puts the moral seriousness of one’s troubledness into question.”[9]
A bit of background, necessarily abbreviated because this is a sermon in a worship service and not a political science treatise: Since late 2018, Israel has faced a bit of a political crisis. Benjamin Netanyahu, then serving his fourth term as Prime Minister, saw his coalition collapse. An election in April of 2019 concluded with no party being able to form a government. Netanyahu’s Likud party was given a mandate to form a government, but when they failed to do so, they refused to relinquish that opportunity to any other parties, and instead forced another election. A similar impasse occurred after that election in September 2019. Two additional elections were held in March 2020 and March 2021, each of which formed governments that dissolved in less than a year. In November of last year, a fifth election in the span of only four years, saw Netanyahu finally able to form a coalition by aligning himself with far-right religious parties. Though those in the majority only received an aggregated 48% of the popular vote, they acquired a sufficient number of seats to form a majority in the Knesset and take power. They then saw themselves as having a mandate to enact a nationalist agenda.[10]
Netanyahu first served as Prime Minister from 1996 to 1999 and took office again in 2009, serving nearly continuously since then. There is an entire generation of young Jews who have never known an Israel without Netanyahu as Prime Minister, or at the very least, a major power broker. For them, Israel and her policies are inextricably linked to the platforms of Netanyahu and his allies. For these young people, as essayist Sophie Balmagiya notes,
Israel today looks nothing like the Israel that was described, upon its inception, within the original proclamation of independence. Israel was originally meant to be a safe haven for Jews that strived for peace with its neighbors. […]
I want to see myself represented within the only country in the world that I can ethnically align myself with; however, I shouldn’t be expected to sacrifice ethics for ethnicity. As someone who, according to all demographic information, should be a strong-willed and passionate Zionist, I find myself with a weak and conditional sense of Zionism and a yearning for a nation of the past that I was never even alive to see.[11]
The nature of relationships between Israel and the Palestinian population, and the way that this impacts the prospects for peace in the region, is not the only issue creating angst and causing some to question their relationship to the state. Prime Minister Netanyahu’s decision to align himself with deeply nationalist right-wing politicians has threatened the democratic nature of Israeli society in other deeply troublesome ways. Inroads that had been made in recent years to protect the interests of progressive and Masorti Jews in Israel (the Israeli equivalents of Reform and Conservative Judaism) have been steadily eroded. Egalitarian measures that ensured rights for Israeli women are being undermined. Rights extended to members of the LGBTQ+ community have been curtailed. Social programs such as pensions for the elderly are being mishandled, with accusations that funds for these causes are being misappropriated.
Even with the Knesset on recess until after the High Holidays, some actions have continued that underscore the ideas and goals of the current government. Two weeks ago, for instance, National Security Minister Itamar Ben G’vir gleefully oversaw the destruction of a Bedouin village in the Negev, calling it “holy work.”[12]
Let me say this: as much as I feel my Jewish pride deeply; as much as I embrace Israel as a homeland for our people; as much as I long for peace and security and democracy to flourish in the Middle East, I vehemently reject any notion of “holiness” that is predicated on doing violence toward others. This is not the Israel I love.
Rabbi Dr. Hartman reminds us, “Israel does not have to be perfect; no nation is. Individuals are also capable of distinguishing between a country and its current government.”[13] For those of us in the “troubled committed” camp—where I’ll include myself---and even, I’d argue, for those who find themselves in the other camps, this is a significant reminder. If we are displeased with the way the leaders of the country (or any country, for that matter) are steering national policy, our qualms cannot be resolved through disengagement. Rather, we have been taught “al tifrosh min ha-tizbbur- do not separate yourself from the community.”[14] We have a moral and civic responsibility to speak and act to let these officials know that we expect Israeli policy to align with the values its founders espoused in its Declaration of Independence, which reads in part:
it will foster the development of the country for the benefit of all its inhabitants; it will be based on freedom, justice and peace as envisaged by the prophets of Israel; it will ensure complete equality of social and political rights to all its inhabitants irrespective of religion, race or sex; it will guarantee freedom of religion, conscience, language, education and culture.[15]
Toward the end of the book of Deuteronomy, we read [in Parashat Nitzavim/ in our reading for Yom Kippur morning] Moses’ explanation to the Israelite community that they need not rely on an intermediary to bring them closer to Torah and mitzvot. “Lo bashamayim hi,” he proclaims, “It is not in the heavens.”[16] Throughout Jewish history, this has been understood to emphasize that humans have the opportunity and the obligation to take action; we cannot and should not sit back and wait for God to intervene when things trouble us.
Since January of this year, large-scale protests against the Israeli government have taken place regularly in most major cities in Israel. They are driven by outrage over judicial reforms promoted by the ruling parties, which would, among other things, change the way judges are appointed; prevent the Supreme Court from ruling on the validity of certain laws, and eliminate the “unreasonableness” of a law as grounds for judicial review of it. The reforms are being promoted by Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and his justice minister Yariv Levin, and are seen in part as Netanyahu’s retaliation against many corruption charges brought against him by the courts. Already, one of the so-called reform measures has passed a vote in the Knesset; the Israeli Supreme Court began meeting last week to determine whether that reform may legally stand. The aftermath of any decision emerging from these hearings undoubtedly will roil Israeli society, and could lead to a constitutional crisis.
Many of you know that I visited Israel in February for the convention of the Central Conference of American Rabbis, the professional organization for Reform rabbis. I am grateful to Sinai’s Board of Trustees, and to the Miles and Barbara Klein Fund at the Champaign Urbana Jewish Endowment Foundation for their logistic and financial support of this trip. On the Saturday evening that I was there, I stood among hundreds of colleagues, and more than 100,000 residents of Tel Aviv, as they listened to speakers from various segments of Israeli society and chanted vociferously “Democratzia!” (Democracy!). To see these citizens exercising their democratic privilege, which they have continued to do in the ensuing months since my visit, should serve as a reminder to us all: when you care about something, you can’t turn away from it.
I also had the opportunity, one month after my convention visit, to chaperone the IsraelNow eighth grade trip to Israel; four of Sinai Temple’s students were participants. Dancing in the streets of Tel Aviv, eating falafel and k’nafeh, visiting sites and nature preserves, and immersing ourselves in the land and its culture and traditions, I experienced the country through their eyes. As much as we may be politically inclined to process Israel’s complexities on an intellectual and geopolitical level, it is also significant to engage with her personally, emotionally, and spiritually.[17]
I do not know that I have made any converts to my mindset in the time that I’ve been speaking. But I’ll make the ask anyway: if you are currently untroubled, I urge you to reconsider, to look inside yourself and try to experience compassion and empathy for all peoples who find themselves in the midst of this difficult situation. Try to shake yourself from your personal comfort a bit and recall that we have been given the responsibility to care for all peoples—not just the ones who look, act, pray the same way we do.
And if you are currently uncommitted, I’d also ask that you examine what we would lose if the Jews of the world did not have Israel, and what the world would lose without a strong democracy in the Middle East. I’d ask that you think not merely of our emotional and historic ties to the region, but also what it means for a people to have a place to call home.
I, for one, plan to keep doing my part, as one who is troubled about the status quo, to push for peaceful resolution of these troubles. Because I love Israel, because I am committed to her, I take this as my sacred obligation. “Lma’an Tziyon lo echesheh—for the sake of Zion, I shall not be silent.”
In this New Year 5784, may Israel and all the nations of the world know peace. May every person sit beneath their own vine and fig tree, and may none be afraid.[18]
[1] Attributed to journalist Finley Peter Dunne in 1902. See https://quoteinvestigator.com/2019/02/01/comfort/ . Retrieved June 9, 2023.
[2] Isaiah 62:1
[3] See Shakespeare, William. Julius Caesar, Act III, Scene 2
[4] Donniel Hartman, “Liberal Zionism and the Troubled Committed,” in Sources Journal, Fall 2021. Retrieved from https://www.sourcesjournal.org/articles/liberal-zionism-and-the-troubled-committed?fbclid=IwAR3WF0aoA2q12j_8raWt2pY-Hvz498Z5e-hyoG1D4em-y5tTaSlojTgOtvw , August 28, 2023
[5] Title of a song by the prolific Israeli composer Ehud Manor, written in 1982 at the height of the first Lebanon War.
[6] Published in the New York Times, November 4, 2022.
[7] Ibid.
[8] Hartman, “Liberal Zionism and the Troubled Committed.”
[9] Ibid.
[10] For further details, see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2022_Israeli_legislative_election Retrieved August 31, 2023
[11] https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/dear-israel-end-the-occupation-or-force-a-generation-of-jews-to-abandon-zionism/ Retrieved August 31, 2023
[12] Jerusalem Post, August 29, 2023. https://www.jpost.com/israel-news/article-756720 Retrieved September 6, 2023.
[13] Hartman, “Liberal Zionism and the Troubled Committed.”
[14] Hillel, in Pirke Avot 2:4
[15] The Declaration of the Establishment of the State of Israel, May 14, 1948. Retrieved from https://www.gov.il/en/departments/general/declaration-of-establishment-state-of-israel#:~:text=WE%20DECLARE%20that%2C%20with%20effect,by%20the%20Elected%20Constituent%20Assembly September 7, 2023.
[16] Deuteronomy 30:12
[17] Thank you to Rabbi Neal Katz for comments that helped me to frame this paragraph.
[18] Based on Micah 4:4
Thursday, September 21, 2023
The Swiss cheese Incident- Erev Rosh Hashanah 5784
The Swiss Cheese Incident
Erev Rosh Hashanah 5784
September 15, 2023
Rabbi Alan Cook
Sinai Temple, Champaign, Illinois
I hope that many of you know Oren Akresh. Oren celebrated his Bar Mitzvah with us in July of 2022. Throughout his preparations for the day, we had a few meetings together, of course. At the conclusion of one of those meetings, I asked Oren if he had any questions. He responded that he did. I might have anticipated that he would ask about some commentary on his Torah portion, or about the flow of the service. Instead, he inquired, “Why does Swiss cheese have holes in it?”
Now, I had a few options. I could have shrugged off the question as impertinent, changed the subject, and never spoken of it again. I could have Googled an explanation, presented it to Oren, and moved on. Or, I could have designed a sermon for Erev Rosh Hashanah aimed at addressing the question. By now, many of you are beginning to figure out which path I chose.
You see, as we prepare to enter a new Jewish year, it so happens that there is much that we can learn from a piece of Swiss cheese. These lessons, I pray, will not only serve to enlighten Oren, but will allow us all to examine how we think about the world, and our place in it, as we begin the year 5784. As we consider the holes or gaps in Swiss cheese, let us consider where there are gaps that we find in our own lives, and how we might work to manage them in the coming year.
There are nearly 500 varieties of cheese produced in Switzerland[1]; what most of us traditionally think of as “Swiss cheese” that we’d order from a deli counter in the supermarket here in the states is generally Emmenthaler or Gruyere, or some approximation thereof. And there are a number of reasons why or how these cheeses obtain their holes.
Some Swiss cheese has holes due to natural processes of fermentation. Three bacteria are used in Swiss cheese production: Streptococcus thermophilus, Lactobacilius, and Propionibacterium. The Propionibacterium consume the lactic acid produced by the other two bacteria and release carbon dioxide, creating gas bubbles that eventually lead to the familiar holes. During much of history, cheesemakers sought to reduce or eliminate the holes or gaps in their cheese, for fear that they would be viewed as flaws. It is only in modern times that the holes were embraced as a means of identifying Swiss cheese.[2]
We human beings are not always perfectly shaped and fully formed. We, too, may experience gaps in our lives, places where we feel inadequate or incomplete. Like the cheesemakers of old, we may be inclined to be discomfited by these gaps and view them as unfortunate imperfections. Alternatively, we can look at these gaps as opportunities that we’ve not yet embraced for ourselves. Experiences that we’ve not yet undertaken, skills that we’ve not yet learned, places to which we’ve not yet traveled and so forth—these can all be things that we aspire to undertake in the coming year. As we engage in cheshbon hanefesh, the account-taking of our souls that we are called upon to do during this High Holiday season, we can ask ourselves: how do we wish to grow and broaden our horizons during the coming year?
Jewish tradition teaches that every individual is born with two inclinations: The yetzer tov, the positive inclination, and the yetzer ra, the evil or rebellious inclination.[3] One might think that we should be continuously striving to subdue our yetzer ra, to eliminate any “badness” or “evil” from our midst. On the contrary, however, the rabbis teach that it would be a mistake to fully destroy the yetzer ra, stating that if it were not for the yetzer ra, we would not have any drive to build a home, seek a spouse, procreate, or engage in commerce.[4] In each of these actions, we are driven, consciously or unconsciously, by a sense of competitiveness with our neighbors which, in turn, is guided by our yetzer ra. If this yetzer rahad no hold within our psyche, we would lose our urge to “keep up with the Joneses,” and we might fall into a state of complete inertia. So the rabbis underscore that the trick is not to put an end to the yetzer ra, but to keep it in balance with the yetzer tov.
In a similar vein, as desirable as it might seem, at first analysis, to fill in all the gaps of our lives, we probably would not want to do so; that would leave us no room for learning, growth, and self-improvement. I would argue that it is part of the human process of aging to engage each year in self-analysis. We assess what we have accomplished in the past year, and what we hope to achieve in the coming year: skills we hope to acquire or habits we hope to break or goals we hope to fulfill. We pray that such efforts may fill our buckets, and in so doing, that we may start to attend to at least some of our gaps.
As in traditionally-produced Swiss cheeses, these gaps in our life occur naturally. Despite our best efforts, we find ourselves falling into certain behaviors, even though we know they are detrimental to our well-being or our relationships with others. Or we put off tasks and goals, or avoid making an effort to excel in a newfound interest, because we fear we lack the time or talent to tackle them in an impactful manner. But when we expend the energy to address these gaps, we often find a great deal of happiness and fulfillment. Rabbi Hillel taught, “Do not say, ‘I will study when I have free time; perhaps you will never have free time.’”[5] It’s the Jewish equivalent of the aphorism, “Do not put off until tomorrow what you can do today.”[6] Whether you prefer the Jewish or secular version of the exhortation, the point is the same: even when gaps occur naturally in our lives, we have the opportunity to engage with them and tackle them.
As I noted, some makers of traditional Swiss cheeses have tried in recent decades to move away from having holes in their cheese. They have added refinements to the cheesemaking process such as pressing the blocks of cheese as they are aging in an effort to eliminate buildup of carbon dioxide bubbles. No bubbles means no holes.
But here’s the thing: consumers want holes in their Swiss cheese. So, mass-produced domestic Swiss-style cheese sold in American grocery stores sometimes has to fake it. Holes are punched into the blocks of cheese after the aging process is completed, giving the Swiss cheese its distinctive look.
And just as the cheese has had gaps or holes introduced by others, so do we occasionally find that the gaps in our lives seem to be beyond our control, the result of actions by others. There seems to be no shortage of those who seek to interfere in our lives by telling us we can’t rise to our fullest ambitions because of our age, our gender, our race, our sexual preference, our religion, our politics, or our connection to any of a myriad of other categorizations that society seeks to use to define us. But humans are fortunate to differ from cheese in that we have some say in the matter.
Please understand, by the way, that I am well aware that many of us feel the pain of gaps in our lives due to opportunities we longed for that did not reach fruition, or loved ones who are no longer with us, or illnesses and hardships we or those whom we love may be facing, or relationships that have dissolved, or trauma we have experienced, or other forms of loss. I do not mean in any way to diminish such hurts. The gaps that are left by these experiences can be tremendously painful. They are not easily filled—in some cases, they may never be, and we would not wish to attempt to do so. But as uncomfortable as such gaps may be, they too help to define us in important ways.
The gaps I have in mind at the moment are those created by those whom we encounter who don’t believe in us, and question our potential. They tell us that we are not capable of overcoming our gaps. But we don’t have to believe them. Long ago, I memorized and internalized a poem by the late Shel Silverstein:
Listen to the Mustn’ts, child, listen to the Don’ts.
Listen to the Shouldn’ts, the Impossibles, the Won’ts.
Listen to the Never Haves, then listen close to me,
Anything can happen, child, anything can be.[7]
It would do each of us tremendous good if we could learn to tune out the “cant’s” and “don’ts” and other negative exhortations that are leveled against us so that we might approach and address our gaps with the self-confidence required to make a change.
Additionally I have in mind those gaps imposed by people in positions of power who seek to subjugate and demean those who are different from them. But we have often been reminded in recent history of Dr. King’s words, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”[8] When others try to exploit gaps in our lives or in the lives of our friends and neighbors; when they seek to create new gaps by minimizing our voices or depriving us of opportunities, it is incumbent on each of us to stand up in firm protest. These artificially introduced gaps should stir us to take to the streets and to fill the voting booths to ensure that our best interests and our inalienable rights are being upheld. Words, and actions, and elections all have consequences, and the consequence of our inaction when we are faced with such challenges will be that the fabric of our lives will be riddled with gaps like, well, a piece of Swiss cheese.
In the early 2000s, a theory known as “intelligent design” was suggested as an addendum to grade school curricula. This pseudoscientific theory was seen as a backdoor means of adding religious teachings about the creation of the universe to science textbooks to stand alongside teachings about evolution. As the debate raged in a number of school systems, Nobel Laureate in Physics Eric Cornell penned an essay for Time magazine addressing the subject. He sought to answer the question, “Why is the sky blue?” Cornell offered two possible answers, “1) The sky is blue because of the wavelength dependence of Rayleigh scattering; 2) The sky is blue because blue is the color God wants it to be.”[9] In his essay, Cornell essentially asserts that one will be primed to favor one answer over the other depending on whether one is interested in the scientific approach or the faith-based approach. But one answer need not be dismissed in order to embrace the other. In fact, the two can be reconciled: perhaps one could say that the sky is blue because of the phenomenon of Rayleigh scattering, and yet Rayleigh scattering is merely God’s way of helping us appreciate the complexity of the universe—including the blueness of the sky.
In a similar manner, we can understand the phenomenon of holes in Swiss cheese: some of the holes are there due to a naturally occurring process, and some are put there artificially during manufacturing. One could even say again that these two possibilities can be reconciled: because Swiss cheese once contained naturally-occurring holes, manufacturers have chosen to now add artificial ones. However we slice it…the cheese has holes.
The cheese has holes because we have come to expect it to be that way. It is, at least in the eyes of American consumers, a quintessential element of what makes Swiss cheese, Swiss cheese. Could manufacturers of Cheddar or Gorgonzola start putting holes in their cheese? Could we enjoy a slice of imported Emmenthal without holes? Both are certainly possible, but they would upend our ideal and visceral expectations of Swiss cheese.
This is true for us, as well. While it is important, as I stated earlier, to resist those who would create gaps in our lives for nefarious purposes, we can nevertheless ask ourselves if we would still be recognizable as ourselves if we didn’t have at least some gaps? What would humanity look like if we were born fully formed, without any opportunity for self-improvement or refinement? The gaps in our lives, while they may occasionally dismay or burden us, become indelible parts of who we are. This is not to say that we should be resting passively on our tuchusesbecoming inert creatures; it is important that we continually seek out growth opportunities so that our brief sojourn on this planet not only leaves this world a better place because of our presence, but improves our personal existence in some manner. Yet some of our gaps are important identifiers of who we are and what we aspire to be. With all due respect to Gatorade and to Mr. Jordan, not all of us can “Be like Mike.”[10] We can’t all be NBA superstars, or Olympic medalists, or world leaders, or NASA scientists. But undoubtedly many of the folks in the aforementioned categories wouldn’t consider themselves so skilled in those areas in which you and I might excel.
For many years, I could not shuffle playing cards. This was an uncomfortable detriment—a gap, if you will—when I was playing in the weekly poker games Rabbi Jody and I participated in during rabbinical school. But over time, the deficiency became an identifying feature—“…and this is Alan. He doesn’t know how to shuffle.” My gap became a part of my identity. Though I’m pleased to report that, at about 46 years of age, I finally figured out the hand-eye coordination and I am now capable of shuffling.
Ultimately, only cheese made in Switzerland can be authentic Swiss cheese. Yet, cheese that tastes like Swiss cheese can be made anywhere. Only wine from grapes grown in Champagne—France, not Champaign, Illinois—is authentic champagne. Yet, the same grapes can be grown elsewhere and wine that looks and tastes like champagne can come from anywhere in the world.
People, on the other hand, can be grown any place, under all sorts of conditions, and none of us can be duplicated or made inauthentic or be made exactly like another in every way. We may be born with some gaps or deficits, we may develop others, but these deficits are only seen as such if we compare our strengths or talents with others. If we work to become the best version of ourselves, then our holes or gaps are merely challenges we set for ourselves to fill or to live with or to view as sources of pride.[11]
May the wholly hole-y nature of Swiss cheese inspire us, in turn, to strive to be as wholly holy as we can be.
[1] See, for instance, “Swiss-type Cheeses,” retrieved from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Swiss-type_cheeses , June 9, 2023.
[2] See “Swiss Cheese (North America),” retrieved from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Swiss_cheese_(North_America) , June 23, 2023.
[3] See, for instance, Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Berachot 54a.
[4] Rabbi Samuel bar Nachman, in Ecclesiastes Rabbah 3:11.
[5] Hillel, in Pirke Avot 2:4.
[6] Attributed to Benjamin Franklin.
[7] Shel Silverstein, “Listen to the Mustn’ts,” from Where the Sidewalk Ends (New York: Harper and Row, 1974).
[8] Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. “Remaining Awake Through a Great Revolution,” Speech given at the National Cathedral, March 31, 1968.
[9] Cornell, Eric Allin. “What Was God Thinking? Science Can’t Tell.” Time, November 6, 2005. Retrieved from https://content.time.com/time/subscriber/article/0,33009,1126751-2,00.html June 30, 2023.
[10] Referring to a 1991 Gatorade commercial featuring basketball star Michael Jordan.
[11] With gratitude to Rabbi Raymond A. Zwerin for the concepts in this paragraph and the preceding one