Before Shabbat

It’s a crisp, clear Friday morning. Autumn is announcing its official presence. But for me, Fall comes, not with the equinox, the weather, the foliage, or the sudden omnipresence of pumpkins and Halloween decorations. I know it’s Autumn when I hear the shofar.

The tekiya is an unambiguous sound. It is loud and raucous – there’s nothing smooth or beautiful about it. Maimonides said it best: the sound of the shofar is an alarm, a wakeup call.

1. Hey! Guess what? You are mortal. You are finite. That means every day is a gift. That means what you do and say should not be nahrishkeit, Yiddish for foolishness. Everything counts.
2. You’re not perfect. In fact, you blew it this year. You hurt people’s feelings. You hid behind the “I couldn’t help it” banner. You didn’t always do the best you could do. Own it! Acknowledge it.
3. Say you’re sorry. Not like a little kid forced by parents to say the magic words, but like an adult with a heart and soul. Find the people you knowingly hurt and ask their forgiveness. Your partner, parents, kids, associates… whoever in the world you injured.
4. What about now? Make some decisions about where you’re going from here. How will you try to do better? How will you change to adapt to the needs of the people around you?

This is the agenda for tonight and tomorrow. Not an easy one. But I can promise you that if you do this work, if you think about this during services, by the time you hear the shofar on Saturday night you will feel exultant. You will feel nourished and alive – and that’s even after fasting!

It is that time for me, too. I want to ask your forgiveness, too. For times when I was not sufficiently attentive to your needs. For times when I was late responding to your call or email. For times when I disappointed you. For all these and more I ask your forgiveness.

Twenty years ago I walked into our sanctuary for Kol Nidre. Everything was new and beautiful. That first Yom Kippur is a blur. But I do remember thinking, “This feels right, this new marriage.” Twenty years later I will walk into that same beautiful, blessed sanctuary. It still looks good with all of its various renovations and enhancements. And it still feels right.

My friends call me the happiest rabbi in America, because… well, because maybe I am. I consider myself lucky and supremely blessed to be with you after all these years. And it’s all because of you. It’s because of your love and support. It’s because I have a staff that is nonpareil. Thank you.

My shofar alarm is ringing: time to get back to that agenda. Have an easy fast. Please stay for the last part of the service, Neila. It’s one of the best things that happen here.

One day a scorpion asks a Frog for a ride across the river. The Frog responds, “Are you kidding? Of course not! I know you, Scorpion, and you would sting me and I’d die. No way will I carry you on my back!” The Scorpion challenges the Frog, “Why would I do that? If I sting you and you die, we both drown. You have nothing to fear by carrying me across the river.” The Frog decides that what the Scorpion said makes sense, so he agrees to the request.

Midway across the river, the Scorpion stings the Frog. As the Frog gasps his last breath before drowning, he implores the Scorpion, “Why? Why did you sting me, knowing we will both drown?” The Scorpion replies, “It’s my nature.”

This well-known story is a proof text for a commonly held belief. We are who we are, wired from birth with our flaws and talents, likes and dislikes, and attitudes and character traits that are immutable. This deterministic perspective essentially seals us off from any true chance to alter the trajectory of our lives.

The notion that the die is cast from birth is so depressing. Jerry Maguire says to his recently wedded wife who sees their marriage tanking because he can’t open up his soul to her, “What if I’m not built that way”? In other words, what if his fear of intimacy is in his DNA? What if whatever he’s doing is all he can do?

Are our lives predetermined by our biochemistry?  Are we doomed just to keep kicking the same old dented can down the road? Is there nothing we can do about our rough spots? Is it all about repetition compulsion, just repeating the same mistakes over and over again?

While this debate continues in philosophy, psychology, and neuroscience circles, in our tradition there is no argument or ambiguity. Judaism teaches that we are a work in progress. We are not held captive by inborn twisted character flaws. “What if I’m not built that way,” doesn’t work in the Jewish tradition.

Judaism doesn’t work if we don’t have the freedom to choose right from wrong. God does not predetermine ANYTHING about what we do in the world. The Holy One provides an ethical foundation, and then it’s up to every individual to decide how to interface with that foundation.

It is, of course, no accident that I chose this topic for today’s Before Shabbat. With High Holy Days coming up, with all of our liturgical references to repentance and forgiveness, it’s worth reiterating that we truly do believe in this process. We can become better human beings. We don’t have to keep shlepping the angst and pain. There are no rewards for stubbornly sticking to one’s story, even when we know we’re maybe a little wrong. For the Jewish people, biochemistry aside, if you decide you want to change, then you can change.

This process of self-improvement, of repenting one’s sins and forgiving people who have hurt us, is not easy. In fact, it’s extremely difficult. We adopt so many bad habits. We pursue foolish goals that divert us from the task of living life to its fullest. We get caught up in the cycles of avarice and greed. We don’t take a stand.

And yet, all of this aside, we do have the ability to change, to reach for something more. We can be more than what we are. It “just” takes time and effort and dedication. This is a lifetime struggle, not just a quick reflection before the new year.

You can think and think about change, but ultimately you’ll have to start. Yes, change is hard. Yes, it involves taking responsibility for your life. Yes, it requires you to give up the familiar, which no matter how unpleasant can still feel comforting. And yes, change will put you face-to-face with loss. But what’s beautiful about this loss is that while you might have to give up the hope for a better past or a less painful present, the future is squarely in your court.

There is no finish line on this. There is no completion, no perfection. There is only free will and our courage and resilience to look in the mirror and acknowledge that we have lots to do to make the world – and ourselves – better, more viable.

The theme of Teshuvah – repentance – is not some hypothetical suggestion. It’s a real challenge to each of us. So come to temple. Come be inspired to stand tall. Come rededicate yourself to living a life of openheartedness and meaning. Come remember how to be a mensch.

Don’t forget that Saturday night is Selichot. At 8 pm there will be lots of contemplative space for prayer and meditation. Join us; it will absolutely put you in the right frame of mind and soul.

Shabbat Shalom,

rebhayim

I had planned that my first Before Shabbat of the season would be a breezy, schmoozy, “What I did this summer” report. And it was a wonderful summer, hanging out with friends and family, reading some great books, chillin’ with my grandson, grilling fresh fish and veggies for every dinner, and spending quiet time with my wife. But something happened. Charlottesville happened, and I need to connect with you, my temple family.

There have always been people around who hate Jews. There are so-called explanations for their hatred: Jews are the quintessential outsiders who don’t fit in. Jews are cheap. Jews own Hollywood and Wall Street. Jews are rich. And that old stand by, the Jews killed Jesus.

These tired old lies have floated around such a long time, some for millennia. We’ve seen how these antisemitic slurs have been effectively used against us over the centuries. We’ve experienced the despair of being singled out, isolated, persecuted, rounded up, and murdered.

As American Jews, we’ve seen instances of true antisemitism. Quotas kept Jews out of universities and grad schools and hospitals. We’ve been discriminated against by country clubs and real estate developers. We have felt the sting of prejudice in a million little cuts.

Today, American Jews are prosperous and exceptionally successful. We are, in a word, everywhere. Sure there are places where Jews may not be comfortable or where management keeps a lid on too many Jewish hires. But our presence in every aspect of American political, cultural, and economic life speaks to our extraordinary perseverance. It also assures us a kind of safety that we’ve never known in our long history.

It is precisely our success and acceptance in this great country that makes the events at Charlottesville so troublesome and heartbreaking. I’ve seen neo-Nazis over the years, their pathetic strutting and ‘seig-heiling’ so reminiscent of dull, unwashed school yard bullies. Then there’s the KKK in their bizarre superhero capes and hoods, screaming about white superiority while proving how not superior they are just by standing there… No, I don’t much worry about these sad, powerless people and their limited understanding of the world.

What did give me pause was the candlelight vigil and the alt-right white boys marching through the University of Virginia campus in their polo shirts and khakis. This is a new look of hatred. These are the people who once believed that their racist ideology was contemptible in American society, that they had to hate quietly. These are the guys who tell Jew jokes at work, but only when the coast is clear. These are the haters who never, in their wildest dreams, believed that they could walk around in public, chanting antisemitic epithets out loud. This is the personification of the despicable rhetoric of hate loosed in the presidential campaign of 2016.

What do we do? We stand together. We are resolute. We refuse to allow Jews to be victimized by the alt-right. We remain vigilant not only for own safety but for the safety of minorities who the alt-right also objectifies and threatens.

We demand that those charged with our public safety, locally and regionally and nationally, be adequately prepared for the antics of the white supremacists. When they move from the exercise of free speech to hate speech, when they resort to terrorist attacks to kill innocent people, law enforcement must unambiguously crack down on them.

We call on our elected officials to speak out, to call Charlottesville exactly what it was: a white supremacist demonstration that gave way to violence. We ask our elected officials to safeguard the rights of innocent men, women, and children, to stand with them, to state that without exception, such behavior is anti-American to its core. We must hold our elected officials accountable for their words and deeds in these times.

We cannot look away and pretend that this is nothing but an aberration. It is not an aberration – it is a new form of fascism crawling out from under a heavy rock.We must identify it and chase it to the garbage heap of history. How? By aggressively prosecuting them. By pointing out just how out of synch they are with postmodern Western culture.  By proving that we can live in a multi-cultural nation. By not being afraid.

Yesterday I went to a gathering at City Hall in Newton. Mayor Setti Warren was there along with Congressman Joe Kennedy. They decried the violence in the streets of Charlottesville. They challenged all of us to see ourselves as responsible for gathering together for reassurance and courage. They reminded all of us that we have to stand strong in the face of insidious hatred.

This Friday night, Susan and I will be on the bimah, rallying our congregation. We know that there’s not a lot we can do to change things quickly, if at all. We aren’t naïve. But we understand this much: we need each other. We need to know that we care for and about each other. We stand together in strength. We pray for God’s sheltering presence, and that in God’s presence we gain a true resilience born of experience and action. Let’s gather for peace and empowerment. Shabbat service is at 615pm.

PS The events in Spain and Finland remind us just how vulnerable the many are to the few who hate. Our thoughts are with all those who have lost friends or loved ones in this latest paroxysm of outrageous violence. As members of the human race, we are all diminished when the innocent are targetted.

As I was doing last minute prep for my Bar Mitzvah – going over the Torah and haftarah, learning how to put on tefillin, reviewing English readings – Israel was under siege. We were all glued to every news report that mentioned Israel. And as you can imagine, it was mentioned with increasing frequency and urgency in the spring of 1967.

In mid-May of that year, President Nasser of Egypt started moving thousands of troops and armor divisions into the Sinai in direct violation of an agreement they made with the UN. He then ordered the UN to leave the Sinai Peninsula. Though Nasser had no authority to do this, The UN responded and withdrew their peacekeeping forces. And Jews everywhere began holding our breath, brooding over when Nasser would take his incendiary rhetoric about destroying Israel to its logical conclusion.

I always loved reading the news and listening to Walter Cronkite, so I was current on the situation. It was so long ago, yet I clearly remember that on June 1^st, as the situation continued to escalate, it dawned on me that there might be a war in Israel before my Bar Mitzvah. What would I do? Would the Bar Mitzvah be canceled?  Would something horrible, unthinkable occur?

I asked my tutor if there was some contingency plan for a canceled Bar Mitzvah. What if, I asked him slowly, what if Israel is attacked? What if Israel is captured? What would we do? Cantor Bernstein looked at me. tears welled up in his gentle eyes, and, in mine, too.  He was a Holocaust survivor, and he had family in Jerusalem. Cantor Bernstein told me that no matter what happened, my Bar Mitzvah would never be postponed. “Life always rolls forward. Shabbat comes, in good times and hard times. In peace there is Shabbat. In war, too. Even in Auschwitz, there was Shabbat.”

“Ok,” I said, “But what if something terrible happens? What happens if Egypt attacks and Syria and Jordan attack, too?” “Number one, you will have your Bar Mitzvah. Number two, Israel will survive whatever is going to happen next, because it has to survive. Because after what Hitler did, Jews can’t be victims again. We won’t be victims again.”

He seemed so sure of himself! I took his certainty and made it my own. When Israel launched the surprise air attack against Egypt on June 5^th, I somehow knew that, in the end, everything would work out. Because Cantor Bernstein said so. Because we could never allow for defeat.

In the few weeks that followed, the Jewish world reveled in the extraordinary victory of what came to be called the Six-Day War. My Bar Mitzvah ended up being a Shabbat of celebration. I talked about how cool it was for Jerusalem to be back in Jewish hands. I remember saying something about how one day I would pray at the Wailing Wall.  But I remember most clearly when the Cantor came up to me after the service and gave a bear hug. As he did, he whispered to me, “You see? We will never be victims again.”

I will always remember that hug. And I will always be grateful for Cantor Bernstein’s faith and strength. He enabled a frightened boy about to have a Bar Mitzvah, feel confident, not just about a ceremony, but most significantly about the future of Israel and the Jewish people.

That confident feeling I acquired 50 years ago still lingers, as does my great love of Israel. The hard truth, however, is that since the Six Day war, peace remains more elusive than ever. And in the end, Israel’s greatest legacy cannot be about a fantastically executed war. The only legacy that will have lasting meaning is to make peace.

When the temperature spiked this week from 45 to 90 degrees, it threw me off a bit. As if in a dream, I started packing for the Cape, our annual summer destination. This, in turn, activated a lot of signals to my hippocampus, awakening memories of what comes along with the Cape.

At the beginning of every summer for close to 40 years, I contemplate the upcoming new year.  I ponder so many different things. I think about my life as a pond with concentric ripples fanning out. The first circle is my immediate reality: my body, my choices. Next are my wife and kids, my relatives and oldest friends. Then comes my temple family, the people I work with professionally, and the congregation I serve. And then there’s the more diffuse local, regional, national, and international issues that involve and intrude on my pond, like a thunderstorm or a cool breeze or a blizzard, depending on who’s doing what where.

This is the pond into which I jump every day. But in the heat of these last few days, I’ve started to especially examine and reexamine the waters, as if Rosh Hashanah were around the corner. I’m not complaining – after all, a little extra time spent in reflection mode can’t be bad.

But it does make me wonder: what’s this world coming to? And what am I coming to? Surely with age comes an acute sense of limits and finitude. But just as certainly, with age comes wisdom. In fact, the book of Psalms, 90:12, suggests that acknowledging mortality leads to wisdom. “Teach us to number our days, that we may attain a heart of wisdom.”

Yes, there’s a beginning, a middle, and an end to everything – except God – and maybe the multiverse. As spring edges to summer, as summer pushes towards Fall, there is this sense that a personal account checking is in order. It’s time to explore our blessings and challenges of the past year and how we have responded to them.  What kind of connections have we made? What connections have we broken?  It’s a time to reflect on the fact that we live in relationship to each other and all the earth. And it’s a time for honest reflection, forgiveness, celebration and healing.

I know, I know. I’m a little bit early. I’ve put away the summer clothes box and the Crocs. But I’m stuck with this looming sense of urgency ignited by the weather. I think I’m going to stick with it, see where it takes me.

Rabbi Eliezer taught “Repent one day before your death.” His students said, “Rabbi, how is that possible if one doesn’t know the day of one’s death?” To which Rabbi Eliezer responded, “Aha! Making amends and being in spiritual balance is not something to put on layaway! It must always be in your mind and heart.”

The rabbi has a point. What matters most, in the end, is not how many toys we have collected. What truly counts is to be wholeheartedly clear that, at the end of the day, we have done our best to do the right thing. How to be clear? That’s the work. And now that the heat has activated the High Holy Day prep syndrome, I’m on it. As Rabbi Eliezer indicates, it’s always the right time.

Shabbat Shalom

rebhayim