At Home Things Will Be Different

Rosh HaShanah Morning
September 30, 2008
Rabbi Seymour Rossel

A Jewish farmer was one of the most devoted of all the followers of Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov, the forefather of Hasidism. His farm was beside the village of Mezeritch, but he would travel frequently the distance to the village of Medzhybizh in order to spend the Sabbath with his rebbe. And the Baal Shem Tov always welcomed him with great affection, for he loved the simple Jews of the countryside, admiring them for their wholesomeness, their integrity, and their faith.

One time, the Baal Shem Tov called the farmer to him and said: "In this world, it is not good to be alone. We humans need to rely on one another. Torah teaches us, for instance, that Moses needed his disciple Joshua. Yet, Moses was among the happiest of men because once he found his Joshua, his disciple ever remained close beside him. I, too, have my Joshua, but sadly my Joshua must make his living in another town. So, please do me this favor. As you travel home, stop in Mezeritch and give my warm regards to my illustrious disciple, the scholarly and pious Rabbi Dov Baer."

The farmer was proud to receive such an assignment from his beloved Rebbe. The trails of the Carpathian mountains which were so familiar and which he often tread seemed magically transformed by his mission and his spirit soared. Reaching Mezeritch, a town already famous for its many scholars and mystics, he asked one person after another, in one place after another, for the whereabouts of the great Rabbi Dov Baer. Much to his chagrin, no one knew of a "great Rabbi Dov Baer." Finally, someone suggested that the farmer might try "Reb Baer," a teacher with a one-room schoolhouse in the poor section of town.

The farmer passed down an alley, really a muddy path, busy with people passing this way and that. Here, it was dark even by day, for the sun's light was blocked by row upon row of dilapidated wooden hovels, none of which stood its own strength alone, but each one leaning upon the next for its support. Everyone he asked pointed him in the same direction, and he soon found the one-room "schoolhouse," a tumble-down hut with broken windowpanes. Could the Baal Shem Tov's "Joshua" truly be found in such a dismal place?

The door was open and the farmer stepped inside. How was it possible? he thought. The interior of the hut was even more pathetic than its exterior. And this is what he saw:

A man of middle-age sat on a block of wood at a "table" that was nothing more than a rough plank set across more blocks of wood. Around the table, rows of children sat on "benches" made of shorter rickety planks and lower blocks of wood.

Could this man be the great Rabbi Dov Baer? The man held up a finger to his lips, indicating that the farmer should be silent. He stood and greeted the farmer with a warm handshake, saying, "It would be a great kindness, sir, if you can return later when the students finish studying."

The farmer asked, "Are you Rabbi Dov Baer?" And the rabbi nodded as he ushered the farmer out the door.

The farmer rested in a tavern that afternoon and returned in the evening. Things inside the hut had changed. The classroom furniture had become rickety beds for a few sleeping children who boarded in the little schoolhouse hut. And the schoolmaster, Rabbi Dov Baer, sat on one lone block of wood, reading a book by the light of a single candle.

The farmer conveyed the words of greeting from the Baal Shem Tov, and the rabbi thanked him and, pointing to a nearby table-turned-bed, he invited the farmer to sit. But now, the farmer could not hold back the pity in his heart. He spoke out angrily against all this poverty: "Rabbi Dov Baer, how can you live like this? I myself am far from wealthy, but at least in my home I have the basic necessities -- some chairs, a table, beds for my children..."

The rabbi was calm. "Is that so?" he asked, "Tell me, dear sir, where is all your furniture? Why don't I see it? How do you manage without it?"

"What do you mean?," the farmer asked. "Do you think I carry my furniture when I am traveling? No, when I travel I make do with whatever is available. But when I am at home -- well, a person's home is a different matter altogether!"

Rabbi Dov Baer replied gently, "Do you not see that, in this world, we are all travelers? At home?" -- and he paused to give a deeply Jewish sigh -- "Oh, yes... At home, it will be a different matter altogether..."

In this world, we are all travelers. Certainly, there is nothing wrong with a traveler living in comfort. You can choose your level of comfort: from a Motel Six where they keep the light on for you to a Four Seasons Resort where they reserve your tee time and turn down your bed each afternoon. But Dov Baer means that we are all still travelers when we come home. As our houses fill with one possession after another, we may think we improving our lot. But we remain travelers. Home is another world entirely, home is a different matter altogether. For Dov Baer, home is a place where no amount of advertising will ever convince you to buy what you do not need and no gift that ever arrives will be something you do not want. For Dov Baer, in this world you can travel light, for every comfort will be provided when finally you reach your home.

Rabbi Jacob, who lived more than a thousand years before Rabbi Dov Baer, said, "This world is like a lobby before the world to come; prepare yourself in the lobby, so you may be ready to enter the banquet-hall" (Avot 4:21). The lobby may be furnished or unfurnished. It may be elaborately decorated or it may have no decorations. It may be as luxurious as life in Spring, Texas, or as sparse as life in the impoverished dilapidated section of Mezeritch.  In the end, it is only a passageway. You have the freedom to do many things in the passageway, but you have the opportunity to prepare yourself here for the banquet which will follow.

But we would get the wrong impression if we thought that what we did in this world did not matter, that it did not count. The very same Rabbi Jacob explained his meaning by saying, "Finer is one hour of atonement and good deeds in this world than all of life in the next world; and, likewise, finer is one hour of spiritual refreshment in the world to come than all life in this world."

Each of the two worlds -- the world in which we now travel and the world which will all too soon be our home -- has special meaning for us. Each has its own advantage. We stand now in the lobby. And one commentary suggests that everyone who stands together with us in this vestibule is divided into three groups.

The first group is preparing itself for an exigent legal matter like a court date or an appointment with an IRS examiner. They need to get their testimony straight and their arguments sharply honed in the lobby, for at any moment the door may open and they will be called inside the great hall. And their host will sit in judgment over them, asking them to state their evidence and prove their arguments. Woe to them if they are unprepared. When the door opens and they are summoned, it will be too late to say, "I am not quite finished with my brief" or "I did not have time to get my affairs in order" or "There were still a few errors I meant to correct." It will be too late to add a page or change an argument or set right some injustice or balance some inequity.

The second group senses that it has been invited to a state banquet. In the lobby, they must dress their best and groom themselves to look their best. Hair and nails, dresses and shoes and purses, suits and ties must all be kept as perfect as they may be, for at any moment the door will open and they will be invited into the banquet hall, but only if their host sees that they are properly attired. In that instant, it will be too late to say, "I forgot to wear a tie," or "I thought it would be okay to come in jeans," or "Give me another moment to get my hair combed."

The third group are those who feel they have been called to serve the banquet. They must be poised to do whatever is required of them. They have to be fresh and alert. When the door opens and they are commanded to enter, it will be too late for them to say, "I did not get enough sleep last night," or "I did not have time to wash my hands," or "I am still in my sweats, I need a minute to change into my uniform."

In truth, it is written, each of us belongs to all three of these groups. Here in the lobby we have to prepare ourselves because when the door opens, we will be called into the presence of the Almighty to be judged in all three of these ways. The judgment will be a matter of law: We need to be prepared to argue that what we have done in our lifetimes has qualified us to be judged favorably. The account of our life must speak for us. Here in the lobby we need to set our lives straight. Is there some wrong that we have caused? Let us seek to correct it now, before the door opens. Have good causes come before us that we have ignored? Let us help the destitute now, let us support worthy institutions now, let us improve the life in the lobby now, before the door to the world beyond opens. Have we given back to the world the blessings that we were given? Let us share our talents now, let us bless our children and our spouses and our families now, let us live together in peace now, before the door opens. Once the door opens, it will be too late to share your love and your talents and your blessings. Once the door opens, your file will be complete and closed for all eternity.

But the judgment will be more than just a matter of law. We are created in God's image, endowed with a soul, given a pure spirit when we come into the world. When the door opens, will we be able to return our soul in the same purity in which it was given to us? Or will we have soiled it and besmirched it? Will we harbor hatred in our hearts and resentment in our spirits? Will our motivations come from seeking revenge or will our ambitions have blinded us to the suffering that we cause? Will we have succeeded through cheating and lying and taking advantage? Will we be stained by greed and avarice and prejudice? While we are in the lobby, it is not too late. We know the difference between good and evil, between right and wrong. We can learn to make the garment of our soul white. We can conquer the evil spirit that crouches nearby hoping to ensnare us. We can turn darkness into light by opening our hearts to love and setting our minds on peace and learning to wish the blessings we have on others and loving others as we love ourselves. Once the door to the world beyond opens, it will be too late. Any stains on our soul's garments then will be as obvious to the Judge as they are to us.

And there is that third group to which we belong. We are servants of God. When we extend our hand to help someone, we are doing God's work: we are bringing a little more good into the lobby. When we give an offering to the synagogue or make a donation to Mazon to feed the hungry or support the cause of research to make life better, we are bringing a little more good into the lobby. When we save a life or sacrifice some of our time to visit the sick and share the grief of mourners, we bring a little more good into the lobby. When we pray and share holy days and festivals with one another in joy, we bring a little more good into the lobby. When we study and send our children to study, we bring a little more good into the lobby. And here is the thing: the good we bring into the lobby is God's work so it is credited to God. The good we do not only benefits us and the people we serve, it raises God's reputation, it helps others see the wisdom of carrying our tradition and our covenant forward from generation to generation. It brings faith to the lobby. When the door opens, it will be too late to say, "I did not have the time to serve," or "I never had the time to study," or "I meant to spend more time with my family," or "I did not know how much I could have enjoyed working together with the community." These duties were not commanded God's benefit, for God is the only master of servants whose every wish is for the benefit of the servants. The goodness of our hearts is the service of God. And when the door opens, God will recognize the faithful servants -- those who have upheld God's reputation in the world and those who have furthered God's work.

We stand in the hallway, on the porch, in the vestibule. We are travelers here in our lobby and each of us has to decide how much baggage we can manage to carry as we travel. Those who are like the farmer see the muddy alley and the rickety shacks that can barely stand and the unadorned interior with its blocks of wood and planks for furniture. Like that farmer, we often confuse possessions with wealth. Out here in the lobby, though, the one thing we truly possess is our soul.

One hour of good deeds in this world, one hour of atonement -- of bringing ourselves closer to God and realigning our spirits to what God desires for us -- one hour like that is worth all the joy of heaven. One hour spent in love and happiness with our families and friends, one hour given over to improving this world for others, one hour spent together in worship and camaraderie, one hour spent studying together, one hour shared with pets, one hour admiring the nighttime sky, one hour smelling the fragrances of a garden, one hour of meditation giving our souls the breath of freedom and our minds a pause from working, one hour spent caring for someone who needs caring, one hour spent sharing with someone who needs our care, one hour of bliss in this world....

And when that one hour is complete, there are still twenty-three more in that day that you can continue to enjoy, and twenty-four hours in every day in the rest of your life that you can continue to cultivate in kindness and love and peace, so that when the door to the next world opens you will have a portfolio of goodness that speaks for you, you will possess a purity of soul that will light the way for those who follow you, and you will leave behind so much good and goodwill that you will know you have lived not just a good life, but a Godly life. When the time comes to leave the lobby, when the door opens and your host invites you to the banquet beyond, you will be able to lift up your head in celebration and open your eyes without fear; and you will say, "I have lived a Jewish life. I have lived a worthy life," and everyone that you leave behind you in the lobby will say, even as we say together now: Amen.