THREE IS A MAGIC NUMBER
Yom Kippur, 2016
Three guys walk into a bar.
We hold these Truths to be self-evident, that all men are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights; among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.
Three is a magic number. A man and a woman had a little baby, and there were three in the family. (This is a reference to Schoolhouse Rock)
The world stands on three things: on learning, on service, and acts of kindness.
Three things avert bad destiny: repentance, prayer, and charity.
Three major festivals provide the legs of the year in our religious tradition: Passover, Shavu’ot and Sukkot.
Again, and again, and again.
Three sets of Shofar blasts,
The rule of three asserts itself in our religious imagination.
We Jews have a trinity within our faith; though it’s very different than the one familiar to many Christians. The Jewish trinity is made up of the three pillars of God, Torah and Israel. These are the three ideas I believe I serve. Indeed, even in Abraham Infeld’s theory that there are five components to Jewish identity: Memory, Israel, Hebrew, Family (peoplehood) and Sinai (Covenant), the idea of community is contingent on each of us choosing three. Were each of us given a piece of peppermint candy and asked to choose only three of our senses by which to experience that peppermint candy, any two of us will have at least one point of shared experience. It might be taste, it might be smell, it might be touch. But that one point of connection will allow us to bond over a shared experience of the candy. The rule of three creates community.
Three eating together is a gathering requiring an invitation to recite grace after meals.
If three eat together and do not share words of Torah, it is as though they ate food consecrated to idols.
Three judges form a court of Jewish law.
Kol Nidre is repeated three times,
Three times a day we are called to prayer,
Three times a week Torah is given and read.
A synagogue provides three services; a meeting-hall, a place of worship, and a house of study.
A Loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou.
A loaf of bread, a container of milk, and a stick of butter. (This is also a reference to Schoolhouse Rock)
Three is a magic number.
This morning, I wish to talk to you about three ideas that drive me as the rabbi serving this congregation. Over the next five years, it is my hope to build upon these ideas and work with you to help this community live up to it’s promise and it’s purpose. It is my hope that you will rise to the challenge placed before you this morning by our president-elect and reach out to at least one Jewish person or spiritual seeker that is looking for a place like this. And when they ask you “Why? Why attend, let alone become a member or supporter?” You will be able to offer a simple, clear, three-point value proposition.
Tradition, Education, and Inspiration.
Tradition. Yes, I am going full Tevye. Tradition and it’s richness. Tradition is not only Shabbat and Holiday observance, Life Cycle events and other rituals, but the mores and values behind them. Tradition is the passing down of family recipes, instilling memories from one generation to the next. Tradition is the wisdom not only written down in our holy scripture, but the explanations and insights told or whispered from master to student for thousands of years. Even the name we use for this place, “a Temple” is an echo of the old ways, the first ways. We live in an age where we have seen unprecedented acceptance and assimilation into a host culture—so much so that we are in every measurable way part of that host culture. Yet that host culture is so strong, the pull of assimilation so great that we risk losing any distinction at all. Intermarriage is at 71 percent.
Our communal age is higher than average because as we have gotten successful, we’ve had fewer children. Ensuring our tradition survives is more difficult now then it has been in the past, and in order to do so, our institutions must remain flexible, risk-taking, and disruptive. Like many Reform communities, we have attempted to make worship relevant and engaging; we have musical shabbats, special themes, and the like. Yet I have also pushed for increased respect for tradion; push-back against the idolatrous worship of self and convenience. Sukkot should be celebrated on Sukkot! We are not masters of time, we are masters of what we do with the time we are given. This respect is part and parcel of the Tradition. Jewish Tradition is to say that we have a covenant; Autonomy is not the same as Antinomianism. You can choose but you are not a religious authority. In fact, by definition, I am—but you are free to chose to ignore my counsel and I won’t take it personally or excommunicate you. As a Reform rabbi, on behalf of the Tradition, I claim a vote, not a veto. We have choices, freedom is given, but just because we identify as a Jew does not make every action we take Judaism. Now I want to differentiate clearly between Minhag (custom), and The Tradition. Making Motzi at the bottom of the stairs is a minhag. Making Motzi at all, blessing food we eat and expressing gratitude for what we have recieved? That is The Tradition.
Too many of us fail to see that tradition does not serve us all the time, sometimes we must serve the tradition. That is the meaning of religious discipline; of Jewish tradition. The secret of Jewish immortality is found in our commitment to Tradition. We honor the Sabbath. We remember to notice the work of creation, and remember that we were slaves. Shabbat is our testimony. Shabbat is Shabbat, The Jewish day of rest, and I don’t roll on Shabbos. Except when I do, because like all of you, I struggle with what I want to do, what I feel I should do, and what I feel I need to do. Community supports the keeping of tradition because we do not have to try to do so alone.
As individuals and as communities, keeping and preserving the Tradition requires education. It is no accident either that Education is the keystone of our Tradition.
I have heard it said many times that this congregation was founded so that those Jews that found themselves here or chose to live in these parts had a place to educate their children; education being the process and techniques by which the tradition previously mentioned can be passed down and kept alive. This is as good a reason as any-better perhaps-to found a synagogue. Any religious practice that ceases to include educaiton ceases to be Judaism. Judaism is first and foremost about seeking knowledge about God, and ourselves, and the relationship between the two. Judaism that does not include serious ongoing study is window dressing, a charade, dress up. Why else should we be known as the people of the book? And therefore, the education that takes place in a Jewish community must not be solely pediatric. It needs to be inclusive and broad. I hope to bring back Torah on Tap, but this is but one way to present opportunities for continued learning and personal growth. Whether it’s Chai Mitzvah, a series of Sunday lectures and panel discussions, or individual study, a congregation that wishes to remain relevant and vibrant must offer education for all, especially those that might not come from traditional backgrounds. Family and interfaith education programs are critical. An imperative. I want this congregation to be a community of life-long learners.
That learning is the rock upon which we draw Inspiration: Our tradition and our educational work is ultimately given to us so that we can inspire Jewish living and inspire Jewish lives for generations to come. We seek to create ‘wow’ moments of awe, of gratitude, of healing and of encouragement. The Tradition and our Education can and should be entertaining; in the ancient sense of the word; an entertainment of the soul and intellect that cause us to gasp in awe and delight; breathing in that substance that inspires. To inspire is to put breath into something, to animate it.
This place, this house of God should be a place where we are restored, refreshed and reinspired. This is where I feel we have the greatest challenge, alas. We spend too much time tearing each other down, criticizing, condemning, negating. Whether this is because we fear change, or worship control, or believe ourselves to be smarter, more educated and more experienced than our brothers and sisters, the end result is stasis and decay. My dear friends: All of us pulling at the same time is not the same thing as everyone pulling together in the same direction. And to acheive anything that requires us pulling together requires a shared vision and a culture that inspires commitment through encouragement, acceptance, inclusion, respect and personal examples. People need to be inspired to donate of their time and resources, people need to be inspired to give of their lives to this place. Allow yourself to be inspired, not threatened, by other’s successes, or ideas, or efforts.
More importantly, more than ever, being meaningfully Jewish is not a given. It’s too easy to slip away or be Jewish as a general ethnic category devoid of any substance. We inspire each other when we make commitments, when adults choose to become Adult B’nai Mitzvah or take on a leadership position despite all our other commitments. When you demonstrate to others, and particularly to the youth of this congregation that Tradition and Education matter, you serve to Inspire. When you demonstrate the values of the tradition and the outcome of education, you inspire. When you participate or take a chance, you inspire me, at least.
These three: Tradition, Education, and Inspiration are the outcomes of Knesset, Tefilah and Midrash. They are the soul of this enterprise. I ask you to support me in making these a priority for this community, to join me in committing to these values and to doing the work that is required to see them bear fruit. Hatima Tovah!
Strong Enough To Weaken
Look, I know that what I’m going to talk about this morning is going to upset a lot of you. And I know that going in. I know that. You really aren’t going to be happy. Yet, I have a responsibility. I have a sacred obligation to talk about things that make people upset. So I have to talk about this. I refer, of course, to J. J. Watt.
I am, in fact, a rabbi: a pastor/minister/teacher/spiritual ‘master’in the literal sense of the word, not in the slang sense that some police departments use. Specifically in NYPD, someone’s rabbi was a senior staff person or other influential individual who could help younger officers out or ‘fix’ things for them as they came up through the ranks. Like the proverb says, get yourself a friend and acquire yourself a rabbi.
A few years ago, District 1 got a new captain and I stopped by to introduce myself. His administrative assistant went to tell him that ‘the rabbi’ was here to see him and he told me he expected to see some deputy come in, some Some old and grizzled (wizened? wizzled? wizzled) deputy who fought alonside Teddy Roosevelt in the Spanish American War. And then, no, I walk in. A short, chubby bearded Jewish guy.
Of course, I didn’t start out as a rabbi, either. I started out as a writer and comic actor, a director, a lot of things, a theater guy, in my very short first career. But I wanted to make a difference in the world, and I missed Jewish learning. I had been to Israel at 15, and had been part of NFTY, the vice-president of my Youth Group, and had been very active at Brandeis University, which is like NFTY for four years. Really. It’s a lot like Greene Family Camp with midterms. I was also drawn to the rabbinate because I loved Jewish tradition, and loved to study the history, and loved celebrating holidays. You know what you don’t get to do when you are a rabbi? Celebrate Jewish Holidays. It’s okay—I’m not complaining. My point is that what you think you are getting into isn’t always what you are getting into, and you don’t figure it out until some point later along the way.
And then, much like what I spoke about last night, your ability to survive and thrive is directly related to your ability to change. To remain flexible and open and resilient. And many of the things you end up doing as a pastor, or a chaplain, they really challenge you. That’s something that you end up having in common with combat veterans and police officers and other first responders.
This is due to things that you may experience first-hand, but also due to vicarious trauma. Now, I am lucky. I am blessed. I get to share and be in your most amazing moments. I get to stand under the Chuppah with you, I get to name your children and grandchildren. I watch your kids become bar and bat mitzvah. I get to watch you come alive in Torah. I get all the good things. That doesn’t happen when you are wearing a law-enforcement uniform.
That doesn’t happen when I get called out to serve this county as a representative of the Jewish community and our commitment to being involved in the community, to be part of the solution, and by participating physically. I don’t go in with the swat team, mind you. I show up when the media does, when a deputy is sitting in the back of a car because he just had to shoot someone, or I meet with the family of someone who just got shot by a deputy. A few years ago, we had a horror happen. An entire family was murdered in front of a sole teenage survivor of her own attempted execution. I was part of the team that went to talk to and give care to the involved officers, medics and administrative staff.
Not one of those people went into their job because they wanted to experience bad things. None of them said “I hope I get to watch someone burn, maybe this will be the day that I pull someone out from underneath a car. Oh boy! Maybe today I’ll get shot or get to shoot someone! Maybe today I’ll make a mistake and shoot someone because I don’t get enough help, or training, or support that I need.”
So for any of you that are concerned with the disturbing level of what can only be described as police malpractice we hear about, I can tell you, ostensibly as an insider but also enough of an outsider that I feel I can criticize fairly, I can tell you that it’s a problem. Lack of training for overworked, underappreciated [police], and a lack of understanding of what that job does to them. These are real problems.
Every interaction our deputies and officers have is either during, or related to, some stressful or negative event. Nobody’s having a good day—even off duty deputies don’t like getting pulled over.
People don’t go into LE to hurt good people, and if they have, then they certainly don’t need a badge and a gun. Now, every day, they respond all day to people having bad days.
Nobody calls to say send a unit over right now-I completely nailed this enchilada recipe. I think it’s the fresh cilantro. I don’t know. Get here now!
And yet through training, experience, cultural reinforcement and natural selection, some that survive the job become very good at coping with the ugly realities of The Job. They develop a clinical distance. They get hard. They develp mechanisms for coping.
The problem is the coping mechanisms they develop are incredibly destructive. there’s an open secret that many of our officers get their counseling from a wonderful firm: Beam, Daniel, Walker and Cuervo. Peers also get together and talk, which is good, because only another officer can understand what it is like, Just like only another person who does what you do can understand what you do. Rabbis do it too. We also sit around and compare wounds—but with police, too many aren’t getting the help they need. It’s like people sitting around showing each other their lacerations. “Look at this!” “Wow, you should get that looked at.” “Nah, that’s not bad—you can’t even see bone…”
First responders don’t like to admit that we are vulnerable or scared. Our poor self-care feeds into further disability and disfunction. Drinking and other addictions, Divorce and other estrangements; Domestic violence, which is really covered up for fear of losing a career and livelihood, so people don’t reach out for help; Even though though they are also dealing with all that negative energy day after day after day with not enough training and not enough resources. All in a culture that puts shame upon anyone who might be enduring a spiritual crisis and need or want help.
Because any perception of weakness might impact their promotion, or the respect of their peers, or their own ego, their self image as protector, first responder, warrior, they play hurt or they self medicate. They push themselves beyond what is safe, or sane or reasonable. Because of this sense of responsibility or a sense of somehow being ‘strong’ enough. And this leads to serious injury and serious problems.
There’s an analogy of our reading today in Torah the story of the Akeida–the near sacrifice of a beloved son. We ask our first responders to sacrifice themselves and put themselves in harms way. Every day is the akeida. And then not only do they sacrifice themselves physically, but also spiritually, and so too their families and their friends.
And yet society expects them to continually go above and beyond, and we all buy into it and we need to stop and think about what we are asking of them and why.
I was in H.E.B. JJ Watt is everywhere. He is our patron saint. Our favorite son. And we have offered him up, week after week as some sort of vicarious symbol of who we are, right? Strong, powerful, the best. The best ever. And we count on him. Texas can’t win without him. So he has had a herniated disc, torn core muscles where one’s leg muscles are literally sewn back together so the thighbone doesn’t detach from the hip? Take a week off and some ibuprofen. Get back out there! We need you! I know about back surgery and herniated discs. He had surgery mere months ago and he went back out there—he sacrificed himself. We played into it. We love him. What must it be like to be him, to feel that kind of pressure? That adoration. His life has changed.
Now, mark my words. We have not yet seen the mark that young man will make on the world. I truly believe that. Because he is so driven, so competetive, so disciplined and of such seemingly high character, his true greatness is yet before him. But I don’t think it will be as defensive player of the year. I fear that he will push himself into a wheelchair and he will then go on to be a great advocate and inspiration for disabled athletes.
And we should be ashamed of our part in it, by encouraging the idea that self-care, physical or spiritual, is weakness.
J.J. Watt, and the Law Enforcement that we rely upon, this is what happens when you play hurt and refuse to accept the limitations that are upon you as a human being. It does not matter how strong you are, if you are the best, the strongest—if you get hit by a truck, you are going to get knocked down.
If you drink, and take pills and whatever else you choose to do: smoke, sniff, shoot, watch…however you choose to numb your pain so you can continue to work hurt, and you are not getting the kind of attention you need, you will break down. There is no question. The only question is, how many people are you taking down with you?
Which is a terrible irony because the people that push themselves too far often do so because of the idea that other people are counting on them and if they don’t get the job done, everything will fall apart. Commitment and love and discipline does not require you to be a statistic, a cautionary tale, or a martyr.
Now, most of us don’t play professional football, or deal with horrible tragedies. We deal with lots of little tragedies.
Now if you were to take a huge hit of radiation, you would get sick and die. If you take lots of smaller hits of radiation over a long enough time period, same thing. If you were exposed to a low level constantly? Same thing. It hits you at once or it all adds up. Like sunburns and skin cancer.
There are two ways to break a metal spoon—a steel spoon. I’m not strong enough to just snap it, torqe and pull it apart. I could cut it with bolt cutters real easy though. I could also just gently bend it back and forth a little bit again and again and again until metal fatigue does it’s thing and it just falls apart. It just gives out. Same result. This is the difference between acute trauma and chronic stress.
Almost 30 percent of Americans in any given year are suffering from an emotional or spiritual crisis, or an ongoing personality issue. And something like one in 17 or 18 of us should be hospitalized because we are having such a difficult time functioning.
Because of the state of the world, and in particular this election cycle, some have described the situation as the national nervous breakdown. There’s a reason for it. Pick up a paper! Of course it could be worse. We could be living in Europe. That’s one of our fears, we don’t want that situation here.
Believe it or not, one of the greatest and most important resources we regular people have is the same resource we use for the police or for Mr. Watt. That is chaplaincy. Pastoral care, support and community commitment to the individual. Helping people change and grow spiritually and remain resilient. And that is something that this particular congregation provides. My chaplaincy, which you provide, is a way of the congregation supporting the county’s first responders.
But I urge you to consider the tremendous resources this congregation provides for you as well. Not for big stresses like multiple vehicle accidents but for smaller, more personal, private and no less painful traumas: illness and disease in our families, divorce, children with educational, emotional or developmental challenges, our aging parents, our own aging. Changes that are unavoidable but that you must endure.
Here is a place, this synagogue, this is a support structure, a place where you can be human—and know that you aren’t alone. That you are cared for. That you are valuable. Even if you aren’t perfect. Even if you are deeply flawed. Even if the things that life has thrown you and that other people have thrown upon you are leaving you feeling unbalanced. That’s what this place is for. That’s what Jewish community has always been for.
I hope that every member of this community will participate in the annual campaign. It’s important. We don’t push ourselves to breaking any more. We don’t let one person or a few people push themselves too far. We all push together because today we read about the binding of Isaac, and we don’t believe in human sacrifices.
Shana Tovah U’Metukah.
I promise, I had no idea that Mr. Trump’s comments today would have had anything to do with the topic of my Sermon, which consisted of a discussion of post critical stress, bad coping mechanisms, and the importance–the imperative– of destigmatizing mental healing and spiritual care in particular among veterans and law enforcement. And everybody. Becuase look around.
And like a gift, Mr. Trump carelessly (not maliciously) frames my sermon in the context of breaking news.
Isn’t that crazy? This would be like talking about how dressing up like a French cop and robbing Kim Kardashian at Paris Fashion Week has always been a secret dark fantasy of mine during last night’s sermon (It isn’t and I didn’t)
My issue with Mr. Trump’s-assumedly unintentional message? It does not make you weak to need help processing traumatic experiences, and strength has nothing to do with surviving moral, or mortal, trauma.
You might be numbed enough by alcohol, painkillers, adrenal fatigue or depression to not feel the impact. That’s not the same as being strong. Numbness is not strength. How dare we define character as refusing to let catastrophic herniations and muscle tears keep you from playing professional football. That isn’t strength or courage or character. It’s literally insanity.
How fascinating that the main story today involving the Republican Candidate concerns a careless suggestion that the wounded just aren’t as strong as some others. Literally putting out there one of the most dangerous ideas about psychic injury.
The self-loathing that arises among sufferers who view themselves as weak and defective might have something to do with the self-harm, substance abuse and suicides destroying our military and police veterans and their families. What Mr. Trump–clearly accidentally– said was harmful, uninformed and deeply troubling to me. But it seems he said this mere hours after I had delivered my sermon. I couldn’t have timed it better.
Nor could I predict Joe Biden would raise many of the same issues in his response to Mr. Trump. Once I have a workable copy of my remarks I will post them. My sermons involve a good amount of improvisation; a calculated risk, to be sure. In any event, Once I transcribe and coordinate my delivery with my written remarks, I am very curious to see how eerie the coincidence is. I intentionally avoid poltics and the very topic became the political story of the day.
Things are going to be changing around here.
There have been some changes.
We need to make some changes.
Some of you are sweating.
Intellectual and emotional maturity and health is in part demonstrated by one’s ability to respond appropriately to change. If you cannot bend you will break when enough stress is put upon the rigid structure you have built for yourself.
Pick the most rigid, institutionalized system you know. Now let me ask you what do you think would have happened if the people responsible for that system were faced with what our community faced two thousand years ago; the destruction of the primary institution of our people. The temple, the priests, the levites—gone. If not for the bravery, wisdom and initiative of men like Yochanan Ben Zakkai and his students, and the ongoing creativity and flexibility of Rabbinical Judaism the story of Israel would be no different that of the Picts, or the Visigoths. I suggest to you that the survival of this people is attributable primarily to two things: our ability to change, to respond; and to our maintaining homeostasis-to literally reform ourselves. Without counter-tension, stretching becomes disintegration—this is true, and one might argue that this tells us that change must be limited or the very ‘it’ness of the thing changing is lost. A balloon changes slowly until it makes one big final change. That’s true—it ceases to be when it can no longer change. The ability to change is what keeps us growing and what keeps us from being destroyed. It is what allows us to expand—and what allows us to pull back from the breaking point. Consider the lowly balloon and it’s wisdom. Risk nothing and it is limp, truly without form or purpose. Allow it to resist the pressure you invoke upon it and it sputters and fails. Push it just a bit too far and it loses its integrity and disintegrates, or loses it’s ability to withstand a mere pinprick.
In order for a balloon to live up to it’s purpose it must be challenged, it must be able to change and it must also be managed. So too, the human soul, so too, a congregation.
Anyone who has ever spent time with four year olds fill in the blank. If I have to watch-slash-listen to-slash-read-BLANK one more time I am going to lose my mind. You’ve experienced the immature mind holding on to order, predictability and sameness.
Repetition is soothing. Knowing what’s going to happen makes toddlers, financial planners and air traffic controllers happy. Indeed, Ritual has the power to comfort. That’s the point of it. Having an order to things presents a world in order. Seder, Siddur, Jewish life is all about Laws and Order.
Comfort food is predictable. Kraft Mac and Cheese or a McDonalds, or a Friday Night Kabbalat Shabbat service here is consistent. But consistency, and predicability, are not the same as stasis.
Prices change. Menus change. Packaging changes. And if they didn’t, these institutions, these constants, these things we might take as permanent fixtures in our cultural landscape would perish. Laws change. The Rule of Law endures. Change and homeostasis—without both, things fall apart, or fail to thrive, and die. Jewish law and practices have only survived because they have changed. Jewish communities that succeed and survive do so because they are able to change while retaining their particular integrity. We face challenges on both fronts to be sure, but one is a far greater danger.
I would like to tell you the story of two businesses. And neither of them sets a good example for us, so keep that in mind.
On the one hand there is the approach to change that is radical, wild, dismissive of identity or recognizable boundaries. Abercrombie and Fitch sold shotguns, fishing rods and tents. I bought a backpack and boots at Abercrombie and Fitch for my first trip to Israel in 1984. In 1988 the brand was sold to a fashion company, and the rest is creepy marketing history. For years their primary marketing message was nudity. They were selling clothes with people who didn’t wear clothes. It worked.
Thirty years on, I’m thirty years past their demographic. If I walk in, they assume I’m lost on my way to the Apple Store or I’m having a midlife crisis. Either way, the fact remains that the repositioning of Abercrombie and Fitch has been wildly successful. They have nothing at all to do with the original mission, and a century after it’s founding, few even remember what it once stood for and provided, but they have lots of customers. The people that originally would have been their customers have no place in the current model, though admittedly their grandchildren might. That’s small comfort but it’s something.
The other hand holds on white knuckling to the control yoke. It is one of absolute rigidity followed by tactics without a strategy. We can’t change, or won’t or fear to change, so we fizzle out, a victim of our own arrogance and self-assurance or lack thereof. Many times this approach takes the form of conflict over inconsequential details, the proverbial rearranging of the deckchairs on the Titanic.
Consider the cautionary tale of Blockbuster Video. Remember Blockbuster? In 2004, Blockbuster employed 60,000 people and had 9000 stores. It has 11 today. Blockbuster didn’t change at all until it had to reduce itself to being a series of giant checkout lines filled with impulse buys and miscellany. It was hard to watch but fascinating. The grandchildren of people who were conceived during or after watching a blockbuster-rented video will have no concept of what it was like. All of it, the late-fees, be-kind-rewind-the race to get one of the only copies of Jurassic Park before someone else does—stories as strange and foreign as those of the civil war or the middle ages. And yet too many synagogues refuse to make the changes that matter, instead throwing miscellaneous window dressings around. Sure, streaming and video on demand is the future, but let’s keep renting DVDs and supplement with lots of retail merchandise.
Now, I wish to make something very clear. I don’t care about teenage fashion, or how entertainment media is distributed and I really don’t care about business models except where it can help me preserve and promote liberal contemporary rabbinical zionist American Judaism. And Jewish education and community building is far more important than videotapes and skinny jeans. The fact remains, however, that if we can not change how we do things and how we approach Jewish education and community building we will have a very hard time surviving.
Lucky for us, we’re Jews. We are members of the single greatest changeling culture in history. Time and again, civilizations rise and fell around us and we remained both part of and distinct, expanding and contracting with the forces that surrounded us, reacting and responding to pressures from within and without, and somehow remaining in form.
The Reform movement is but one example, one of my favorites, of how we adapt our Jewish living to the particular circumstances in which we find ourselves. The problem we Reform Jews face is one of maintaining homeostasis: how far can we expand without disintegrating.
To live is to change. To survive demands change. The word Shanah means Year. The word Shinui means to change. The roots are identical. There is no new year without change. The very measure of time is through observing change.
So why are we so afraid of change? Why are there people who make fantastic livings teaching and writing and coaching “change management”? Because change is painful.
The very first change any of us undergo is splitting from one cell into two. Growth is literally the process of being stretched and even ripped apart while simultaneously building structures that pull us back together. At best, it is uncomfortable.
Growing pains. Cutting Teeth. The morning after the first workout. Pregnancy and labor. Health can be almost as painful as sickness or injury. Self restraint, self-discipline, self-control, these are almost as painful as the self-loathing we endure when we have had no self-restraint or self-control and must accept the consequences.
There is no stasis. You are either getting stronger or getting weaker. You are either growing intellectually or you are stagnating. You are pushing yourself to be better, more compassionate, patient, loving and open-minded or you are decaying. You are, to be sure, growing in Torah and a life centered on the mission of the Jewish people, or you are using the precious gifts God has entrusted to you serving idols and false gods that can’t save you.
The beginning of God’s creation is an act of separation, of pulling apart; darkness from light, night from day, the first day is born in the pain of birthing. Things are pulled apart, things pull back together, a constant state of not being what just was.
Rosh HaShana is the Rosh HaShinui—the start of the changing—for good or ill, for health or illness. For life or death. Time is change. When you are no longer able to change, you are out of time. To reach a Rosh HaShana is to have changed, and now we decide whether or not that change was for better or worse. Usually it’s both.
It doesn’t matter whether you want to change or not. You have no choice in the matter. The choice you can make is this: You will be active in the change, passively be carried along by time and and circumstance, or stand defiant against change and slowly decay in place. There is no stasis. Things do not stay the same until you are dead.
And so when you hear people say this Temple has changed? That’s neither good nor bad. But usually it’s bad. Because we, for some reason, associate change with something negative. It’s a childish view of the world.
When I hear that this Temple is changing? That’s good. That means we’re alive. And may it continue to do so for generations yet to come. Pain and all.
The entire purpose of these high holidays is to encourage us to make amends, to get back to the path of life and goodness and to foster change. You aren’t supposed to stay the same year after year after year. That’s the worst thing that could happen. Think about all the people in the world that are spiritually or intellectually dead. Unchanging. Rigid. Walking through life and relationships as psychological zombies. I’m sure you know people like that. The foolish consistency—the unchanging nature— of small minds.
God defend us from such a fate. No, let the Shofar blasts rouse us from our slumber. Let fear of becoming a cautionary tale move us to seize our days. Let us willingly pull ourselves apart and reform ourselves again and again, letting the prejudices and fears and bitterness slip between the lacework tendrils of our spiritual framework, fall away and be forgotten like so much dust. Let the bonds that hold us and give us form and shape retain the light of Torah, the breath of God, the resiliency of the young palm that bends but does not break.
Death is the end only if you assume the story is about you. —@NightValeRadio
I am certain that very few, if any, Kol Nidre messages are centered upon ‘tweets’.
Fewer still on content drawn from a cult-followed podcast called “Welcome To Night Vale.” If you are unfamiliar, Welcome to Night Vale is a series that takes the form of a broadcast from a community radio station. The series is introduced to the listener this way:
“Night Vale: A friendly desert community where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful and mysterious lights pass overhead while we all pretend to sleep. Welcome to Night Vale.”
It’s funny, bizarre, amusing and nightmarish all at once. This is a place where the people that run for mayor include Hiram McDaniels, who is, literally, a five-headed dragon. Yes, it’s strange, but also beautiful, and sometimes even profound. The world of Night Vale is, like our real world, pretty complicated and difficult to explain.
So let’s keep it simple.
First, Yom Kippur is about stripping away those things that distract us from simple truths. We try to forget all the human drives that compete for our attention and effort.
Judaism is filled with simple truths and complicated and deep ways of empowering those truths in the messy work of life.
Love your neighbor as yourself.
Do not do that which seems hateful to you to another.
To this I would add a ‘proverb’ from Night Vale.
Death is the end only if you assume the story is about you.
In each encounter, two worlds collide. Everything that is in, or about one person, one consciousness, encounter another ‘everything’. Each person is an entire world filled with people and experiences and hopes and regrets and emotional baggage, and triggers, and habits and personality traits. And each of us is completely and understandably wrapped up in our own world. When you see a stranger, they are just a passing character in your story. An extra.
A counselor I know once told me of a client he had who came into his office one day and said, “I was in the supermarket, and I realized that all those people each had, like, their own thoughts, and a whole life, just like I do. They were other People.” We laughed at that level of narcissism, but it was a good point about being in your own head. It’s something I struggle with, as I think some of you may. We’re so wrapped up in our own story that we miss opportunities to help repair the cracks in the world we are called to repair.
There is fear and anxiety when we consider what it means to die, or rather what what happens to us. That basic insecurity is largely used this day as motivation to consider our actions and attitudes over the past year. Whether or not we believe in the specific theology or images of our liturgy, the fact remains, some Kol Nidre we won’t be here.
But many of our friends and family, we pray will. When our own story ends, and it will, maybe by fire, maybe by water, maybe by food poisoning, we will cease to be the main character of a story. And we will continue on as a figure in other people’s stories. That is the legacy we can be concerned with and rightly should be concerned with.
The gift of living is not merely the opportunity to experience the joy and suffering of life, and there is good measure of both, but also the chance to be part of how many other stories both individual and group.
Who are we in other people’s stories. What role do you play and what is your part in the ongoing stories that you have been a part of. How do we enter and exit the lives of those we love? How and why do we exit and reappear in each other’s lives? And when we ask or demand or want something from another person to further our agenda in our own lives and our own situations, do we ever, let alone always, stop to consider the story from the other person’s point of view?
Now, I’m not suggesting that this is reasonable when checking out from Kroger. Believe me, it’s perfectly fine to play the part of random customer 9,245. But there are other opportunities, no less random where you can play a significant part. Usually by simply stepping out of your own story and into someone elses.
It’s really hard to do, especially when to do so is to look at yourself and say, “hey, look, in my story, I’m just trying to do my job, and manage my responsibilities and have some fun myself and focused on that, but in this person’s story I’m cranky and put upon and making them feel bad for wanting my attention.”
Think of people who have impacted your life. Your best teachers, coaches, rabbis, friends, colleagues, students. Your families. Chances are, their finest moments came when they were consciously or unconsciously supporting your story, not their own. The obligation, I would suggest, is to pay it forward. Catch yourself in a situation and consciously decide what you are going to be in another person’s story, and how you would want to be remembered. If you are ever in doubt, may I suggest kindness. Even when you are annoyed.
This isn’t a new idea by any stretch. Hillel taught “Do not judge your fellow until you are in his place”. It’s a similar approach to this concept.
At this point, I may need to remind us that we need to be concerned with our own story and we have the right and responsibility to be concerned with our own happiness, but does anyone here really have a problem with not being selfish enough?
In that case, remember if you don’t take care of yourself to the best of your ability, you won’t be much use as a character in anyone elses story either. That’s why we believe in supporting and loving and helping and forgiving each other our failings. We are ultimately part of a larger story. We are responsible to and for one another so that all our stories contribute and support larger stories.
The story of CJCN, our congregation. How do you relate to this place and community. How are we part of each other’s stories as individuals and as a community?
The story of the Jewish People as Americans. How will this community evolve or vanish as part of the larger narrative of this amazing chapter in our 4000 year history. We need to confront our history and our future and decide; if we will not make the necessary contributions to ensure the future of this congregation, now, then when?
The story of God. What part do we play if humanity is, as I believe, the pinnacle of creation on Earth and a way in which the universe can experience itself. What small part we play! Yet how great an impact an individual can have on the greater story for good or ill!
This relationship between our small stories and the larger stories that will include our stories is, I believe, the underpinings of Jewish life. The worldview, ethics, practices and disciplines that Judaism teaches helps us keep our stories in concert with the largest story; history. One word. And more so, His story, two words.
I know I have failed you and therefore God in ways known to me and ways unknown. I have let my own insecurities, impulses and childish impatience motivate me. I have been tripped by envy, blinded by ego and mistaken my story for history. Or His story. Or yours. So, I ask your forgiveness as we stand on the eve of the day that will renew us all and reunite us with our highest selves. Have an easy fast. Remember that death is the end only if you assume the story is about you. And hey, Hatima Tovah.
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