Erev Yom Kippur/Kol Nidre: Traditional Service

Sermon by Rabbi Marcia Zimmerman
2020/5781

There once was a rabbi who escaped disaster and fear from a small town in Russia. He escaped to find a safe haven in a small Hungarian town right outside Debrecen called Hoidenanash. This rabbi, when it was safe for him to return home, he left the family in this small town a gift. It was an ark covering, and he said to the family, “This parochet, this beautiful ark covering — I want you to have it to thank you for all that you have done for me. I want you to use this parochet as a chuppah for your family. The generations to come will be married under this parochet, and your family will have many descendants.”

Fast forward. 

The Holocaust came, and that parochet made it here to the United States safely. Frank and I were married under it 36 years ago. We stood under that parochet and felt the generations of our family—those who died in the Holocaust, and those surrounding us who lived. Out of the brokenness and disaster of that rabbi’s life in Russia, and of the Holocaust, was a new blessing — a blessing that began a long and beautiful journey.

My father-in-law, Dr. Stephen Hornstein, told that story at our wedding and we felt the power of both the brokenness and the blessing. 

Rebecca Solnit tells us that in disaster the world is changed and our view of it. She tells us that what we deem important shifts, and what is weak actually falls apart under the new weight of that disaster. What is strong endures, and what is hidden emerges. Mother Nature knows this for a fact. On the floor of the forest are pods that are held shut by resin. Inside, these pods are new seedlings, and these pods only open up when there is a forest fire. Through the fire and the brokenness these pods create new life in the forest. And with the horrific and tragic forest fires that are out west, we only pray these pods will remain and survive and open up. With its devastation it cannot replace, but there can be a new a growth emerging out of what was hidden.

Judaism understands this power, and we all know it. The stories we have heard throughout our lives. Eve in the Garden of Eden — it is said that Eve actually ate from the Tree of Knowledge knowing that the idea of the garden and paradise would not teach us, and so we got thrown out so we could become partners with G-d in healing this broken world.

Jacob who became Israel — that story is so well-known. He struggled and wrestled and he asked for a blessing, and received it. And when it was all over, Jacob was limping, was still broken.

And then we have Moses and Miriam. They are at the sea. Here they are, between water and the pharaoh’s army. And before they can truly see the water break, they have to go in with small steps in order for the dry land to emerge. What was hidden emerged, and our people came out on the other side free from slavery.

Yom Kippur is a time where we are supposed to bring our brokenness. We are invited into this holy space, saint and sinner alike the liturgy tells us. No matter how far one has strayed from our tradition, no matter what you have done we are coming together — at-one-ment — together  because Yom Kippur can heal us and make us one. 

Now, it is funny that every year after Yom Kippur somebody calls me and says, “Rabbi, I didn’t run to do sin, but that’s what it said in the Vidui.” “Rabbi, I didn’t take a bribe or give a bribe. Why do I have to say it?” 

And then there are the ones that we all know. Gossip. Irreverence. It is about this idea that all of us are together as one, and that we can be here for someone’s weakness to become another person’s strength. 

In ancient times the priests use to burn incense on Yom Kippur. It was called ketoret. And the ketoret were a variety of different spices, but there was always one spice that was foul smelling. You ask why. Because the idea that all of the spices together, when they burn together, it is as though the community comes together. All of us have something to ask forgiveness for. All of us have our weaknesses and all of us have our strengths. And when we come together as a community on Yom Kippur, on this Kol Nidre, we are told the power of being together, the power of this day to heal us, to make things better, to move us to acts of righteousness and hope and courage. 

Now we come as individuals, and that is a very interesting dilemma, isn’t it? We so often want to get rid of the things in our very personalities that we don’t like. Vulnerabilities and fears that we’d rather keep at bay. And what our tradition teaches us is actually that we have to bring all the different parts of us together, and that we have to give voice to even those things that we are afraid of or that we don’t like in ourselves. Sometimes we naturally want to take the best of all the other people that we know in our lives and put them in our being and get rid of the things we don’t like. Like we want to be as entrepreneurial as Steve Jobs, we want to be as beautiful as — you decide for yourself who that might be, or we want to be as smart as Justice Ruth Bader Ginsberg. It’s been said that she’s a super hero; I’ve heard it many times. She does actually have an action figure, which is pretty cool. And she did so much for women throughout time, but we also know that we all are human no matter how big our lives have been. You and I and everybody, we sometimes feel competent and confident, like we can do it all, and are really smart. And then there are other times we feel like a complete imposter. It is the reality. We feel the both/and. That is what’s so important. 

Temperament and personality make the day. One of my favorite lines is, “You are perfect the way you are, and you need a lot of work.” You see, we can change greatly, but not fundamentally. We are brought into this world with so much and we need to bring out those vulnerable, scared aspects of ourselves that we will nurture and care about. Because when we nurture the inside reality, then it expresses itself as tolerance rather than judgement, of understanding rather than dismissal. 

When we disavow those parts that we don’t like in ourselves, it is said that they boomerang right back at us. They don’t go away, we just need to give them a microphone so that we can hear and we can transform the parts that need tempering in our personalities, one psychoanalyst said it beautifully.

You see, the internal work we have to do on this Yom Kippur — it’s not a construction project. It’s actually a renovation project. We might need to put a chair in the corner of the room, or rearrange the room so that some parts of ourselves can have a voice. And others that maybe have had too much of a voice can find some quiet. That is about coming together, of being human, of knowing the brokenness if each of us can become one and whole.

So what do we do in this year that feels so broken? A year of pandemic, a year of fires and hurricanes, a year of discontent. How are we going to find the hidden that must emerge? How do we find and, like Jacob who became Israel, understand that wrestling with the brokenness is what we need to do?  

Let me be clear: the brokenness is not the blessing. The blessing is in the ability of each of us to demand something different. To do the work internally and in our community. The blessing is Jacob. We might be limping afterwards, but we will be blessed.

There is a beautiful Midrash in Lamentations Rabbah (14:49). It is a midrash about a king. You can actually say most of the time a Midrash king equals G-d; queen equals G-d. The king built a chuppah for his son. His son was not very appreciative. Actually, the Midrash basically says the son was a brat. So the king destroys the chuppah, thinking that the son doesn’t deserve such a beautiful gift. But the son’s tutor, the son’s teacher, took one of the broken poles of the chuppah and made a flute. The tutor made music out of the brokenness. The tutor made music for G-d. 

Thirty-six years ago Frank and I stood under that parochet that became a chuppah; we felt blessed. Even though the chuppah had been through so much — the brokenness of destruction and oppression and hatred — in a remarkable way, that chuppah had more blessings than I can even articulate. We stood under that chuppah and felt those blessings all around us. And it’s interesting, at every wedding we end our service, the ceremony, with the breaking of the glass, don’t we? Out of the brokenness comes the blessing. Out of the brokenness comes the celebration. Out of the brokenness comes the work that we must do — that everybody must do — to help a community be at one. To help each individual to be at one. 

So what else to do today in this broken year, in this broken time, in the brokenness that we bring to the sanctuary via streaming, the brokenness of it all? Well, I’ll tell you. We’re going to break a glass, and then send you off to do the work Yom Kippur. 

Mazel Tov.

Erev Yom Kippur/Kol Nidre

Sermon by Rabbi Marcia Zimmerman
2019/5780

There’s a story about the Kotzker Rebbe. The Rebbe decides that he is going to spend Shabbat with a friend, and so he puts on regular street clothes for Shabbat. And because he is speaking at a nearby town, giving a very famous lecture, he has to board the plane as Shabbat is completed in order to arrive late at night. He doesn’t change his clothes into the clothes that a Rebbe wears.

He gets on the train and there are three students who are going to hear his lecture, but they don’t recognize the Rebbe. They begin to make fun of this old man who is feeble and moving too slowly. They laugh at him, they joke at his expense, and they even try to trip him as he walks slowly down the train car. They arrive at the town and they are excited to hear the Rebbe! And then, the reality hits them. Before the train has arrived, the Rebbe has changed his clothes and begins to exit to a big fanfare of the community waiting for him, and they realize that they have been making fun of the Rebbe himself. Shocked, they begin apologizing profusely. “Oh my goodness, Rebbe, we didn’t mean it. We feel so guilty! We are so sorry; we apologize.” The Rebbe lets this go on for some time until he finally turns to these three students and says, “You have apologized to the Rebbe, but now I want you to apologize to the old man on the train.”

Failed apologies seem to be all around us, don’t they? We have a lot of people who have done wrong in the world; hurt people. Really hurt people. And either have failed with an apology or haven’t apologized at all. Sackler family and the opioid epidemic, not taking responsibility . . . Madoff . . . We have Harvey Weinstein. We have Cosby. We have Louis C. K. . . . Over and over and over again, there are people in our midst who do not apologize, and I believe it puts our world out of balance and desperately in trouble. It is truly this idea that Aaron Lazare talks about, who was the chancellor of the University of Massachusetts medical school and has spent his entire career studying apologies. He wrote a book on apology. He says that you can apologize too soon, but actually, you can never apologize too late, meaning you should always apologize no matter how long ago the offense was. But too soon is a reality, Lazare says, because often when one apologizes too soon it’s to manipulate the situation. It’s to keep the anger of those offended at bay. And most of all, the offender has not done the work, the important internal reckoning, to understand what they have done. Without that point, really, your apology doesn’t stand. You can’t just quickly apologize for your behavior unless you really understand what has caused the offense. And that takes a lot of time. And guess what? That’s what Yom Kippur is all about. 

Do you know that Kol Nidre is the longest service in the year? Why? Because we’re doing that apology stuff to God. Takes a long time. 

I was listening to the radio and I couldn’t believe, as I was thinking about apology and all these averahs these sins that have been all around us, people who have offended and not had any apology – there was a whole conversation about how to bring offenders back into this community around the “Me Too” movement. Tarana Burke who coined “Me too,” understood in this interview that she is going to take care of the victims. We still need to hear the stories of the victims, we’re still hearing new stories of the victims. But she said that our community and our society has to also work on what it is to reconcile to where we can bring together these broken realities in our world. She says it really is not going to go away, sexual violence, until we understand why the wrong-doers did what they did. And in addition, for us, to acknowledge that giving them an entry back into society through the backdoor – through podcasts, through books – that isn’t going to help either. Forgiveness without an apology is cheap. We have to figure out how they are going to come back and do real t’shuvah, real atonement, do restitution because she believes that the people who are part of the problem are the exact people who have to be part of the solution. I loved that.

Burke understood that we as a community must reckon with the realities of reconstituting some understanding of how we treat one another. 

Lazare goes on to talk about the fact that not only can one apologize too soon, but we also have to understand the history of apology. It was actually after WWII that apologizing became a part of civilized society: not as a reflection of weakness, but actually seen as a strength, which I think is a wonderful thing. He also went on to say what happens when you have to take responsibility for something you didn’t do? That’s something we struggle with, isn’t it? He explains that it’s sort of like buying a house. You buy the house and you own the things that you love. But you also own the hot water heater that bursts the day after you sign the papers – you own that part of the house, too. He says we have to take responsibility. We feel very proud of being part of this country, but we also feel the shame of this country being built on the back of slaves. We have to own both parts. 

I’m very proud to be part of this community and this congregation and I feel honored to be the Senior Rabbi. And yet over this year you’ve received two letters about previous sexual misconduct from a youth leader in our community. And I feel ashamed of that. And I feel responsible for that. I have to take all of it. 

Abraham Joshua Heschel said about WWII that there were few who were guilty, but all were responsible. Few were guilty, all were responsible. I think that is very much what it means to be a part of this community and understand that apology is part of this wider world. In This American Life there was an amazing story – there was an apology that the victim actually tweeted – that was a master apology. It healed a wound that was deep. Dan Harmon who is a head television writer, was attracted to a young writer who was part of his team. He put her work first above all the other writers; he created a jealousy in the group and an uncomfortable situation. She kept telling him, “don’t show me favors – don’t do this.” And then he told her he loved her. She said you’re my boss; no. And then he decided to make her pay for his humiliation. He publicly humiliated her over and over again. Six years passed and Dan made a public apology. He said exactly what he did, word for word. He took responsibility. He said, “I had these feelings and I knew they were dangerous so I did what I coward does and didn’t deal with them. I made everyone else deal with them.” He said, “I didn’t respect women. Because I wouldn’t treat somebody like that if I did and I would never treat a man like that.” She, Megan Ganz is her name, heard it on this podcast and was touched and amazed. She felt that there was a reconciliation that she didn’t think was possible. She felt freed and liberated and said she didn’t realize, hearing from him – ironically, the very person she never would have asked – to tell her what happened was true; she needed that affirmation. She needed him to recognize that he had actually hurt the very core of what she loved about herself, which was her creativity. She told everyone to listen, and then Dan said something that I think was important. He said you know, I think the world’s going to be better because we (meaning men) won’t get away with it anymore, and I think that’s a good thing.

The idea that you can actually ask for an apology or forgiveness or give it, that we put somebody else’s concern and belief and hurt above our own, that is when we heal. There is the head of the Orthodox youth movement, David Bashevkin, and he wrote a book called Sin-a-gogue: Sin and Failure in Jewish Thought. He talks about a Hasidic group who understands that when we sin and ask for forgiveness and do the apology that we’re actually elevated to a higher status than just enjoying life in the perfect world. He said that the idea of coming to terms with our faults is the way we create a repaired world, of tikkun olam. He says that the people who show a complicated family history to their children and grandchildren, not only talking about the successes but also about the time you failed – the time you lost the job, the time you made the wrong decision – the time your family history isn’t so great along with when it is great actually creates a stronger next generation and a strong family. Personally, it’s the same. When you can talk to your family about the things you did wrong, about the losses and gains, the failures and successes, those are the ways we actually learn to be human. The Hasidic group says don’t be in duress. Don’t sit and try. Do the work of asking for forgiveness, of apologizing, because it makes the world stronger because of it. 

We also are here to do the work. You can’t really do redemption or atonement without asking for forgiveness and an apology. I often hear people coming into sanctuaries every year saying, I don’t really like saying all those al chets – I haven’t done so many of them! I haven’t done this or that… and I think it’s so funny because I hope this year we lean into it. Instead of saying I don’t do this, let’s look at understanding it a bit differently. 

One of my favorites from the previous machzor is confusing love with lust. If we keep that sin to the Harvey Weinstein, Cosby, or Louis c. k., then we’re really not doing the work we should. If lust fundamentally is power, which it is – having power over somebody else – and love is seeing eye to eye with another, sacrificing for another, listening to the hurt you caused even when it makes you feel uncomfortable – that’s love. I think sometimes we confuse the two. When we want to be right in an argument and win, that’s lust. That’s being powerful over love. I hear many people who have been married 50 years say that the best thing they ever learned in a marriage is that it’s better to be happy than right.

This Yom Kippur, let us identify with those three students on the train. Let’s find the time that we have to return to the scene and apologize because we haven’t treated somebody well or right. Let us return, just as I hope they would return. When we apologize and do the hard work of introspection, when we go to another person and show our remorse, when we build reconciliation, the world is healed. The world is that much stronger. If each one of us did that, think of what a beautiful community this would be. It would be one of strength, one where our souls would soar. Where our hearts would beat, where our hands would hold. That’s the community and world I want to create and I want to be a part of. G’mar tov.

Erev Yom Kippur: Sanctuary Service

Sermon by Rabbi Marcia Zimmerman
2015/5776

There is no text for this sermon. Please enjoy the video of Rabbi Marcia Zimmerman on Erev Yom Kippur 2015/5776.

Erev Yom Kippur: What’s in a Name?

Sermon by Rabbi Sim Glaser
2015/5776

Being a bit of a “know it all” I like to tell people that on Yom Kippur it is not really appropriate to say “Good Yontov” because it is not a Yom Tov. And Happy New Year is never really the correct greeting.

The usual response is: well what the heck should I say??

Probably the safest bet is G’mar Hatimah Tova, or G’mar tov, meaning “May you be inscribed for blessing in the book of life. And that conjures up the image of our names being inked into some celestial document as the old Jewish folk song says it: “He makin’ a list, and checkin’ it twice, gonna find out who’s naughty and nice.”

But our names seem to hold some importance. One thing we all have in common tonight is that each of us has a name. Some of us love our names, others maybe not so much.

I grew up with a weird name. My parents named me Simeon Israel Glaser. Simeon being the biblical equivalent of Sigmund, named after my mother’s deceased father who perished in the Shoah. Israel is the name given by the Nazis in 1939 to all Jewish men, Sarah was the name for all Jewish women, so that the Germans could identify Jews. In those dark days no newborn German Jewish baby could have a German name. My parents gave me the name Israel in a defiance of that law.

Our names all come from somewhere, and usually to some purpose. The names we bestow on our children are laden with meaning for those who name us, but also of course for us who are named. To some extent, every name becomes sort of an assignment, a destiny even. You learn to live with the name, and it shapes you.

I have been intrigued my entire life by the names people give their children. Rabbi Jared Saks, our previous assistant rabbi used to speak of a friend he had growing up by the name of Nancy Cianci. Yes, the Cianci’s named their daughter Nancy, and it gets better – her middle name was Anne. She was, in fact, Nancy Anne Cianci. I’m sure each of us has a story of a name beyond belief we heard or read somewhere. There is an entire website dedicated to delightfully odd names.

Many years ago there was a popular Johnny Cash song A Boy Named Sue. I have always related to it personally. Goes a little something like this:

My daddy left home when I was three

And he didn't leave much to ma and me

Just this old guitar and an empty bottle of booze.

Now, I don't blame him cause he run and hid

But the meanest thing that he ever did

Was before he left, he went and named me "Sue."

The song then details how “Sue” grew up strong and resilient and able to defend himself in difficult times. He meets up with his dad, they have a fierce barroom brawl, and are about to kill each other when the dad says,

Listen son, this world is rough

And if a man's gonna make it,

he's gotta be tough

And I knew I wouldn't be there to help ya along.

So I give ya that name and I said goodbye

I knew you'd have to get tough or die

And it's the name that helped to make you strong."

The song concludes on a note of acceptance, kind of as Sue, the narrator says:

And I think about him, now and then,

Every time I try and every time I win,

And if I ever have a son, I think I'm gonna name him…

Bill or George! Anything but Sue! I still hate that name!

And people choose to rename themselves. In Rabbinical School I had two classmates, Beth Jarecky and Jonathan Lubarsky who were married and were concerned about the hyphenated  Jarecky-Lubarsky for themselves or their children, so they up and decided to dump both names and adopt the name “Singer”, because they both love music. To this day they are Rabbis Jonathan and Beth Singer, and they are plenty happy in San Francisco as is their choir of little Singers.

Our Jewish tradition places huge importance on names. Sarah in the Torah is told she will bear a child at the age of 90 and says that everyone who hears of it will laugh, so the child is named Yitzchak  - meaning “laughter. Her grandson Jacob becomes Yisrael because he actually wrestles with an angel of God and that is what Yisrael means. His first and eldest son with Leah is to be named Reuven, a perfectly logical choice because it means “look, a son!” Many Hebrew names are given in relation to God. Yonatan means gift of God, Yoel means God is willing.

Modern Israeli names took on natural agricultural themes, like Ital (Island of Dew) or Tamar (date palm) or Tzvi (deer).

It is well known that in our tradition children are named after deceased relatives, often with the hope they will possess the best characteristics of those whom we have loved and lost. Some are named for great heroes. As many Jewish Abrahams are named for Lincoln as for the Torah’s first monotheist. Alexander has been a popular Jewish boy’s name that dates back to the famous Alexander the Great’s historic conquest of 4th century Palestine and his kind treatment of the Jewish people there. We never forget a favor.

Considering how many Jewish celebrities there are, it is interesting to note that rarely are Jewish children named after such notables. Even in biblical times those famous names, Abraham, Sarah, Isaac, Rebecca, Jacob, Rachel, Leah, Joseph and Moses - you know they do not reappear in the Jewish bible after that, and nobody really knows why this is. And curiously, not one scholar in the Talmud is named Abraham, Israel or David. Some names of biblical prophets are used, some not, and nobody seems to know why that is either.

Then there is the superstitious custom of changing a person’s name in the time of serious illness to confuse the angel of death as to whether He is visiting the correct person, like we can pull one over on the Angel of Death.

The bestowing of names is among the earliest themes in the Torah. As soon as creation happened naming things was put on the front burner. The rabbis have a wonderful Midrash for when Adam was created. Seems God was so excited and proud and told the angels: Look! Look at what I created. He’s so bright! But the angels were not impressed. He’s so smart? Come on, they said, what’s so great about him? We’re here in heaven with you. We’re the ones who know everything. But God is insistent and says: “Want to see?” and puts a four legged animal on the earth and says watch this: Adam says “this shall be called dog” and this one giraffe, and this one elephant. The angels are stumped. They couldn’t do this because they had never been to earth. And then Adam names himself Adam saying: I am Adam because I come from adamah – the earth itself.

And then comes a wonderful moment when God says to Adam: and what shall be your name for Me? Adam could have said anything. Could have said: Irving, or Shirley! But Adam said: You shall be called Adonai because you are Lord over all Your works.

Why is this important? Because in giving God that name we are the ones who declare God Master. We need to be servants and do God’s work. The name Adonai is crucial to our relationship with God. But we are the ones who make it so. By way of a name.

A lot of our young people over the years have confessed their difficulties with belief in God and I wonder sometimes if it isn’t a problem with the names and the descriptions we give to God that throws us off. Ruler, King, Savior and Protector… Names are what help us establish relationship. Look at all the nicknames and the pet names we give each other.

The word “God” itself is not of our creation. To truly understand the name of God you have to go to the Hebrew source. Confronting the letters Yud Hey Vav Hey we find it to be virtually unpronounceable. Try as you might the best you would get is the sound of breathing. (demonstrate).

If names are so important, why would the master of all creation have one that isn’t pronounceable? Perhaps it is because the meaning of our lives goes well beyond the name.

There is a story of a Sage who sends his young students out to find the best characteristic of a human being. The first student returns telling his master that the best characteristic of a human being is to have an ayin tovah, a good eye, a good outlook on the world. The next returns saying a person should have a shem tov, a good name. The third says one should be a haver tov - a good friend and neighbor. The last comes back and says the highest value for a person is that he or she should possess a lev tov. A Good heart. The Rebbe tells his students that these are all good answers, and each is a valued part of a person’s character, but he says the best answer is to have a lev tov. A good heart.

Perhaps this story holds a key to the puzzle. Maybe our names really are not our last word. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet, some playwright once said. Montegue or not, Romeo would be as beloved to his Juliet. Yes, we are given names, like labels on cans, but it is the goodness of our hearts that ultimately determine the power of your name, and not the other way around. We read in Pirkei Avot - Al tistakel b’kankan, eleh b’mah she yesh bo”. Don’t look at the label, rather at the contents.

When we ask God to inscribe us in the book of life for a sweet and healthy year, on some level we hope that our name will be listed in that “book”. But what really matters is what heft we are going to bring to our name over the coming year. How are we going to make the name that we were given count, the name we have schlepped hither and yon for lo these many decades, how are we going to make that name be worthy of blessing this year.

Perhaps this is why the great master of Hasidism was called the Ba’al Shem Tov - Master of the good name. There are two ways to translate Ba’al Shem Tov. The one who owns the holy name and therefore brings Divine power to whatever he does. Or the one who is characterized by a good reputation. I prefer the latter. His shem, his name is “tov” - good - because wherever he journeyed he brought good things to people. His name now had power.

However we feel about our names, no matter whom we are named for, or what our parents had in mind when they gave our names to us, maybe this year we will think about what it means to go forth in this world and lead others to associate our name with goodness, with kindness, with love of humanity.

If this happens, then no matter what your name is. Irving, Bertha, Nancy, Sue, Shlemiel Shlemazel, or, God help you, Simeon, your name, when heard by others, will bring joy and healing.

The poet Zelda wrote: Each of us has a name, given by God, given by our father and mother. Each of us has a name, given by our stature and our way of smiling, and given by our clothing. Each of us has a name given by the planets and given by our neighbors, given by our sins and given by our longing. Each of us has a name given by our enemies and by our love. Each of us has a name given by the seasons of the year and given to us by our blindness. Each of us has a name given by the ocean and given by our death.

G’mar hatima tovah, may we be inscribed for blessings in the book of life. May all our names ascend to lofty heights, and be associated with goodness and peace, because it is our will to make it so.

L’shana tova.

Erev Yom Kippur: The Beauty and Power of Friendships

Sermon by Rabbi Sim Glaser
2014/5775

This summer I fulfilled a life-long ambition to see one of the Beatles live in the flesh. Yes, I was at the Paul McCartney concert and though he was a good distance away and made visible to us in the stands only by virtue of the jumbo tron video screen, I thought he was totally fab.

Paul’s set list was pretty predictable, even though he has penned hundreds of popular songs, 60 of which were #1 hits. But his inclusion of the song Eleanor Rigby I thought was interesting. Almost as though he felt that his message from way back in 1966: “all the lonely people, where do they all come from? All the lonely people, where do they all belong?” was still an eternal message, befitting a 72 year old man who has lost a wife to cancer and been through a very public divorce and now married to a Jewish woman.

I have a confession to make on this erev Yom Kippur. I am an introvert. I play an extrovert on TV, or on the rabbi job. Sometimes better than others. I have, over the years, often worn that introvert distinction as a badge of honor thinking that, on some level, it was cool to keep to myself. Well into middle age, I don’t look at it that way anymore. I now think of my introversion as something of a liability.

Clearly it is easier for extroverts to make friends. And as many a researcher will report, friendships are good for you. Friendships help you live longer. People who have studied happiness, comparing happy people with unhappy people find that the only external factor distinguishing the two groups was the presence, or the lack thereof, of rich and satisfying social relationships.

When I deliver eulogies at funerals, I always get choked up when I get to the part about the friends of the deceased. No matter what kind of wealth the deceased amassed, or how many countries they visited or how well known they were, the friends they made along the way seem to stand out as a true value.

And conversely, there have been those whom I have met along the way of my rabbinical career who, sadly enough, arrive at their last days with profound regret at all the time they spent alone, apart, for one reason or another, from their loved ones or old friends. Acting as though someday they’d set it all straight, and then that day never comes.

Acquiring friends has a long and rich tradition within Judaism. When the first two Jews, Abraham and Sarah, leave Haran to begin their trek out into the world to bring the blessings of Judaism with them it says, “and they took with them all the people they had gathered in Haran.” The Hebrew translates better to the souls they “made” in Haran. Now, we know that human beings don’t create other human beings; so the rabbis understood this to mean that Abraham and Sarah had taken them in, like family, to be with them, to nurture their spirits. We know about Abraham and Sarah that their tent-home was always open to strangers passing by. That they would welcome anybody in, bath their feet and give them food and drink. Obviously, forging friendships was very important to Abraham and Sarah. Somehow they understood that to build a great religion like Judaism was going to require the cement of friendships.

Judaism has connected learning with friendship. The Talmud says: Acquire a teacher, and you have a friend for life!

We know that friendship helps people make better judgments. A major part of a deep friendship is in thinking through problems together: what job is best for us to take? What life goals should we follow? How should we deal with difficult people? Whom to marry? Friendship allows us to see our own life but with a second set of eyes, a sympathetic other standing beside us.

One beautiful element of friendship is that friends usually bring out better versions of each other. We let our guard down among our close friends. If you’re hanging around with a friend, smarter and funnier thoughts tend to come burbling out.

Individual creativity has long been celebrated, but it has been reported recently that the best decisions are not made by a person sitting alone in an office or at home, but by a group of friends around a table. The material they produce is richer, more human, more creative. Groups of three, four, or five perform better on complex problem solving than the best of an equivalent number of individuals.

Ancient writers dating way back to Aristotle have praised friendship, describing it as the preeminent human institution. They will tell you that in this life you can manage without marriage, or even do without justice or honor, but friendship is indispensable to life. Lovers face each other, it is said, but friends stand side-by-side, facing the world, sharing values and insights, often working together toward something of great value.

People behave better if they know their friends are observing. Friendship is based, in part, on common tastes and interests, but it is also based on mutual admiration and reciprocity. People tend to want to live up to their friends’ high regard. People don’t work at having close friendships in any hope of selfish gain, but simply for the pleasure itself of feeling known and respected.

While much of this may seem very obvious, you should know that friendship is not in great shape in America today. They’ve run the numbers. In 1985, people tended to have about three really close friends. By 2004, according to research, people were reporting they had only two close confidants. Over the next ten years the number of people who say they have no close confidants at all has tripled.

It seems that folks have a harder time these days building friendships across class lines. As society becomes more unequal and segmented, we tend to retreat into our camps. Most of the people we know come from our same socioeconomic world. Middle-aged people have particular problems nurturing friendships and building new ones because they are so busy with work and kids. 

The problem may be that we've lost sight of the real benefit of friendships. That the "what's in it for me" impulse in today's world has got us looking out for number one so significantly that other people don’t seem as important an element for our individual success. How ironic then that the best thing you can do for yourself is to forge a new friendship or refresh an old one.

So how do we go about this? One of the best ways for us to formulate, or as it was said in the Abraham and Sarah story “acquire” friends is to seek out a challenge, or a difficulty that needs to be worked out by a group. Instead of one person looking out for their own self, imagine a group of buddies engaging in something that benefits some other people entirely. Nothing inspires friendship like selflessness and cooperation in moments of difficulty.

This certainly is a good reason for belonging to a Temple community like ours. But it really only works if you have an eye on a bigger prize. Today people flock to conferences, ideas festivals, even vacation cruises that are really more about building friendships than anything else, even if people don’t admit it explicitly. There is a part of us that makes up excuses to find ourselves doing something with others. Book groups, minyans, sports teams.

One of my favorite stories concerns two boyhood friends, Eliphelet and Gidyon. They lived near each other and grew up together. Eventually they left their homes to find a place for themselves in the big world and each one did very well. But now they lived far apart from one another. And in those days before email and telephone it was hard to keep up friendships.

But Gidyon went traveling and found himself in the country where his friend Eliphelet lived and he thought, how great would it be to see his old buddy. But when he came to the gate of the city he was arrested by the police who thought he was a spy. He was brought immediately to trial and sentenced to death. As he waited there in prison he was very sad about his family whom he would never see again. Who would take care of them, he thought.

When the time came for his execution, Gidyon fell to his knees before the king and begged: Gracious king, I am innocent of any wrongdoing and yet I have been sentenced to this cruel punishment. I ask only one favor and that is that I be allowed one week – seven days - to return to my own country to say goodbye to my wife and children and to see that they will be alright. I give you my word as an honest Jew who has never broken a promise that I will return on time.

The king thought about it and asked: but who will guarantee that you will not try to escape?

Just then a man pushed his way out of the crowd and said: “Your highness, I will be his guarantee.” Of course that man was Gidyon’s boyhood friend Eliphelet who told the king: “You can imprison me, and if Gidyon doesn’t come back when he said he would, you can put me to death.

The king was astonished at this display of loyalty and friendship and allowed Gidyon to be freed to go back to his home. The people of the kingdom were amazed by this. They could not believe that the doomed man would ever possibly come back. They laughed at Eliphelet for volunteering to take his place.

Gidyon returned home, took care of his business, but told nobody of what fate awaited him in the distant country.

When those seven days had come and gone the city was ready for the execution and the entire kingdom came to see what would come of this strange event. It was nearly night time on the seventh day and no one expected Gidyon to return. Eliphelet was taken out of prison and placed beneath the gallows.

Suddenly they heard a loud cry – wait! I am here. Do not harm my dear friend. I am here to take his place. And Gidyon rushed through the crowd toward the king and the executioner. The people of the kingdom burst out in cheers and applause and then it grew quiet. The king was clearly touched by the loyalty of these two friends, and he spoke, saying: “Because of the true and devoted friendship of Eliphelet and Gidyon, I will pardon the crime of the stranger. But I do this on one condition. That they do me the favor of letting me be their friend as well.

I imagine many of us have friends that are separated from us by miles, and whom we would love to see more than we can. Just the other day I received an email from an old high school chum whom I never see and hardly ever speak to. I felt a strange sensation of wanting to hang out with him that surprised this introvert. I wrote back – do you have a minute to talk? He did. I called him and I was stunned by the warmth and good feeling I experienced in hearing his voice. In talking about the music we love in common. The places we used to hang out.

I said, you know, I’m coming east this winter and we should have a beer. And he gave me an out – he said, sure, if you make it to town give me a call. Somehow we both sadly knew that the chances of that happening were not good. That it might not be in the stars and he wanted me to know that he understood. He got it.

But you know, it doesn’t have to be in the stars. We are the architects of our lives. Our tradition tells us to dwell in community. Science tells us that companions are good for our health. Psychology teaches that better decisions are made in groups.

Judaism teaches that a good friend is a tower of strength: to find one is to find a treasure. In your search for a richer, more positive and healthy new year, may you rediscover the treasure to be found in renewing an old friendship, or simply rededicating yourself to enriching the ones you already have.

I’m going to give it a try. I hope you will too.

L’shana tova.

Erev Yom Kippur: Sanctuary Service

Sermon by Marcia Zimmerman
2014/5775

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There is no text for this sermon. Please enjoy this video of Rabbi Zimmerman on Erev Yom Kippur, 2014/5775.

Erev Yom Kippur: Sanctuary Service

Sermon by Rabbi Marcia Zimmerman
2013/5774

There is no text for this sermon. Please enjoy the video of Rabbi Marcia Zimmerman on Erev Yom Kippur, 2013/5774.

Erev Yom Kippur: The Highest Form of Giving

Sermon by Rabbi Sim Glaser
2013/5774

Tomorrow morning whether you are upstairs or downstairs you will hear a section of the Torah that comes from the book of Deuteronomy, the fifth book of the Torah – a book that acts as a virtual blueprint for a successful society.

The great Moses teaches the Israelites how they can remain prosperous and successful in their new land. Moses keeps repeating this theme of the equality of each and every individual that will come to live there. According to our Torah everybody has to get a fair shake. Atem nitzavim culchem lifney Adonai Eloheichem – you stand here, all of you today – my law affects everyone, from the woodchopper to the water drawer. In a society where God’s laws reign, justice reigns, and everybody deserves a chance. No exceptions.

There is a tale told of a time not long before the Holocaust and the Second World War, when the Jews of Eastern Europe still lived in small villages. One day, a young man told his fellows that he was leaving the village because he realized he was an atheist, he no longer believed in God. He decided he wanted to live among other atheists like himself. The townspeople were sorry to see him go, but they bid him farewell and told him his home would always be there waiting for him. A few years went by and lo and behold the townspeople were surprised to see that their friend had returned to them. The villagers asked him: “Why did you come back? Do you now believe in God?” To which he responded: “No, I still don’t believe in God, but I have learned something very important. It is better to live among those who believe in God than among those who don’t believe in God.”

That young man had lived in both societies and had seen the way they treat their most desperate citizens, the poorest and neediest amongst them. He decided it is better to be in a place where God’s rules are the way of the land.

Even way back then, Moses somehow knew that human societies, even at the peak of their social advancement, would always have poor people to take care of. Or, as Moses put it more concisely in the Torah: “poor folk will never cease to be in your land.” And further, Moses added: “you shall give, but your heart should not grieve when you give.”

With that last bit there, Moses was saying that not all giving is alike, and it should not be surprising that future generations of great Jewish thinkers would have a lot to say about the art of giving.

Perhaps the most well known treatise on giving is the ladder of tzedaka – the creation of another great Moshe, Moshe ben Maimon, or Maimonides. He constructed an eight-step ladder of giving and taught us that the person who gives, but gives grudgingly inhabits the lowest rung on that ladder. This goes all the way up to completely anonymous giving where neither giver nor receiver knows of each other’s identities.

But the eighth or highest form of giving on the ladder of tzedaka is something different altogether. This is when you either loan somebody something or enter into an actual partnership with the needy person or find him work. The classic: give a man a fish, he eats for a day, teach a man to fish and he eats for a lifetime.

It is also interesting to not that the ancient Moses told the Israelites that the poor of your city should be helped before those of another city.” He was saying: Begin the work in your own backyard. Deal with the poverty and the injustice that is right there in your midst.

Temple Israel was built on this location with that kind of vision for its place in this community. Rather than having an ark that faces east toward Jerusalem which traditionally represented the dream of every diaspora Jew to arrive and pray there in that holy place, our original Emerson street doors open to the east as a welcoming gesture to all our sisters and brothers in the city.

Did you know that for three years in a row Minneapolis-St. Paul has been named the fittest metropolitan area in the U.S. The criteria for fitness included exercise, obesity and smoking rates; access to health care; and the availability of recreational facilities, farmers markets and walking trails. We scored big. And I’m guessing that the person doing the research did not make it to the state fair.

The Wall Street journal did an expose of Minneapolis this last July describing our fair city as studded with lakes, ponds and parks and enough culture to fill a long weekend of activities. Daring architecture, a vital art scene. What also has been mentioned recently about our neck of the woods is that in the decades to come, partially due to climate shifting, this may well be the optimal place to live in the entire US.

Even as there are plenty of reasons to rejoice in living here in the Twin Cities, there is trouble in paradise. The numbers of homeless people in our region is at an all time high. Our metro area has a greater discrepancy between the haves and the have-nots than almost any other city in the country. There is less affordable housing in the Twin Cities than almost any other metropolitan area in the US. Yes, our city is a sweet place to live, but not if you are struggling to pay the rent, or have to decide between paying your mortgage and buying food.

Temple Israel is one of 14 religious institutions that make up the Downtown Congregations to End Homelessness. A week from this Sunday, on September 22nd from 2 to 5pm, we are hosting, right here at temple, during Sukkot, an afternoon of education and action. The program is called Unite To End Homelessness and will begin with an interfaith service, with members of our local Muslim and Christian communities, a panel discussion on the state of homelessness in our community, stories by formerly homeless residents, and then an action fair will follow where we can let our voices be heard and find out what we can do to make a difference. I hope that many of you will find the time to come and celebrate Sukkot by remembering that there are literally hundreds of people in our community who face a winter ahead without a roof over their heads. Not even as fragile a booth as a Sukkah.

Having a home to live in is not a luxury. It is a right. A basic necessity without which one cannot function in a community. Yes, we are blessed to live in a beautiful city rich with natural wonders, trails, fresh water, art, music, restaurants and a host of other blessings. But our community is only as healthy as its poorest citizens.

We might ask ourselves, “What would Moses do?” We don’t have direct evidence of Moses dolling out funds or assistance to the poor. As a matter of fact you’d be hard pressed to find anywhere in the Torah where it specifically says you should give handouts to people. But we do see Moses acting in accordance with Maimonides’ highest form of tzedaka. Moses is preparing the people for a successful future by teaching them to be self-sufficient in a land of challenge. And when strangers come join their community, to welcome them in warmly and give them also a chance to succeed.

If I am for myself alone, said Rabbi Hillel, who am I?

Tonight we might feel very good about that, because so much of our giving at Temple falls on that eighth and highest rung of Maimonides’ ladder. Our volunteerism at Jefferson School over the years. Our involvement in Families Moving Forward and our shelter here in our classrooms. Our newly formed Temple Israel Committee to End Homelessness partners us with 13 other congregations, and most importantly partners us with those who have no place to call home.

Our position as an urban reform Jewish institution has always been that we are not here for ourselves alone, but that we are here to bless the community around us and help repair its damage.

There are many interesting Talmudic debates about the correct number of sounds to be blown from the shofar, what the shape of the shofar should be, whether it should be curved or straight, and whether the shofar should be made of a ram's horn or of an antelope's horn. But in the village of Chelm, the debate was about the proper side through which the shofar should be blown, whether from the narrow side or from the wide side. This seemingly trivial question was brought by two Chelmites before the rabbi of Chelm for resolution. The Rabbi immediately saw that beneath the apparently minor dispute lay an important issue of Jewish identity and character. And so the rabbi said; "Through what end you blow the shofar depends upon to what end you blow the shofar.” If you are blowing it just because tradition tells you to blow it, it doesn’t matter which end you use. But if you want to wake up a sleeping society to do right by its people, all its people, then you will want to make a big sound.

Erev Yom Kippur: Sanctuary Service

Sermon by Rabbi Marcia Zimmerman
2012/5773

The Kol Nidre Blessing and prayer is an act of contrition to say that we are sorry for the wrongs and sins – not that we have done last year – but that we will do this year. Historically, it is a prayer that was created during the Spanish Inquisition when Jews were made to say “yes” when they meant “no,” to convert to Christianity to save their lives. To say the Kol Nidre prayer was allowing them to observe Judaism in secret but in public having to have another identity.

Historically, it was a way for them to acknowledge that they know they would sin the minute they left that service. But really, there’s something eternal in that prayer, something about the future that’s really what I believe the Jewish people is all about, about leaving a legacy for the future, making the world better. That’s at the heart of the Kol Nidre prayer and blessing and service – we look to the future.

It’s interesting because I find that people are more focused on the here and now and actually are not looking beyond their own needs. We more often than not are like the woman who, in the airport, goes to buy a newspaper and a small package of cookies. She sits at the gate waiting for her plane to arrive and all of a sudden, she hears a rustling. A man in a nice suit is eating a cookie. He sits right behind her. He’s eating her cookie! She is outraged. So she takes one herself. Then what happens – she hears rustling again. “I can’t believe it“– she can’t even look at him, she’s so angry. So she takes another one. What’s worse – the last cookie – you know what he does? He breaks it in half, and sends half of it over to her. He gets up and he leaves. She’s just fuming, she’s playing in her mind what happened over and over and over again, and then, her plane arrives, her section is called, and she opens her purse to get out her boarding pass. And there is her unopened package of cookies.

Whose cookie is it? It seems as though we are taught from a very young age about whose cookie it is. Is it yours? No, it’s mine. It just doesn’t really leave a legacy, does it? It’s about the here and now where you don’t even notice what’s right in front of you. We seem to be so caught up in that.

For me, it really is about the text from the book of Joel that says “Your children will teach their children, and their children their children, and their children the generations after.” When you’re worrying about your cookie, you’re not looking to the world and to the future and what you want to leave behind. You’re looking at just what you want.

I think there are three ways for us to create a legacy. It’s to help us understand that wisdom and knowledge is truly important. I think in this day and age we really don’t need to teach our children how to make a living; they seem to do that pretty well. We’ve taught that really well. It’s how to make a life that’s meaningful – that we’ve missed a bit. That, I think, is about a legacy.

So the idea of Judaism being a deep well of wisdom is essential. Donniel Hartman was here from the Hartman Institute in Jerusalem and he said we have focused so much on the death narrative, on the Holocaust in Israel, that our children think that is the only thing that’s Judaism – that is what we’ve fed them for all these years, and it just isn’t enough, it’s out of context. We have to teach them an entire Jewish history; we have to teach them what our sources say. We have to teach them how to be in the world and what Judaism has to teach.

You know that cookie story? Well, let’s look at what Judaism has to say about it.

A year and a half ago, the Cantor and I took a number of families to Israel and we participated in what’s call the Leket program. Leket is the four corners of a vineyard or a field that is not harvested by the person who is a steward of it. Rather, it’s left for the poor. We picked onions for an entire morning and learned about this program that actually also brings uneaten food from bar or bat mitzvah ceremonies, from weddings, from a b’rit milah or a naming to food shelves in Israel to feed the hungry so that the food isn’t thrown out. I talked to the Sisterhood about this program and they’re trying to start it here at Temple Israel. It’s telling us it’s not about your cookie or my cookie – actually, none of us own the cookie. In Judaism, God owns it all, and we are but stewards of what we have. It’s said in Judaism that if we don’t give tzedakah, guess what? We are like squatters, squatters on this earth because tzedakah, justice, and charity are our rent for being on this earth. Now that is something to talk about – that is a deep well of truth. About caring for each other rather than worrying if it’s our cookie.

Wisdom and knowledge lead to character building, and that is another legacy we leave to the future generations. You see, character is built by experience. You can have someone 17 who is incredibly wise and somebody who is 93 who hasn’t quite learned some lessons they need to learn. It’s not chronology – it really is experience. But it seems that we again have not allowed this generation to have the experiences that build character. I believe failure is the number one teacher of character. Each one of us in this sanctuary has failed at some point in our lives and that’s what’s gotten us to this point, because we learned a lot of great lessons.

Wendy Mogel says that everyone needs a bad fourth grade teacher, and everyone needs a shallow, promiscuous friend. (She says it a different way.) Because the lessons you learn from a bad teacher are lessons of life; lessons you learn from a bad friend (a friend your parents don’t approve of) are things you shouldn’t do in life. You learn that – those are good lessons. But we so quickly want to protect our children and we change the classroom or complain to the principal. If we want self-reliant children and adults then we can’t protect them – they have to learn the lessons of life.

And character – character builds convictions. A conviction is an essential part of who we are and is an essential part of a legacy we must leave. You see, today would have been my father’s 90th birthday. He died six years ago in the month of November. But today, he would have been 90. Here’s a man who I didn’t agree with on many fronts. We had extremely different political views but he taught me a lot about what it means to have convictions. He spent most of his life surrounded by women, and he was not afraid of his female side of things. He was a heart surgeon, but he was an artist, he was a gourmet cook, he was a connoisseur of fine wine. He taught me a lot about beauty and aesthetics, and he wasn’t afraid to make sure that we were fed the delicious delicacies that he created. He also was a man who reinvented himself many times.

He began as a surgeon; he was a surgeon in St. Louis and worked for the university there and was one of the first surgeons to do open heart surgery, beginning first on dogs as an experiment and then moving to humans. At 50 years old, he decided to retire from surgery because he never wanted to walk into an OR and have people whisper behind his back that he was too old to perform the surgery. He retired and went into preventative care. He was a part of Mr. Fit. I don’t know if you know about that, where they came up for the risk factors for cardiac care. The idea of controlling blood pressure, the idea of not smoking, of exercising, making sure that we could control our own risk factors and have a healthier life.

And when that was over, he didn’t want to become a burden to his medical practice so he went back to school and learned echocardiogram and did those, to keep patients coming to his practice. He also tried to sell his practice to the university, to teach young doctors how to talk to patients and it got this close – it was quite an innovative idea where he was actually going to have young medical students follow him as an apprentice program. At the last minute, it fell through and so he retired from his practice.

My father taught me about conviction. He would tell me, “Marcia, it doesn’t matter what you think. It matters that you think. Stand up for what you believe in, even if I disagree.” Today, on Yom Kippur I wouldn’t be able to look myself in the mirror if I didn’t say something about the two amendments that will be on the ballot in November. What I can clearly say is that there should be no amendment to a constitution to limit people’s rights and responsibilities. Whatever one thinks, that is just wrong.

My father often would argue with me. He taught me how to debate; he taught me to debate the issues and not the people. In his memory today, as he would have turned 90, I just want to say that he really did die the way that he lived. He was hospitalized and my sisters told me to come home. I came back because he had decided he didn’t want any additional heroic measures. He had just finished dialysis, which he had been on for three years, and so we thought it would be a few days. He went back to his room and said, “You know what? I want everyone to go home, have dinner, go enjoy it, and then come back later tonight and we’ll talk.” We all went home. We were having dinner around the table where he often served us and fed us, in the home that he built for us – and we got a call that he had died. He died alone, and I believe he did so that he could always be the patriarch of the family, so we didn’t have to watch him. For him, that was important. (My mother, on the other hand, needed everybody there.)

So on his 90th birthday, I thank you for indulging me, helping me know that it really is about the legacy that each of us leaves that is essential to this world. We can take this day of Yom Kippur to look into that future and, like my father, kind of do life his way. Zichrono livrachah – may his memory always be a blessing. Amen.

Erev Yom Kippur: I’ll Meet You Halfway

Sermon by Rabbi Sim Glaser
2012/5773

There is a pretty well known story of a tailor name of Schneider who despite his excellent stitching, his fine clothing alterations, just can’t seem to make a buck. Around the High Holy Days he goes to the rabbi and asks what he can possibly do to make his business flourish. The rabbi responds with a very “Yom Kippur” message telling him that he must make God his partner, and then all his endeavors will meet with great success. Well, years pass and it seems that Schneider has all but disappeared, until one day the rabbi sees him pull up to Shul in a Rolls Royce. Astounded, the rabbi asks him what happened. “Why, I took your advice rabbi,” said Schneider. “I made God my partner and boom, the business took off, I’m a success, huge clothing stores all over the country, look there goes one of my trucks right now! The rabbi looked up and sure enough Lord and Taylor.

We tend to think that God can do most things by God’s self. But there is much proof of God’s dependence on us. In the first 5 days of creation God went by the name of Elohim, and all that existed during that time were birds and trees and land and quaking earth and mud sliding mountains and flooding waters and hot sun and chilling winds and you name it.

On the sixth day, when our species was created, we started calling God Adonai. Elohim is the God of the spinning natural world – a world of beautiful landscapes, flowering fields, oceans rich and teeming with life, and also the natural spinning world that has brought floods, earthquakes, parched lands that yield no produce, others that have plenty, hurricanes that knock down houses and put cities underwater. But Elohim, you should know, however, is not the God of hunger, for there has been created enough to eat.

Adonai is the God that calls out for partnership when such things occur. Adonai is the small voice inside of each of us that says: Looks like the boss needs help. And, Adonai is the God that calls out to us like God did in the story of Cain and Abel and says: the bloods of your brothers cry out from the ground. When human being attacks fellow human being, God cries out for partnership.

This partnership idea is very much a Yom Kippur theme, and other stories come to mind. One, of course, is the book of Jonah, read tomorrow afternoon. We know about the big fish, but some of us still get Jonah confused with Gepetto. Do we really understand what Jonah is about?

It isn’t really about the fish. The book of Jonah is about a God who’s looking for a good partner to help straighten up a lot of evil people who live in the city of Nineveh. It is God’s desire that people better themselves. That we pull ourselves out of the great depths and embrace better behavior. Jonah is a very reluctant, unwilling partner. Called to service Jonah flees as far away from God as he believes a person can possibly go. Down to the seaside, down into a boat, down into the hull of the boat. Over the side and down into the ocean. Down into the belly of a fish. He obviously confuses the direction of lowness with being distant from his would be employer. Jonah is content to reject God’s offer of partnership.

Eventually Jonah gets with the program, but he never really understands his partnership with God. Maybe that’s because God didn’t put it to him the right way. God yanked Jonah out of bed one night and made him take on a completely new task. Did God meet Jonah halfway?

Maybe one of the reasons Jonah had no desire to forgive others was because he had no ability to forgive himself for something. Maybe he simply felt that he was beyond redemption. The biblical book never informs us what he may have done, but something tells me he felt so guilty about his own behavior that he held everyone else to that same standard, one they could not possibly meet. Maybe we need to sort things out for ourselves before we can be of any use to others. There is certainly no record of God trying to find out what was in Jonah’s heart. No attempt to meet him halfway.

Jewish mysticism teaches us that the balance of the entire universe rests on our ability to make that partnership work. It begins on this Holy day, by coming clean with your partner, then collaborating on a plan to make the world work better. Partnership always involves meeting the other person halfway.

Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav told the story of the prince who went insane and insisted he was a rooster. He sat on under the table naked, clucking and eating his food off the floor. The king had tried everything to cure him, but nothing worked, and he was in despair. How could this mad son of his ever grow up to inherit the kingdom?

Then a wise old Jewish man, a rebbe arrived and said he could cure the prince. The king was desperate, so he said, "OK, fine, go ahead, I'll try anything..."

So the rebbe took off his clothes and sat under the table, pretending to be a chicken, too. The king was totally shocked. No doubt he had expected the old man to argue with the prince or try to verbally beat it out of him. But the Rebbe knew what he was doing. And so, sitting there under the table, he got to know the Rooster Prince.

Then one day, the Rebbe called for a pair of pants and began putting them on. The Rooster Prince objected, saying, "What do you mean, wearing those pants? You're a rooster -- a rooster can't wear pants!"

"Who says a rooster can't wear pants?" the Rebbe replied. "Why shouldn't I be warm and comfortable, too? Why should the humans have all the good things?"

The Rooster Prince thought about this for a while. The floor under the table was very cold and uncomfortable. So he asked for pants, too, and put them on.

The next day, the Rebbe asked for a warm shirt, and began to put it on. Again the Rooster Prince objected: "How can you do that? You are a rooster -- a rooster doesn't wear a shirt!"

"Who says so?" said the Rebbe. "Why shouldn't I have a fine shirt, too? Why should I have to shiver in the cold, just because I'm a rooster?" Again the Rooster Prince thought about it for a while, and realized that he was cold, too -- so he put on a shirt. And so it went with socks, shoes, a belt, a hat... Soon the Rooster Prince was talking normally, eating with a knife and fork from a plate, sitting properly at the table -- in short, he was acting human once more. Not long after that, he was pronounced completely cured.

There was no way to convince this prince other than meeting him halfway. So too, in our lives, when we want to influence someone’s behavior we have to know who they are and what makes them tick first. Then we join in a partnership to create a new relationship, even to create a new human being. And the beauty of it is that in doing so we find that we ourselves become more sensitive and loving and easier to get along with.

So, as we prepare this YK to forgive others and to ask others for forgiveness, we may want to take a few minutes alone and forgive ourselves. We have to believe we are worthy of a partnership with God and with each other.

And then as we seek to improve our relations with those whom we love, may we take the time to understand what makes them who they are, and learn better ways of communicating with them in ways they understand.

Perhaps the point of the next 24 hours, before the gates close at Neilah tomorrow evening is to learn to present ourselves as willing partners and very precious co-workers for a better world.