Yom Kippur: Woe Is Not Us

Sermon by Rabbi Sim Glaser
2013/5774

A recent poll was taken asking which holidays Jews like best. It indicated that Hanukkah is far more popular with younger Jews than Yom Kippur. Really? I mean, come on kids, what’s not to like about the big Kippur? You got your fasting, staying in Temple all day, having to say you’re sorry for a billion things you messed up on? You like Hanukkah better? With the chocolate gelt, potato latkes, dreidl games and presents every night? Come on! Yom Kippur’s the bomb! I guess it could have been worse. They might have said Christmas…

OK, so Yom Kippur is kind of a bummer. But it is designed that way. And here’s the thing. The power of Yom Kippur relies on the fact that Jews are able to know the difference between a downer day and the other days of the year. To be Jewish is to master the art of distinguishing moments to dwell on our suffering and moments to focus on choosing life and living. As the biblical book of Ecclesiastes famously tells us: there is a time to laugh and a time to cry.

We Jews are a people of extremes. Chaim Weitzman, the first president of Israel, once said: The Jewish people are like everyone else, only more so. When we kvetch, nobody kvetches better. It has been asked, why are there so few Jewish alcoholics? Answer: Because it interferes with our suffering.

And when we party we really party. Mark and I recently played for an orthodox wedding that was totally wild. Jugglers, magicians and fire-eaters entertained the bride and groom. We did a 45 minute non-stop hora. The party got so crazy men and women almost started dancing together.

That same book of Ecclesiastes teaches us that although life is short and filled with frustration, we should eat drink and be merry, for what else is there? I always think of the Jewish couple in the restaurant who are overheard saying: “ach, the food here is terrible… and such small portions!”

We are a people constantly aware of the ups and downs of life. Consider the tale of Yankele the traveler who orders a pair of pants from the Jewish tailor. When he has to leave town the pants are not yet ready. Seven years later he returns and finally the tailor delivers. Yankele says: “God made the world in seven days, yet you take seven years to make a pair of pants.” “Ah yes, but look at the world,” says the tailor, “and look at my trousers!”

In my 25 years as a rabbi I have been asked many times: how do you go from those wonderful joyous moments to the sad ones and back again often right on the same day? My answer is typically Jewish. I answer with another question: I don’t know, how do you do it? We all do it… Take Yossel the carpenter who informed the funeral director: “my wife has died, and I wish to make arrangements for her burial.” “But how can that be?” asked the funeral director. “We buried your wife two years ago.” “Oh, that was my first wife,” said Yossel, “and now my second wife, too, has died.” “Pardon me,” said the funeral director, “I didn’t know you had remarried. Mazel tov!” I’m proud of the fact that although the Jewish people know suffering better than anyone on the planet, we’re still the funniest people on the planet. What’s that about? How could such a thing have happened? Theories abound. One is that humor is the way Jewish people take risks. Generally speaking we’re not your bungee jumpers or regular contestants on Jackass. And with certain notable examples we are pretty fiscally conservative.

Jewish humor has always been a risk taking humor, tempting fate. I know this first hand. Though it isn’t my day job, thanks God, I have tried my hand at stand up and have gotten myself into some trouble doing it often at totally inappropriate times... like on Yom Kippur the most solemn day of the year.

I feel like it is part of my own pathos, my own sense of sad family history, holocaust roots, Jewish neurosis guilt and anxiety that fuels my need to try some risky humor.

For example, speaking at the Tennebrae service at our large Roman Catholic neighbors down the street a few years ago I referred to it as the Basilica of St. Miriam. I was the only Jew in the room with two thousand Catholics celebrating the crucifixion, death and resurrection of their lord Jesus, (which for most of Christian history was blamed on us) and passing a giant life size cross over their heads distinctly in my direction. Talk about conspicuous. I got up to speak and said that I felt like a matzoh ball in a bowl of clam chowder.

There is something just so Jewishly appealing about goofing around with people who take themselves too seriously.

Yes, I’m the rabbi who used my dog Flora as a subject for a High holiday sermon. It’s the one sermon people remember. “rabbi I remember that sermon you gave about your dog.” And yes, I’m the rabbi who brought our former dog Sophie up onto the bima one Purim to show off how she would refuse to eat a dog treat if I said it was treif. She’d turn her head away with disdain. Then I’d say “kosher” and she’d gobble it up. She even knew how to play dead – Sophie! Hodroff! Now there was a yiddisha pup. canine a hora.

Why do we do things like that? I can only say from my own experience that the deeper the pain and sadness that lies within my heart the more titillating it is to risk it with some mischievous humor. I’m hardly the first one to figure that out. Woody Allen, Lenny Bruce, the Marx Brothers, John Stewart, Jerry Seinfeld, Mort Sahl, Joan Rivers, Larry David, Don Rickles, Mel Brooks, Jackie Mason, Rodney Dangerfield. In 1975 it was estimated that more than two thirds of the working comics in the world were Jewish. The Jewish people are experts both in despair and unbridled joy. So we need to set specific times for appropriate solemnity so that we aren’t always wallowing in despair.

There is a lot of “woe” out there. You get a lot of street cred these days when you can prove you’ve overcome terrible circumstances to get where you are. This country likes to dwell on suffering 24/7. You watch American Idol and it is hard to determine what gets the votes, the talent or the sad story that proves the contestant overcame incredible hurdles to get there. Suffering is still very hip. People today try to score bonus points by revealing the suffering in their past. The contest shows on TV are not just about talent – they are often about who has suffered the most. Never mind my singing, let me tell you about my stint in rehab! Before I begin my number, can I just tell you that my great grandmother, the moment she came to the new world died the moment she set foot on Ellis Island.

Maybe the show should be called America’s Got Tsurus. It’s almost as though if you haven’t got a tragic story to tell your work isn’t relevant.

This is nothing new. Suffering has always been entertaining. Some of you are old enough to remember the television show Queen for a Day, in which the housewife with the most woeful story got crowned. Each contestant had to talk publicly about the recent financial and emotional hard times she had been through. Her need for medical care or a child with an illness, or a husband out of work. The harsher the story the higher the applause meter would read. The winner would be draped in a velvet robe, given a glittering jeweled crown to wear, placed on a velvet-upholstered throne, and handed a dozen longstemmed roses to hold as she wept, often uncontrollably, while her list of prizes was announced.

Times haven’t changed all that much. Candidates running for office trumpet their humble beginnings with far more passion than their track record as a public servant. From the days of honest Abe’s log cabin to Bill Clinton’s single parenting to Marco Rubio’s immigrant parents to Elizabeth Warren’s waiting tables at 13 years old to a host of health struggles, alcoholism and drug addictions.

It isn’t enough to have talent or been a suitable public servant. You have to have gone through hell!

One of biggest problems with being constantly confronted with suffering is that we become inured to it. Hardened. Insensitive. And we lose respect for suffering. As unpopular a notion as this might be to hear, suffering, like everything else in this world, has a purpose, and for many, the purpose is learning – achieving gratitude for the beauty of life, for when the pain ceases and we can breathe easily again.

But to use suffering as a badge of honor is not really the Jewish way, and thus we tell jokes about it. One that comes to mind is the Jewish woman who halts the city bus between stops and bangs on the door. “oy” she says, clutching her chest, “if you knew what I have you’d let me on the bus” so the driver lets her on. She moves back and sees a seat she wants and says to the person sitting there “oy, if you knew what I have, you’d let me have that seat.” Of course she gets the seat. She hits the buzzer to have the bus stop right in front of her apartment. “oy, if you knew what I have you’d let me off here at my home.” Fine, says the driver, and as she steps down he asks her – by the way, lady, what exactly is it that you have?” and she replies “chutzpah”.

There are plenty of sad days on the Jewish calendar. Yahrzeits are sad. Funerals of course are sad. But in our brand of faith, joy trumps sadness. It kind of has to. Tisha B’Av marks the destruction of both Temples in Jerusalem and numerous other tragedies that have befallen the Jewish people. We sit on the floor as mourners and in dim light chant the book of Lamentations… Except when it falls on Shabbat no overt mourning is allowed. Even today, Shabbat lightens our Yom Kippur load.

The Talmud instructs us that when a funeral procession and a wedding procession meet at a crossroads, the funeral stops and waits for the wedding to pass. As the Torah portion we just heard says, when faced with blessing and curse we are to choose life. We are taught that one must opt for life and wholeness, before one can adequately confront death and brokenness.

The Latin word for suffering passionem is related to our English word passion, which obviously is related to the word compassion. The real opposite of suffering, then, is not joy, but apathy. Indifference. Suffering and relating to suffering ultimately should lead to our being more compassionate. But you can’t relate honestly to suffering when it is thrown in your face every moment. Suffering is very sacred and should be treated as such. The only way to do that is to celebrate and commemorate both extremes of living.

Wise sages in many different traditions including our own tell us that suffering brings clarity, illumination; for the Buddha, suffering was the first rule of life, and much of it comes from our own wrongheadedness — our cherishing of self. The world’s great religions will teach us that we have the cure for much of our suffering within us. I believe that a sense of humor is a huge part of that cure.

After the terrible Japanese Tsunami in 2011 the Dalai Lama visited a fishing village that had been decimated. Schools and homes were now reduced to rubble. Many had been killed. Thousands of Japanese turned out to welcome him, including a group of orphaned children. There was little he could do to comfort them considering the horrible losses they had endured. Still, he told them to change their hearts from sufferers to helpers and somehow find the strength to turn the bitterness into hope. He gave hugs and held hands. He smiled. And yes, he cried.

So why, with the uniquely significant Jewish history of suffering, have Jews emerged as such a funny people? My theory is a Kabbalistic one. Jewish Mysticism teaches that God’s reason for creation is that there be someone for God to have a relationship with us, and the primary reason for that relationship is to bestow goodness and happiness. Our job is to accept it. Humor is God’s blessing and it is instilled within us as an antidote to suffering. Why else would laughter feel so good? But the distinctiveness of this Yom Kippur day is the proof that we cannot live a life of constant woe. If we did, this holiday would mean nothing and true suffering have no meaning. It is precisely because we have this innate heart of joy that we are able to turn one full day a year over to serious introspection. But if all we dwell on is the darkness, we won’t know what to do when tragedy or loss strikes.

But there is and always will be suffering. A problem of Jewish theology has always been that if God is a just and perfect God who created this world, it ought to be perfect. But it isn’t. It’s a mess. The Jew has three options – to despair, to repair it, or to laugh at it. With over 2000 years plus of tsurus behind us option #1, despair is out of the question, so we opt for fixing and shticking. Joking, provoking and hoping. In this way we perform the ultimate duty of humankind – to accept God’s goodness in one of its most delicious forms – humor.

May you be inscribed for blessing on this Yom Kippur day for a year of life and laughter, of hoping and coping and being fully human. L’shana tova

Yom Kippur: The Choices We Make

Sermon by Rabbi Jennifer Hartman
2013/5774

I am directionally impaired. When I lived in New York City, without fail, every time, that I got out at a new subway stop I went in the wrong direction. Even when I tried to anticipate that my instinct was to go the wrong way, and go the other way, I still ended up going the wrong way. Imagine then, the sinking feeling of dread in my stomach when I first moved to Minneapolis and found myself driving north on 35W. I immediately called my father to tell him that there was no way I was ever going to find my way around this city. I was driving NORTH on 35W!!!

Now, most of you are probably thinking - Rabbi Gertman just get a GPS. I have one, and when I follow it, it is wonderful, but I have also learned that I am much better at listening to people than to machines! I often make a wrong turn, miss an exit, or just completely ignore my GPS. It is something I am working on. At times I also make the decision not to use my GPS. I think that I know where I am going, or I am to lazy to plug in all of the information, or I am too impatient to wait for the information to load. I make a choice and I live with the consequences. Often times the it is an unplanned detour. In this I have found reward and punishment. Finding a new way to go somewhere, learning that I actually know the city better than the GPS, discovering shortcuts are all positive outcomes of deciding not to garner help on directions. Being late for a meeting, missing a performance or leaving a friend to wait are all negative consequences of these poor decisions. And they are damaging, trust me I have experienced all of them!

We have so many choices to make in our lives. This is both a blessing and a curse. Personally, I was able to choose the college I wanted to attend, the country where I wanted to study abroad, the city I wanted to live in after graduation, the profession I wanted to pursue. When I was ordained I was able to take the job that was the best fit regardless of the location. In my personal life I can choose to date or not to date, I can choose whether or not to get married and if I want to have children. I can choose to be vegan or vegetarian, to eat only organic or only unprocessed foods that are not GMO. At the grocery store there are endless options for everything I want to buy from toothpaste to shampoo to nut mixes. We are very lucky to have all of these choices, but they could drive a person crazy. I think that often times the abundance of decisions we must make every day heightens our anxiety.

I am a bit of a perfectionist and I am fairly risk averse. I spend much time and energy analyzing my decisions, weighing the negatives and the positives, trying to foresee the outcome. I hate the thought of making the wrong choice. Yet, so often there is not a clear right choice. It is not possible for me to make a decision with the utmost certainty that it will have the best possible outcome. I am amazed by how I do not know what decisions to make for myself, but the “experts” have decided they do. In popular magazine articles, newspaper op-eds, television panels, and social media, we are bombarded with their opinions. These “experts” tell us exactly what we should do in almost any given situation. They also let us know that if we take an alternative path, we are going to ruin our lives. We are told to eat local, no eat organic, no eat only what you can find that is both local and organic. Get married young and have children right away, it is healthier for the mother and the baby. No, wait to have children; children with older parents are more successful. Fathers need to take more vacation, spend more time with their children. No, they need to work harder and make more money so that their wives can stay at home. Same sex marriages are going to ruin children. No, as long as there are two loving parents in a home it does not matter what their gender is. Two parents are better than one parent, but if a woman wants to have children and is unmarried she should have one on her own. This will make it impossible for her to ever get married. No, this will make her more respected; she had the courage to pursue her dreams.

The opinions on whether and how a woman should work are endless. Sheryl Sandberg, CFO of Facebook said that women need to sit at the table. Women must aspire to climb the corporate ladder and the men at the top are obligated to support and actively encourage them. In reaction, journalist Vanessa Garcia came out encouraging women not to lean in, but to stand up straight. She argues that leaning in is the same as giving in to the male controlled business culture. Then, Deborah Spar, the president of Barnard College in New York City told all women everywhere that the only women who ever had it all are fictional, found on TV and in movies. She reminds us that "Every woman, every person, at the top makes trade-offs".

However, we want the options without the trade-offs. We want to be able to have and do it all and we are so afraid that we will miss out that we become paralyzed by the plethora of choices. There is even a term for this - FOMO - fear of missing out. Most of us have it. It is the reason we check facebook every five minutes, and yes I do this also, to make sure the choice we did make did not cause us to miss out on the most fun, most exciting, most meaningful event of our lives. It has become such a problem that there is an abundance of articles on how to deal with this issue: 3 Strategies To Beat Your Fear Of Missing Out; 4 Ways To Combat Midlife FOMO; How To Handle FOMO At The Office. We need others to tell us how to relax and enjoy the choices we have made. Not only do we want a guarantee that what we are doing is right for our future, we also want to know that our actions are the best for right now. We want to know we are raising our children correctly, that we are treating our partners well, and that we are good at our jobs. We post incessantly on facebook so that we get the immediate gratification of knowing that what we are doing is worthwhile.

Of all the books and articles I have read my favorite is: “Why the woman who has it all Does Not Exist”. In it Deborah Spar reminds her readers: “Wonder Woman doesn't exist. She is fiction, and you are real. Building a life on fantasy is never a good thing. Just because we are told we can do it all, does not mean that we should”. In truth, we can’t do it all, we can’t have it all and we can’t be whatever we want. Sorry, our parents sold us a bill of goods on that one. I am talking about all of us here, not just woman. I am never going to be a cartographer or a great musician for that matter. I learned that when I tried to play cello. My bow would be going up when the notes were going down and it would be going down when the notes were going up. I made a choice and it was a bad choice. It was a decision that caused me to have to carry a large and heavy instrument to and from school on a regular basis, it caused my parents’ ears to suffer and it caused me quite a lot of frustration, but in the end I learned a great deal from my mistake. I learned that I am physically stronger and mentally more determined than I had thought. I learned that I could handle bad orchestra teachers and having to do something I hated. I also learned that I would not be pursuing a musical career. It was a bad decision but I learned more from it then if I had decided not to play an instrument at all.

Another bad decision that I think we can all relate to is one in the realm of dating. How many of us have dated the absolute wrong person. We have ignored all of the advice of the people around us because we were sure that we could make it work with this person. These can be the relationships from which we learn the most. We find our true selves, what we want from another person, and our resilience. They often lead us to find the right person.

We need to stop being afraid of the negatives, of the possibility that we might choose incorrectly, we might fail, we might close the wrong door, make an irreversible decision. Whatever decision we make, we will learn from its outcome. We will grow from its consequences. All we need to do is look to the Israelites to understand this. A trip that should have only taken them weeks took them 40 years. And no, it was not because Moses could not follow directions. It was because they had a lot to learn. They did not know how to be free. They did not know how to govern themselves. They had no understanding of how to interact as a community. They learned all of these lessons while wandering in the desert. They learned them in the midst of making very bad decisions. Remember the golden calf! The Israelites engaged in idol worship. They broke one of the Ten Commandments. Still they were forgiven.

We are still enslaved and we are still learning. We are enslaved by the fear of not being perfect. We have the time and the lessons of these High Holidays to try to move ourselves farther from Egypt and closer to the Promised Land. Isaiah asks us in this morning’s Haftorah portion: “is this the fast I desire... A day for you to starve your body? Is it bowing the head like a bulrush And lying in sackcloth and ashes? Do you call that a fast, A day when the Lord is favorable? No, this is the fast I desire: To untie the cords of the yoke. To let the oppressed go free; to break off every yoke.” The prophet Isaiah is telling us that starving ourselves and flogging ourselves does not fulfill the intention of the fast. These things are for show, they make us look like we are repenting, like we are changing, but they do nothing to transform us. This is not how we improve ourselves or our world. Rather, we show that we are taking the commandment seriously when we alter our actions so they help others and ourselves.

Isaiah wants us to free the captive. Each one of us is captive to something. For many of us the master is the plethora of choices we have to make and the unsolicited advice on how to make them. These have paralyzed us; they have wrought us incapable of moving forward. We are enslaved by the tyranny of seemingly relevant choices that all play on a fear we have. We are afraid of being different, not being liked, of not being attractive and of missing out. We worry that we will be unsuccessful, that we will fail. No decision is easy and there are no grantees that any decision is the correct one. One thing I can grantee is that we will all miss out on something we consider to be important and we will all fail at some point. That is the privilege and the burden of having many opportunities. It is the price for being a human being and it is what Yom Kippur is all about. Yom Kippur allows us to be human, flaws and all. It shows us that we can recover from our mistakes. Some of our mistakes are harmless and even beneficial. They teach us without hurting anyone or anything. Other mistakes require more work to mend. They require confronting loved ones we have offended or co-workers we have hurt. Even when we did not mean to cause pain or destruction, we are commanded to acknowledge the impact of our behavior in order to truly correct our actions.

Yom Kippur helps us to progress from a place of pain and foible to one of growth and maturity. All choices, good and bad, have the potential to move us forward. Hopefully this knowledge will free each of us to make the best decision possible with the information provided and then enjoy where it takes us. As we go into this New Year may we be renewed in our capacity to learn and grow. May we be able to step forward rather than stand paralyzed. As the former New York Yankee and oft quoted cultural philosopher Yogi Berra said: “When you come to a fork in the road --- take it”! It may just lead someplace wonderful!

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.

Rosh HaShanah: A Time for Every Purpose Under Heaven

Sermon by Rabbi Sim Glaser
2013/5774

Let’s begin with a bit of musical call and response, shall we?
Sim: to everything…
Cong: Turn turn turn
Sim: there is a season…
Cong: turn turn turn
Together: And a time for every purpose under heaven.

Of course you know that song. Everyone knows Turn Turn Turn… the Pete Seeger song, written and then recorded in the early 1960’s, setting to music the words of the biblical author Kohelet, AKA, Ecclesiastes, informing us that there is a time for every experience, predictable in its season.

Though he was using an ancient text, Seeger was writing a timely anti war song, a petition for peace. Yes, there is a time to build up, a time to tear down, a time to be born, a time to die. But then the songwriter tacks on a coda at the end – a time for peace, I swear it’s not too late!

Such was his plea to us: Regardless of what we may believe heaven has decreed in the natural order of things, the times for war and for peace lie most certainly in our human hands. Created in the Divine Image, we are critical instruments of change.

As the War in Vietnam raged on, the controversial song caught fire with the record buying public. Turn Turn Turn was recorded by the Limelighters in 1962 and then further popularized by the folk rock group the Byrds in 1965, shooting up to number one on the pop charts! We sang it at our summer camps, retreats and rallies, Jewish and otherwise.

I think Turn Turn Turn could again become a controversial song. The ancient Biblical poet wrote about the seasonal changes with absolute certainty. We celebrate those changes on this awesome day. Hayom harat ha olam – today the world is born! A brand new year of reliable, God-given, seasonal changes. And yet we know the weather patterns are shifting in a most unnatural way.

The book of Ecclesiastes is also known for the words: There is nothing new under the sun, but there is most definitely something new under the sun. For the first time in recorded global history our species has altered the seasonal cycle, pushing up global temperatures beyond our capacity to handle the consequences.

Proven scientific data show polar ice caps melting, sea levels rising, and carbon emissions darkening huge sections of the earth’s surface. A third of all CO2 emissions are absorbed by our oceans which are reaching dangerous levels of acidity. Heat indexes are rising and storm patterns are shifting dramatically. 30% of the earth’s species are in danger of extinction. Tens of thousands of acres of forest continue to be lost. Barb and I hiked the Superior Trail of the north shore amidst old growth spruce and pine forests that will never be replaced that far south by new trees because of rising temperatures.

Climate change has not been addressed much from this pulpit, perhaps because it still strikes people, oddly enough, as a political question.

But I chose to speak about it today because I believe that climate change is a religious issue, and it is a Jewish issue, and will be the dominating concern of the 21st century.

In the book of Exodus God speaks to the Israelites saying: If you obey the commandments that I enjoin upon you this day, I will grant the rain for your land in its season. You shall gather in your new grain, your wine and oil. I will also provide grass in the fields for your cattle -- and thus you shall eat your fill. Take care not to be lured away to serve other gods and bow to them. For Adonai’s anger will flare up against you, and God will shut up the skies so that there will be no rain and the ground will not yield its produce; and you will soon perish from the good land that your God is assigning to you.

These troubling words used to be part of our reform liturgy until they were removed because they smacked of ancient reward and punishment hocus pocus that our movement didn’t buy into.

Perhaps they should be reconsidered.

For centuries we prayed and depended that the dew would fall when it was supposed to, and that the rains would come precisely in their seasons. Could our ancestors have imagined the role we would someday play in altering creation to this extent?

Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik, one of the great religious Jewish minds of the 20th century observes that in the biblical creation story we read not one, but two narratives detailing the origin of the first human beings. He calls them Adam the first and Adam the second –(some modern readers look at that kind of thing and assume bad editing) but Rabbi Soloveitchik suggests that what is being described are two distinct aspects of human character alive in each of us.

In the Torah, Adam the first is created “in the image of God” betzelem Elohim - a creative and industrious being, accessing immeasurable resources for the realization of his goals. This is the inventor of the wheel, the discoverer of fire, the farmer and shepherd, the manufacturer of the toaster oven and the microchip! A creature who can envision and achieve space flight, build remarkable businesses, erect skyscrapers, and who can conceive of deep fried m and m’s on a stick and donut flavored beer.

Adam the first is given dominion over all the earth – to work it, use it, create new features, and to evolve his massive intelligence. “Subdue nature” is the biblical command to Adam the first – “take control!”

Rabbi Soleveitchik notes that Adam the second is created from the very dust of the earth, and life is breathed into him. The command to Adam the second is to cultivate the garden and protect it. We are of this earth.

Adam the first asks questions like: how does it work? How can I control and accumulate? How can I build a better widget? Adam the second asks - why does it function the way it does? And what is my role in preserving it?

In the coming weeks our Torah will chronicle the seven days of creation, then the great flood epic of rising sea levels and Noah’s efforts to save the earth’s creatures. And then to the story of Abraham and Sarah, when a Jewish voice first appears on the scene.

“Lech l’cha”, says God to Abram, go out there and change the world. And may all who associate themselves with you find themselves enriched by your presence. Abraham and Sarah were known as Ivrim – Hebrews – literally, people on the other side. Outliers. People who, upon finding themselves in the midst of a society gone meshuggeh, plant themselves firmly and objectively outside the madness and call for a sane response. This is what makes climate change a Jewish issue. We are an idol smashing people. We are a truth seeking people.

If the majority of the inhabitants of this great earth continue the quest for more power and industry and fortunes at the expense of the earth itself, then we must be the “other” voices – the Ivrim, who stand firmly, as Jews have in so many circumstances throughout history, and sound the shofar of vigilance and foresight.

Climate change needs to be a religious issue because the vast majority of the 7 billion inhabitants of this world hold religious views at the core of their being. If they see what’s happening as a natural fluctuation in the evolution of the planet we’re toast. Literally and figuratively.

But addressing climate change as a religious mandate may be the only way to trigger a huge shift of human consciousness over the coming decades.

Now I know, Jews are now roughly 0.2% of the world's population. If all the Jews in the world recycled our newspapers it would make little difference. Sure, Temple has solar panels which are largely symbolic. They fuel the eternal light and recharge our clergy cell phones. If every Jew in the world swapped out their existing car for a hybrid we might save 25 million barrels of oil a year – and that’s less than what OPEC extracts in one day.

Meager numbers notwithstanding, the Jewish people have always blessed the communities in which we have lived. We brought justice and higher moral consciousness into being. We initiated the judicial system while we were still a wandering nomadic people. We introduced monotheism to the world. The theory of relativity; the Polio vaccine. Radiation and chemotherapy, Potato kugel. Blue jeans! Laser technology and stainless steel! Israeli Drip agriculture that has helped to feed millions in arid nations. We championed human freedom, changing forever accepted norms of slavery.

And perhaps most poignant of all, the Jews gave the world the idea of a Sabbath! A day’s rest at the end of the work-week and a rest for the land every seven years. Anybody remember the Sabbath? Taking a day of rest was once almost universally observed. Today, people today who work seven days a week, even if they are paid millions of dollars to do so, are, in the Jewish biblical conception, slaves. A planet that is not allowed to rest is also enslaved.

The Jewish bible literally invented history. Prior to the advent of Judaism just about every ancient religion saw the world in cyclical terms, as a Great Wheel. No event was regarded as unique, every event had already been enacted, is being enacted, and will be enacted perpetually; the same individuals have appeared, appear now, and will appear at every turn of the circle. Judaism alone differed. According to the Jews’ way of viewing life, events move forward; they do not merely repeat themselves. We were the first people to break out of this “circle” ideology.

In a sense this innovative way of thinking meant the birth of adventure, surprise, uniqueness of the individual, vocation, free will, progress, hope and justice! This was the beginning of vigilance and responsiveness.

This is certainly not the time to let up. How interesting that people still sit back in silent acquiescence accepting the circle theory of existence. That what we are observing is the natural order. Chiming in with Ecclesiastes’ cynical “there is nothing new under the sun” – it’s all been done before attitude. Everything will right itself.

Continuing to pour more CO2 into the atmosphere likens us to the ancient Egyptian Pharaoh of Egypt, addicted to his own power, refusing to stop oppressing humans and suffering the consequences of plagues — which, by the way, if you remember, were mostly ecological disasters!

Rabbi Arthur Waskow of the renewal movement says that today the Pharaohs are giant corporations: big coal, big oil, and big natural gas. Maybe so, but they are also us, stuck in our ways. The only way to deal with a modern-day Pharaoh is for the people of Adam the second to cry out that their physical earth is being compromised and to recognize our intended roles of stewardship.

If we are only Adam the first, our self glorification and endless accumulation of resources will continue unabated. But if we can truly see ourselves as part of the biology of this planet and that the stewardship of said planet was breathed into us from the get-go, we stand a chance of a midcourse correction.

Elie Wiesel, another gift of the Jewish people to a world gone insane, reminds us, "Just as humanity cannot live without dreams, we cannot live without hope. If dreams reflect the past, hope summons the future."

At a certain point of frustration, Moses begs God to reveal himself or at least give him a business card so he’ll have more street cred with the Israelites. God says, well buddy you can’t see me but here’s what I am about: I am slow to anger, abounding in kindness and faithfulness, extending kindness to the thousandth generation, forgiving iniquity transgression and sin – yet not remitting all punishment, but visiting the iniquity of parents upon children and children’s children, upon the third and fourth generations. These last words are particularly chilling and come to my mind when I hear or read denials of human culpability for the warming of our planet. Perhaps we don’t feel personally threatened by the shifting winds, but are we willing to stake the future of our children and our grandchildren on such a gamble?

My friends, with all due respect to Ecclesiastes, there is indeed something new under the sun, and it is of our doing. Long ago the Jewish people brought to this world an innovative notion that humans can and will alter the course of global history and we have been doing it ever since. We are ivrim, Jewish voices that cannot remain silent as our planet turns a dangerous corner. On this Rosh Hashana 5774 we arrive at a critical tipping point, where continuing to make the wrong decisions will be disastrous, but where waking up and changing our behavior will put us into partnership with a God who is slow to anger and quick to forgive. And there cannot be a one of us here who wishes the iniquities of our generation to be visited upon the children. To everything there is a season… turn turn turn. There are still seasons… turn turn turn, and there is a time for every purpose under heaven. A time to rend, a time to sew. A time to renew, a time to heal… Our time is now. I swear it’s not too late.

Rosh HaShanah: Living a Life of Meaning

Sermon by Rabbi Jennifer Hartman
2013/5774

Our son will get straight A’s and be the captain of the lacrosse team. While in high school he will design a web program to help teachers create their own computerized multiple choice tests and it will be such a success that the profits will cover the small gap between his tuition and the giant scholarship that he will be offered by his college of choice. He and his girlfriend will give swimming lessons to underprivileged children during the summer.

Our daughter has to take a pre-AP course now, in eighth grade, or she won't be setup to take AP classes later on. And without AP classes on her transcript, she is looking at a state school, maybe not even the main campus of a state school. She definitely cannot take time off from Model United Nations to join the film club because everyone knows that the film club is code for “slacker kid.” Once she is ready to apply for college we will have to hire a professional to polish her personal statement because everyone else does.

Are you anxious yet? I am anxious! The expectations these parents are putting on their children are overwhelming for both the parents and the children. Yes, these are real anecdotes drawn from the work of child psychologist Wendy Mogul. I have a feeling that many of the people in this room have dreamed the dream or felt the pressures described above. There is a belief that the only way we, or our children, will find success is through a degree from a prestigious college or university and a high powered profession. We think that the best predictor of adult achievement is high school and college degrees. And yet, we know well that too often academic and financial success do not give us a sense of meaning or purpose. This was recently reinforced for me when a friend returned from a life changing trip to Israel.

My friend took a ten day trip to Israel to see the work that the Jewish National Fund is engaged in, visit with friends and explore the reform movement. He had the opportunity to watch as hundreds of people, most of them in their 20s and many of them all alone, descended from an El Al plane to a sea of cheering and smiling faces. These people were making Aliyah and being welcomed to their new home. These were individuals truly living their ideals, their values, their dreams. As he traveled the country he was exposed to the ingenious inventions and designs that Israelis have created and the priorities of the Israeli people. He saw an indoor playground that was built by the Jewish National Fund for children in Sderot. Rocket fire from the Gaza strip makes it too dangerous for them to play outside. He had Shabbat dinner with friends outside of Tel Aviv. He sat at the table with multiple generations of one family. Great-grandparents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins all came together to have a joyous and festive meal, to be together and a part of each other’s lives. This trip was truly a coming home experience for him.

This was not his first trip to Israel, he had been there many times before. Yet this time he was seeing things anew. Before his trip he had begun to feel unsettled, during his trip he began to articulate what had been gnawing at him. He wondered why so many of us choose to live far from our families. He felt that we have our values backwards. This was coming from an Ivy League educated young man with a lucrative job in New York City. By most accounts he was living the dream, but he began to question if he was living the right one. While his job was profitable and fun he did not feel that he was contributing to society, he did not feel that his work had a higher purpose, he did not feel he was making the world a better place in which to live. He realized that his soul was missing something.

There was recently an article in the New York Times entitled “The Busy Trap” by Tim Kreider. In it the author talks about how many of us proclaim that we are busy. We are proud of this, but we veil it as a complaint. The author writes: “Almost everyone I know is busy. They feel anxious and guilty when they aren’t either working or doing something to promote their work. The people who complain are almost always people whose lamented busyness is purely self-imposed: work and obligations they’ve taken on voluntarily, classes and activities they’ve “encouraged” their kids to participate in. They’re busy because of their own ambition or drive or anxiety, because they’re addicted to busyness and dread what they might have to face in its absence.” We live to work when people in most of the western world, Israel included, work to live. We are busying ourselves with things that we think will make us successful or feel fulfilled when too often it does not.

Interestingly, Psychologist Daniel Golman writes that high school and college degrees are not the best predictors of one's success as an adult. Empathy, optimism, flexibility, a good sense of humor, the capacity to function as a team member, and a positive reaction to setbacks are what will best predict our future ability to succeed. These are also many of the same values that will ensure our souls feel fulfilled. Let us look at these attributes one by one.

Empathy. We are commanded as Jews to comfort the mourner and rejoice with the Bride and Groom. The bereaved cannot say the mourner's Kaddish without having ten people present. We, the community, must be there to feel their pain, to walk with them through their grief, to support them and care for them when they feel most alone. The sheva brachot, the seven blessings that are said at every Jewish wedding ceremony cannot be said without a minyan. Our tradition is structured so that the bride and groom do not rejoice alone. We are obligated to visit the sick and take care of the widow, and the orphan. What could better teach empathy than being with people during times of their deepest sorrow and greatest joy?

The capacity to function as a team member. To be able to work and share with others takes all that we learn with empathy as well as discipline and preparation. Our tradition teaches that we need to have savlanut (patience and tolerance), rachamim (compassion) and acharayot (a sense of responsibility). We need to be tolerant of both the things that are within our control to change and those that are not. We need to have compassion for the other people in our group, our business, our community. We need to treat them with dignity and respect, leaving space for their thoughts and ideas. We need to take responsibility for our actions and for other people.

The root of the word achrayut is achar which means “other”. We have a responsibility not only to do our part, but also to care for each other. When we live these values we root out entitlement and we extend ourselves beyond our own ego. Only in this way are we able to work cooperatively and productively with others.

Optimism. There is a rabbinic value - hakarat ha'tov - which means "recognizing the good." The idea is that there is already good in our life, but it is up to us to uncover it. This is why, when something apparently "good" happens to us, we offer the blessing, Gam zu l'tovah, which means, "And that is also for the good." And also if something "bad" happens to us, Gam zu l'tovah, "And that is also for the good." There is no more optimistic outlook than this, the Jewish belief that no matter what happens we have the ability to turn it into something positive. In every challenge is an opportunity to advance our lives.

A good sense of humor. There is a theory that the reason humor is such a part of Judaism is because we have suffered so much oppression that laughing is the only thing we can do to stay afloat. It is survival by levity. Sigmund Freud said that humor is a means of circumventing civilization’s obstacles by making our enemy small, inferior, despicable or comic. The holiday of Purim is a perfect example of this. We dress up and parade around to show how absurd our oppressor was. We even made his hat into a cookie that we joyfully eat. It is a skill to be able to take life’s disappointments and turn them into laughable moments of wry recognition and honest reflection. It is one not easily learned, but one that can help us put situations into perspective and better live with them.

Being flexible and having a positive reaction to setbacks. The story of the Jewish people is one of disastrous defeats and miraculous triumphs, one of change and reinvention, one of perseverance in the face of great odds. Knowing our story should give us all strength and a sense of determination. According to a recent article by Bruce Feiler, recognizing and understanding one's story, helps that person to feel grounded and at the same time a part of something bigger than themselves. The children who do the best are the ones who know their family’s story. They know the struggles their family overcame. They have heard about the hardship, the failed business, the sickness, the tumultuous relationships. They also know the success, the stories of travel and celebration. They see that through it all their family has remained together, they have figured out how to survive! In this way they have a strong “intergenerational self.” They know they belong to something bigger than themselves and this it will survive even in the face of hardships. They have an identity, rooted in their past, that guides them. The Jewish story can do that for each one of us.

You may be thinking, Rabbi Gertman, this is all well and good, but we still need to work and our children still need to go to college. You are correct, there is a reality and we cannot ignore it, but that is a message you are hearing everywhere. And it has come at the expense of teaching our children and reminding ourselves that we must also be menches, upstanding, respectful people. Having an MBA from Harvard is meaningless if we don't have the moral character to conduct our lives properly. We need to raise children who understand they are a part of a bigger story, who give back to the community, and who treat each person with dignity and respect. The Talmud tells us that parents must teach their children to swim. They must teach their children not only the proper stroke, not only the skills to move forward, but also the correct way to breath, the way to take in air. We know how to successfully move forward, but we do not know how to nourishes ourselves and nurture relationships as we do this. We need to take in the values that nourish our souls and incorporate them into our lives. As these are the ones what will sustain us and our children as we move forward. These are the tools that help us succeed in teams and relationships. This is how we learn to accept defeats with grace and dignity. It is the breath that gives us the courage to explore the world and determine who we are. It is the ability to climb the corporate ladder with integrity and virtue. Our world will not end if we have less Ivy League graduates, but we will have serious problems if we forget how to treat each other, if we stop seeing each other as created btzelem eloheim, as created in the image of God.

Therefore I hope and pray that as we enter the New Year we all ask ourselves: are we raising citizens of the world? Are we living a life of values and intention or are we filling our time with meaningless tasks in order to satiate an inner emptiness? The holidays bring us face to face with these questions. Let us hope that we have the strength, the courage, the wisdom and the will to emerge from these days with a renewed sense of our goals and our purpose in the world.

Erev Rosh HaShanah: 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 Rosh HaShanah, 2013/5774.

Erev Rosh HaShanah: A Rabbi With No Voice

Sermon by Rabbi Jennifer Hartman
2013/5774

About three weeks ago I lost my ability to talk. The first tickles of discomfort began on a Wednesday and by Friday my voice was completely gone. It was less than three weeks before Rosh Hashanah. I needed my voice for the High Holidays. I made an emergency appointment with an ENT. I went in and they had me try to speak and make lots of funny sounds. They did a scope of my vocal cords and had me make more silly sounds. Finally they came to a conclusion. My vocal cords were red and inflamed, most likely the side effect of a cold. There was no infection, no real irregularity. So, what could I do, I asked? How could I fix this? Drink lots of liquids, get plenty of rest, gargle with salt water, try not to cough, and speak as little as possible. Umm, WHAT??? Hello, do you know what I do? I am a rabbi, I speak for a living. I have services tonight and tomorrow. “Not possible” they said. You are going to need to find someone to cover for you. They did not put me on complete vocal rest, but directed me to “say only what is important”.

Say only the words that are important. What an interesting concept to think about. Research says that children in professional homes hear 2,100 words an hour. An hour! That is a lot of talking. No wonder Judaism tells us many times and in many different ways that we need to be careful with what we say. We know that Judaism speaks against lashon hara, having an evil tongue. The Psalms teach us to guard our tongue from evil and our lips from speaking lies. Many Torah portions speak about oaths. We are told, in detail, how to make oaths in order to guarantee it is fulfilled. The Torah teaches that: “An oath must be phrased so as to indicate that swearing is intended; there is no punishment unless a Name or attribute of G-d is mentioned. It must be expressed orally and the speaker's intent must agree with what is said”. We are also forbidden to swear falsely or in vain. What you say, and the way in which you say it, is extremely important.

Of course! There is nothing new here. We have heard professionals tell us that when fighting one should never be accusatory, but instead use “I feel....” We have all been reprimanded for gossiping or idle chatter. And how many times were you told as a child: if you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all? We know these lessons and can repeat them back, but as with all lessons it is never completely clear how deep they make it into our psyche. I knew all of these things, but still the idea of saying only what was important was new to me. What do I say? What do I avoid saying? Most importantly when are the times during the day when I really need to speak? I knew I had to avoid speaking at all other times.

It turns out that not only do I spend much of the day talking, I also enjoy speaking. I like hearing what people have to say and contributing to the conversation. I like asking questions in order to uncover other’s stories. I enjoy sharing my experiences. Yet, and this is difficult for a Rabbi to admit, not all of my words are spoken in the context of an enriching personal interaction. I also talk when I am bored, contribute when there is really nothing to add, make sarcastic comments and tell stories about others that are not mine to tell. From my experience I learned that email and texting is not the same as talking to someone. No matter how many emoticons you use, tone of voice does not come through in text, yet in many contexts we have come to treat these exchanges the same way as a voice conversation. We have trained ourselves to think that it is the same thing. In emails we express and explain the emotions that are behind our words. We know that the reader is guessing our expression and our mood, so we are not shy about being explicit.

In text on the other hand, maybe because it is on our phones, we think that the other person will understand our tone of voice, our intention. I do not usually have entire conversations over text. Mostly I use texting for logistics or checking in - what time are we meeting at the restaurant, are you getting snacks for the students, did everything go smoothly at the event? If a conversation needs to take place, then I pick up the phone. During the time that I could not speak almost all of my conversations were over text. Let me tell you, I got into trouble. I had more misunderstandings with people I care about and who know me well, then I had ever had before. It was such a relief when I was finally able to make phone calls!

But it is not just that texting can lead to miscommunication, it is also that hearing another's voice is intimate. I never thought about it before, but our voices are a part of who we are. It is a part of what defines us in the hearts and minds of others. I had not thought about missing the sound of one’s voice. It is not just the words that we say that are important, the voice that says them is also important, the tones and the expressions, the deep masculinity or the high pitched soprano voice. All of these things are part of what bind us to others. When I could speak again, those close to me told me how much they had missed hearing my voice.

I learned that much of what I say is unnecessary. My words are not always productive, helpful, or kind. Curt comments, complaints, biting remarks and jokes were all the first things that I stopped saying. They are not only unimportant; they are futile and sometimes painful. My days of restricted speech made me think much about my grandfather. He is a man of few words, but when he speaks, everyone listens. We know his words are meaningful and worth listening to. When my family gathers together, thirty or more of us, you can barely get a word in edgewise. However, when my grandfather begins to motion that he wants to contribute to the conversation, people start yelling, “shhh Grandpa is going to talk”. It is probably the only thing that can get all of us to settle down.

What if all of our words were so important to hear? What if all of us were able to avoid saying what is hurtful or sarcastic, what we know will have the proverbial effect of punching another in the stomach. One author writes a painful, but true statement about our use of words. “There exists, for everyone, a sentence - a series of words - that has the power to destroy us. Another sentence exists, another series of words that could heal us. If we are lucky we will get the second, but we can be certain of getting the first”[1]. The hardest part about this is that too often, the people who destroy us with words are the ones who we are closest to, the ones who know us the best and are supposed to love us. Sometimes when we speak we are not trying to enhance or enrich someone’s life, nor are we trying to resolve an argument or dispute, all we are trying to do is hurt the other person. These are the words that would be best left unsaid. Words are powerful. They help us to connect with people. They convey our state of mind and help us to uncover what others are thinking and feeling. They show our humanity and help us to recognize that in others. When we have a pleasant interaction with the barista at the coffee shop, when we say thank you to the cashier at the store, when we ask how another’s day is going we show that we care about them and that we are aware of the thoughts and feelings of others. Even when we use our words to have difficult or uncomfortable conversations, or when we use them to fight for something in which we believe, we are using them for good, to bring change to our world and better our society. We are using them to improve and strengthen our relationship. We are using them with positive intentions and heartfelt conviction.

I am a rabbi, I speak and use words for a living, and this experience has made me reevaluate how I use them. I had to do this for almost two weeks. I had to consider the benefit of my words versus the cost to my health before I spoke. I needed to weigh the relevance of any comment I was going to make to determine if it would be productive, helpful, useful. Would my speaking add to the conversation? Would it give new meaning or insight? Would it help solve a problem? Would it brighten someone’s day? Would it bring healing? If the answer was no to these questions then I would remain silent. After all, I could only say what I considered to be truly meaningful.

I hope that I will be able to carry these lessons into the New Year. I pray that I will choose my words wisely and continue to say only what will positively impact another’s life. May we all come to understand that “Words... are innocent, neutral, precise, standing for this, describing that, meaning the other, so if we look after them we can build bridges across incomprehension and chaos. But when they are used improperly they are powerful enough to start wars. Words deserve respect. If you get the right ones in the right order, you can bring change to people and the world.”[2] May we remember this as we head into the New Year.

[1] Philip K. Dick, VALIS 

[2] Tom Stoppard, The Real Thing: A Play