Rosh Hashanah 5777 - Day 2 Sermon

Rosh Hashanah 5777, Day Two, D’var Torah

Shanah Tovah!

You know, I start, and end, every holiday speech with those same words – Shanah Tovah – Have a Happy, Healthy, and Sweet New Year. But this is probably the first time that for me, personally, it is a genuine prayer for a fresh start and a clean, new, calamity-free beginning to the new year. If you’ll indulge me, I would like to share a little bit about my life right now, even though this sermon is eventually going to be about community. Rest assured, we’ll get there; I promise!
Many of you know that Rebecca and I were blessed with a second child on July 1st. Our son, Max, is just over three months old now, and thank God he is healthy and smiley, and our nearly four-year old daughter, Caroline, gets along with him just fine. Phew! And we were just getting used to our new normal, when we discovered a leak in our main bathroom, under the shower stall. To make a long story short, we had to move out of our house so that mold could be treated, and we are actually STILL not back in our home! I want to publicly thank David and Amy Pollack for taking us in, and letting our daughter turn their home into a playground. We will pay for all the damages, I swear.
Now, you can perhaps imagine what this has been like for us. A 12-week old, a preschooler, the High Holidays right around the corner, and we’re living out of suitcases, displaced from our home. As bad as that sounds – and I’m not going to sugar-coat this, folks, it’s been rough – but as bad as it sounds, I also feel like we’ve tried to use this opportunity to take stock and appreciate what we have, even in the face of the stress we’ve experienced and the challenges we’re still enduring. When someone first came to our home and diagnosed our mold problem, they also scared us, and we had to grab a few belongings and quickly move to a hotel. Needless to say, that was a really bad day. But soon after, we both looked at one another and thought about other people facing a similar, but much more terrifying scenario. When we grabbed our things in haste, and quickly glanced back before shutting the door, getting in our car, and speeding off, we knew we’d see it all again soon. It would still be there when we returned, though hopefully free of mold and spores. What if we lived in Louisiana? Right now, today? That brief glimpse over the shoulder might be the last time we saw any of those belongings. That perspective makes the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.
What if we lived in Aleppo or Homs, in Syria? They too had to grab a few, portable possessions and run. That fleeting look before closing the front door might be the final sight of our house, our community, our city, and even our country. All the rest of our belongings – along with our social standing, our jobs, our security and prospects for ourselves and our children – all of it could be gone forever. What Rebecca and I experienced, and continue to experience, is a tiny fraction of the tragedies and calamities that befall other people around the world. In fact, it is, and has been, a reality of human life from the dawn of civilization. In yesterday’s Torah reading, from the Book of Genesis, we read about our ancestors, Hagar and her son, Ishmael, fleeing their homes to escape persecution. What about the Israelites Exodus-ing from Egypt, or our forbearers forced out of Spain in 1492 or Poland in 1939? It has always befallen human beings, and though it is hard to think about comfortably, it is also true that this isn’t just ancient, medieval, or even modern HISTORY – for many people this is life today, in 2016.
We’ve been out of our home for two weeks, and still have A LOT of work to be done before we can return. And it’s inconvenient and stressful. But nevertheless, we feel blessed. Several congregants offered their homes, either to stay overnight or for Rebecca and Max to hang out during the day. We’ve received advice from lawyers, insurance agents, doctors, friends, and one incredibly, incredibly helpful environmental health and safety officer at a local college. In addition to all of this, on top of all that I have just shared with you, Rebecca and I are also STILL feeling residual gratitude to all the people who supported us after Max was born. People brought over meals, sent gifts, and generally took care of us. I mention this in the same context as our displacement, so I don’t feel guilty about all the people we still owe “Thank You” cards. We have a good excuse, ok?!? But in all seriousness, thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who has come to our aid. We do NOT know where we’d be without you.
I cannot overstate how much we value you, our community. I wish I could say that Ohev does this for EVERYONE in the congregation, but I know that our experience is unique because I am the rabbi. I will say that it has opened my eyes to the realization that we MUST work harder to provide at least a comparable level of care for everyone. Our Chesed chairperson, Paula Cherner, has done a phenomenal job of activating our Chesed volunteers, and together they have been marvelous at reaching out to many, many congregants who need care and support. Or an occasional car ride. Community can be such a force for good in people’s lives, especially in those vulnerable and fragile moments. But it can be difficult to let someone know when you’re in need. It was hard for us to ask for help. I suddenly saw that even in a desperate moment, when it was obvious to others that we needed assistance, it was actually painful for me to say that word, “Help.” In the time that I have left in this sermon today, I want to speak to you a little bit about the power of community, and how we all can work on saying “I can help”… but also “I NEED help.”
If you joined us yesterday for services, you likely know that our theme this year is “Kavod.” It is the Hebrew word for “honor” or “respect,” and this morning I want to move from honoring ourselves to honoring our community, “Kevod Ha-Tzibbur.” But let’s first pause for a moment and ask; what is this thing, Kavod? How do we define it? In our prayers, we speak of God’s “Kavod,” when we sing, “Baruch Kevod Adonai Mimekomo.” So what is that?? In his book, “God in Search of Man,” Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel – one of the greatest philosophers of the 20th Century – writes about this notion. He translates “Kavod” as “Glory,” and states that Kavod is not a thing. It cannot be held or touched. “The glory,” writes Heschel, “is the presence, not the essence of God; an act rather than a quality; a process not a substance.” I wholeheartedly agree. In our case, Kavod was not the food items that someone made us or bought us after Max was born (though it was all delicious!); Kavod was the moment when they arrived and rang our door bell. It is not the house we’re staying in or the suitcase we borrowed, but Kavod IS the sense of comfort and support that so many people offered. You can’t touch it or hold it… and yet, you can give or receive it.
Heschel called it a process, which I like, because it entails a reciprocal exchange; it’s a two-way street. And earlier I spoke about the importance of learning to say “I can help” AND “I need help.” Sometimes we think of ourselves as the caregivers, and sometimes we feel like the victims. But we can be both. In fact, I think we need to be both. Yesterday, in addition to introducing our theme of “Kavod,” I also shared a metaphor that I’m using to illustrate my theme, which comes from the mosaic art panels on our Sanctuary walls. These panels, the Children of Israel Collection, depict our mighty Tribes of Israel; well-known names like Judah and Benjamin, and the ancient High Priests, the Levites. But there are also some names on there you maybe DON’T know… and yesterday I spoke of some names that aren’t even up there. Our community is made up of talkative, charismatic extroverts… but also contemplative, insightful introverts. And everything in between.
Yesterday morning, I spoke about the four women who birthed all these children, as a reminder to give Kavod, honor, to the people behind the scenes as well, especially the women. Two of our tribes, Gad and Asher, were descended from a little-known woman named Zilpah. The Torah tells us next to nothing about her. The Bible itself just doesn’t give us much to go on, though in a wonderful book, “The Red Tent,” by Anita Diamant, all of these characters from Genesis are given much more depth and personality, and I highly recommend it. You see, Zilpah IS our ancestor as well; she is part of OUR story, the history of our community. There are her two children, right on our Sanctuary wall! The military camp of Gad, and the olive tree of Asher.
Can we make room for Zilpah’s story in our own? When we honor our community, do we recognize the quiet, reflective people in the pews as much as the outspoken leaders on the pulpit?
In yesterday’s sermon I also quoted an ancient rabbinic text called Pirkei Avot, “The Ethics of our Fathers.” In that very same teaching, we have a second observation: “Eizehu Mechubad?” “Who is honored?” from the same root as our theme, “Kavod.” “Ha-mechabeid Et Ha-B’riyot,” “one who honors all people.” Can we praise the Jacob’s and Judah’s in our congregation as well as the Zilpah’s? And can we allow ourselves to sometimes feel like Judah and sometimes like Zilpah? Take a moment to think about yourself, and your standing in this community or any other social structure of which you are a part: Are you able to take initiative, and lead the group when it feels right and appropriate to do so? And, when necessary, are you able to back down, make room for others, and sit quietly and listen while others take charge? If we intend to glorify and praise our congregation, we need to honor and respect the contributions of ALL our members equally; male, female, straight, LGBT, disabled, Jews, and non-Jews. And we need to find ways to support one another in every way possible, as often as we can. Because THAT is community.
Sometimes we find this thing called community in obvious, tangible places. Like a building on Chester Road in Wallingford. But community is also a presence, a behavior; as Heschel suggests, it is a process, not a substance. After tragedies strike, like in Louisiana or in refugee camps around the globe, communities begin to form organically. People rally around to offer help and support. To be sure, more needs to be done for these unfortunate victims, because the disasters are immense, and additional help is always needed. But it also often leads to conversations about why goodwill and kindness waits to surface when calamities strike. And we need to ask ourselves this question as well. Can we live our lives feeling BOTH grateful and humble for all we have AND compassionate and giving to others, even before something horrific happens to remind us why we need to care?
There is no question; this is hard to do. When things are going well, and we only need worry about the day-to-day and “normal” problems, we aren’t thinking about these major questions and concerns. But I believe that is what the High Holiday season is all about. Forcing us to STOP, look around, and think about our own lives, the lives of those around us, and the lives of people everywhere. It is challenging to think about these kinds of things every day, but if you can’t do it TODAY, I don’t know if a better opportunity will every come around. For me personally, this past month has been very humbling. I certainly don’t like being out of control, having this much uncertainty in my life, or feeling this unsettled. But feeling humility, even when we weren’t planning for it, can be a really good thing.
I hope that Rebecca’s and my story can help you too focus some of your intentions this holiday season. What do you hold dear… and sometimes take for granted? What would happen if one day, unexpectedly, you too felt even just a little bit like a refugee, fleeing water-damage or war zones? How could you mine that experience for lessons and deeper understandings, and is there a way to learn those lessons even without experience the plague of mold remediation?? And additionally, what is your role in your community? How do you give Kavod to others, and how are you the recipient of it? When do you feel like the powerful patriarch, Jacob, and when do you feel like his third wife, Zilpah? And how can we all better live the value of Kevod Ha-Tzibur, and give more people a sense of belonging and value in our community?
At this Season of Repentance and self-reflection, I certainly don’t wish anyone to go through the disruptions that we’ve endured. But I do pray that you all get to feel the warm embrace of support and concern, that others are there for you with a meal, a suitcase, and even a home. And I challenge each of us to BE that warm embrace for someone else. Our ancient rabbis remind us that when we honor ALL people – from the top to the bottom, from Judah and Benjamin to Zilpah and her children – we too are honored. This month, my family has felt incredibly honored by this community, and honored to be A PART of this community.
The Kevod Ha-Tzibur, the honor of this congregation has been swirling around us, and we feel blessed. From the bottom of our hearts, thank you.
Shanah Tovah!