Yom Kippur 5782 (2021) - Morning Sermon (Final in the Series)

Shanah Tovah!

If you were here at Ohev Shalom for Rosh Hashanah services last week, and/or last night for Kol Nidrei, you’ve potentially already heard my previous three sermons on the theme of resilience. Or perhaps you read the texts online or watched the recordings. AND therefore, you might be getting a little sick of hearing me talk about the town of Lostice and our new Megillah. I’m not going to review everything I’ve said thus far over the course of our time together, except to say that we’ve been looking together at four paintings by Siona Benjamin, and coupling each with a different method of growing our own internal resilience. I also want to repeat my main point that I’ve tried to cultivate, expand upon, and build up over the course of these four sermons: Resilience is a learned skill and a muscle that we develop. And doing so may help us not just endure and persevere… but actually thrive and become stronger individuals. 
    

So I’m not going to devote too much time in this sermon to the town of Lostice. In examining our fourth and final painting, we don’t need to go back and revisit that history. Instead, I want to tell you about perhaps my most favorite symbol, which Siona and I incorporated into this last image. Not just yet though; I’ll get there.
    

Our four core aspects of increasing resilience have been: creating connections, healthy thinking, wellness and self-care, and now, meaning-making. In essence, I see this fourth element as being the most critical, which is the ability to mine our own experiences for meaning. Too often, we are tempted to label what happens to us in life as “bad” or “good.” Things that make us happy and are fun - they are GOOD. Things that make us sad, cause pain, or are unpleasant - they are BAD. And yet, we also know this isn’t always the case. Sometimes, an experience that appears good and fortuitous comes with unexpected challenges, new heartache, and problems we didn’t see before, and now we wish that seemingly positive experience never happened in the first place. The opposite, of course, is what we might call a “blessing in disguise.” This is the one that I find the most intriguing. In my years in the rabbinate, I have often been struck by the stories I hear from people that are, perhaps, counterintuitive. Addictions, illnesses, accidents, and misfortunes that are, in and of themselves, tragic… yet I’ve repeatedly heard people say something to the effect of: “I’d never wish this struggle on anyone… BUT it actually taught me a lot about how precious life is, how much I have to be grateful for, and the true meaning of life and of living. 
   
The American Psychological Association, which I’ve been quoting for all four aspects of building resilience, states early on in its description: “The road to resilience is likely to involve considerable emotional distress.” Well, that doesn’t sound fun! Or enjoyable. We don’t want or seek out emotional distress… but it’s hard to deny that those experiences help us grow, evolve, and build new, vital skills for survival. While we may strive to obtain safety, security, comfort, and contentment in life, we do not actually grow in those situations. Think of it, if you will, like exercise. It would be wonderful if the way to increase our stamina, strengthen our muscles, and fortify our bodies was to sit for an hour in a sauna. Or get a relaxing massage. Or sleep restfully all through the night. But that simply isn’t the case. We build muscle when we PUSH our bodies, through exercise, weight lifting, and strenuous, exhausting exertion. No pain, no gain. Trauma is VERY hard… but we can learn so much from it.
    

We may ALSO need that massage, the sleep, or the soothing sauna. Like the times in our lives when we are comfortable and at ease, that is when we replenish, rest, and relax. But we do so IN ORDER TO then push ourselves yet again, whether through physical exercise, or yes, through tough experiences that will increase our resilience. This is, in fact, also a central message of our
Jewish tradition, and certainly a central lesson we can take from Jewish history. We are “Yisrael,” meaning “one who wrestles with God.” We push, we question, we challenge the status quo and established norms, it is what we do and always have done. It allows us to form closer, more intimate connections with our heritage. 

“Love thy neighbor as thyself,” the Golden Rule in the Torah, is also about bucking the status quo. It involves stepping OUTSIDE your own needs, your own safety, and extending a hand to someone else… which lo and behold, then turns out to be one of the main reasons we receive God’s favor and rewards. The APA’s description of this fourth element of resilience-building, Meaning-Making, states simply: “Help others.” What a simple, yet powerful, key to improving our lives. Help other people. The definition goes on to say: “Whether you volunteer with a local homeless shelter or simply support a friend in their own time of need, you can garner a sense of purpose, foster self-worth, connect with other people, and tangibly help others, all of which can empower you to grow in resilience.”
    

When we give, we receive. That sounds so elementary, it’s almost cliche. And when we feel stressed, under pressure, or afraid - say during a pandemic - every fiber of our being might be saying, “not now. I need to focus on MY needs and MY well-being right now… I can’t give.”
And sometimes that’s true, and it’s perfectly reasonable that we are stretched thin and don’t have the bandwidth to do more. But let us also remember how counterintuitive - yet 100% true - it is, that helping someone else makes us feel better, increases our sense of self-worth, and gives our lives purpose. What may seem like too much to take on, may indeed turn out to be the very thing that helps us deal with the rest of our burdens. You might even call it a blessing in disguise.
    

As you may have already heard me say, the symbol of resilience in our Lostice Megillah is light. It perseveres. It cannot be destroyed. Connecting it now to our principle of helping others, think about the simple image of a candle. When one flame lights another, is the first one diminished? No, not at all. Then the second wick lights a third, then a fourth, and eventually one hundred. A room that was once dark is now bathed in light, glowing and warm from the heat of so many lit candles. And was any one candle ever burdened by lighting another? Of course not. We should see our own ability to give and to bless others like its own light-source; sharing with others without depleting itself… and in fact growing stronger and more luminescent with each act of kindness and selflessness.
    

I see the entire story of our Lostice Torah as a blessing in disguise. Clearly, it is born out of tragedy, and the devastation of the Shoah. And finding meaning and purpose in the story of this scroll does not mean we’re saying what befell the Jews of Europe or of Lostice was “good.” Again, that label is actually unhelpful. Mining our experiences for value and significance is NOT about reframing it to be a “good thing.” Addiction, illness, tragedy - I am not suggesting you should now see these experiences as terrific, joyous, or desirable. No. They simply are. 

What happens in life is so often out of our control and unavoidable. That also means it is actually quite pointless to label it as “good” or “bad.” Instead, we should be looking for ways and opportunities to grow from EVERYTHING that happens to us. The APA description encourages us to “be proactive [and ask]; what can I DO about a problem in my life?” And we should also “Look for opportunities for self-discovery.” It doesn’t matter if that self-discovery comes from something fun or painful, desirable or not, strenuous and tough or safe and comfortable. How can we dig into it, and make meaning out of all we experience?
    

In the fourth painting in the Megillah, we are now looking at our Ohev Shalom Sanctuary. You can see the red glass of these windows behind me on both sides, framing the scene. The central figure is a rabbi, arms held up in the air. Siona and I talked about this rabbinic fellow for a while, and ultimately settled on it being an amalgam of myself and our beloved Rabbi Emeritus, Louis Kaplan. The figure is tall and thin… so not really me, but is also wearing a tallit that is modeled after mine; which also happens to be the tallit that you - Ohev Shalom - gave me on my tenth anniversary here. There would be no Lostice scroll here at Ohev, if it weren’t for Rabbi Kaplan corresponding with, and ultimately traveling to, the Westminster Synagogue in London to procure one of the 1,564 Czech Torahs that were saved from the Holocaust. But I like to think of myself as partnering with my good friend and colleague, Lou Kaplan, on taking this precious treasure that he brought us, and mining, excavating its story for meaning and purpose, which can then enlighten and enhance our community. 
    

So now to my favorite symbol perhaps in the entire Megillah: The rabbi’s arms are stretched aloft, ready to receive a scroll that is being passed down. And the hands that are gifting that scroll to Rabbi Kaplan and myself are the same hands that are embroidered on the Lostice scroll’s Torah mantle. Elsa Wachs, a member of our congregation and world-renowned artist herself, created that mantle when the Torah came to Ohev Shalom in 1980. I have always found its imagery so powerful and inspiring. The hands, wearing the striped uniform of the concentration camps, reach up from the ground with the words “Am Yisrael Chai” (The Jewish People Lives) floating upward - L’Eilah ul’Eilah; higher and higher - along with them. They are the hands of the people of Lostice, whose scroll - and legacy - are now ours to carry forward. But for our Megillah, I wanted to invert the hands, as the souls of our Czech ancestors now reside in heaven, and they are bequeathing this story down to us from above.
    

I also think that flipping this powerful symbol upside down reminds us - again - not to take things at face value and assume they are inherently “good” or “bad.” Whether sent from above or below, a blessing or a curse, the opportunity is always there for us to create meaning and purpose. Standing around that rabbinic character are the silhouettes of congregants; basking in the light and being drawn towards this compelling story of resilience. Young and old, women and men, of all races, sexual orientations, and abilities, Jewish or not; we - YOU - are part of this story now. 

I feel so immensely blessed to have come to Ohev Shalom, and to now have entered my 13th Bar Mitzvah year with this community. And I feel awed and humbled to have discovered so much about the people of Lostice, including Fanny Neuda, and the miraculous road to salvation for this beautiful, mystical scroll. 
Our partnerships with Siona Benjamin, Judith Joseph (the calligrapher), and Dinah Berland (who translated Fanny Neuda’s prayer book into English) have also been such blessings for us, for which I am eternally grateful. And the result of it all is this document, our Megillat Lostice: A Scroll of Resilience.
    

I hope that this sermon series has helped you learn more about the absolutely invaluable, priceless jewel that resides here in our Sanctuary Ark. I pray that in this challenging, uncertain time of the coronavirus pandemic, that I have given you new resources to build resilience for yourself, so that we can all - united together - face the future and keep our community strong, no matter what may come. Each of us is truly a candle, and each can add light, warmth, understanding, and brilliance to this congregation and to our wider community. I hope you now feel aglow. And can pass on some resilience to other candles, just waiting to shine along with us.
    

Shanah Tovah!