Monday, December 28, 2015

Lessons Learned in 2015



When the clock hits midnight in a few days, the whole world will celebrate the arrival of a new year.  New Year’s Day is not considered to be a Jewish holiday (we have our own New Year, Rosh Hashanah in early autumn), however, January 1st is a big marker of time!  It serves as a reminder to stop and think about where we are at this moment both as individuals and a society.   In light of this calendar change, I’d like to reflect upon the lessons that I personally learned in 2015 and my hopes for the future.

Stand up for what you believe

Earlier this summer, I received multiple invitations from Reform Rabbis to join “America’s Journey for Justice” a forty day march from Selma, Alabama to Washington, DC coordinated by the NAACP.  This march highlighted the deep racism and income inequality that pervades our society.  After hearing about the march, I thought about whether I had the time or the inclination to travel down to rural Georgia.  Luckily, I made the right decision and stood alongside people of all ages, races, and religions, to march for justice.  The lesson I learned is that talk can be cheap.  We must stand up for what we believe and act in order to better our world.

Support Our Friends

Just a few weeks ago, our society was rocked by the vicious terrorist attacks in Paris, France and San Bernardino, California.   Certain politicians and the media began to spew hatred about Muslims.  Our leaders began to talk about closing the US border to Syrian refugees, while others lambasted the Muslim community saying that many were terrorists.  Just days after the attack in Paris, I was contacted by my friends from the Islamic Center of Long Island to join with them to condemn ISIS and to state publicly that moderates of all religions care about human life.  I was proud to join them and be one of the few Jewish representatives.  When our friends need our support and our help, it is our obligation to stand by them and speak out against hatred and fear.

Change Does Happen



It can be hard to be an optimist in today’s world.  It seems that our country is becoming even more polarized and that politicians utter whatever is in their hearts without thinking about the ramifications of their words.  Terror and fear pervade our world and too many still are affected by the economic collapse.  It sometimes feels that we are moving backwards instead of forwards.  However, this June, we celebrated a major victory: Gay Marriage became the law of our land.  Millions of same-sex couples, their friends and families, were able to celebrate as their relationships were now legally recognized.  Change does happen!  It might be slower than we like and there might be many downs before there are ups, but change does happen!  It’s a tough road ahead, but when we support our friends and act for justice, our world can become a more peaceful and transformative society.  May we continue to do our part in 2016 to bring Tikkun Olam, healing to our world. 

Wednesday, December 2, 2015

8 Nights of Giving




I love Chanukah!  It’s a time of true joy and celebration.  What’s better than lighting the candles, eating delicious latkes, or opening a present!  But… in recent years, I’ve noticed a change in how Chanukah is celebrated.  Whether it’s American materialism or the close proximity to Christmas, it seems that the focus of Chanukah is the gifts!  The conversation around the Chanukah table is often about the latest electronics, the best toys, or the hottest clothes.  Now, don’t get me wrong, Jewish tradition has never frowned upon giving gifts.  For hundreds of years, Jewish children received a dreidel, chocolate coins, and even some gelt (money!) during Chanukah.  These gifts were small tokens from a loving parent or grandparent during this joyous holiday.  However, the money given was often used as a way to teach children about the mitzvah of tzedakah (giving charity to the poor).   That’s why Temple Sinai of Roslyn has decided to transform our celebration of Chanukah.  We are inviting Jews in Roslyn, across Long Island, and around the world to give back to our community and bring light to the world.  Our Chanukah celebration this year is called “8 Nights of Giving!”  During each night of Chanukah, we’re hoping that each of us can give back to our broader community by donating to a local charity, dropping off a donation, or doing a hands-on-project!  Check out 8nightsofgiving and follow us at #8nightsofgiving.  May our acts of loving kindness bring light and joy to the world around us!

Friday, November 20, 2015

A Prayer for Peace and Compassion




Earlier today, I joined a dozen other ministers, priests, and imams to speak out against terrorism and hatred.  The Islamic Center of Long Island invited me to join them to denounce the terrorism that occurred last week in Paris.  It was a privilege to express to the world that people of all religious traditions deplore violence.  Below are the words I shared this afternoon:

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In a few hours, the Jewish Sabbath, Shabbat, will be upon us.  Jewish communities around the world will gather to read words from the Torah, the Jewish Bible.  We will reflect upon the story of Jacob’s dream.  Jacob dreamt of a ladder that went from the Earth all the way up to the Heavens above.  On that ladder, were angels, going up and going down!  When Jacob awoke from his dream, astonished, he replied, “God was in this place, and I did not know it!”

Thousands of years after Jacob dreamt his dream, we gather on these steps to proclaim that “God is in this place and we know it!”  Those of us, from the Jewish, Christian communities gather with our friends from the Islamic Center of Long Island to stand as one.  We recognize that not only is God in this place, but God is found everywhere around the world.  We value human life because we believe that the spirit and the soul of God is inside each and every person.

Sadly, there are a few people, who are unable to comprehend Jacob’s dream.  These men and women possess hatred in their hearts.  They believe in the idolatry of violence and destruction and death.  They allow animosity to rule over life and companionship and peace.  Today, we join with the Islamic Center of Long Island to cry out in unison, that we deplore violence.  We stand against everything that the terrorists believe to be true.  We value human life and freedom and liberty.  We care about religious pluralism.  We respect difference.  This afternoon, we speak out forcefully against violence and terrorism and say, “No More!  No more shall hatred rear its ugly head!”

The prophet Isaiah shares this utopian vision for the future: "They shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruninghooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more."  We believe in Isaiah's vision.  Together we join hands and pray for compassion, for respect, and for peace.  Amen.

Saturday, November 14, 2015

A Prayer for the City of Light



Yesterday evening as I drove towards Temple, I heard the news about the horrific terrorist attack in Paris.  All of the joy and happiness I felt was shattered as I discovered the depth of the carnage and destruction.  Throughout Shabbat, Paris has been on my mind and these words of prayer have been in my heart.  Paris is the City of Light which beckons all the world to search for truth and enlightenment.  May the darkness be lifted and may peace and light shine once again. 



A Prayer for the City of Light
By Rabbi Andy Gordon

O Holy One, Creator of Light,
The City of Paris has been darkened by destruction,
innocent people murdered or injured
solely because they were celebrating with friends
or gathering for dinner.
Creator of Light,
throughout the ages,
the poets, philosophers, and teachers of Paris
taught the world to think differently,
to respect diversity,
to believe in liberty, equality, and fraternity.
In this time of deep darkness,
may enlightenment and peace
conquer fear and hatred.
May the city now filled with darkness and dread,
once again shine ever brightly.
And may all of us, across the globe,
join hand with hand and heart with heart,
together bringing peace and compassion to our world.  Amen.

Saturday, October 10, 2015

Am I My Brother's Keeper? - Moving Forward After the Oregon Shooting


This week, we once again begin “In the Beginning” with the story of the Creation of the World.  We meet the first human beings, Adam and Eve; we celebrate the first Shabbat; we discover the first moment of love; we watch the birth of the first child.  Life seems idyllic, truly peaceful.  Unfortunately, shortly after the world was created, we also experience the first moments of pain, of struggle, and of death.



Many of us know the story of Cain and Abel, the story of the first murder.  The two brothers were complete opposites: Abel a shepherd was giving and big hearted, while Cain, a farmer, thought only of himself.  The two brought gifts to God: Abel shared his most precious animal, while Cain brought ordinary vegetables.

Cain became jealous of his brother’s many successes.  The Torah teaches, that in midst of a field, Cain approached Abel and killed him.  Afterwards, God asks Cain, “Where is your brother Abel?”  Cain replies: “I do not know.  Am I my brother’s keeper?”

These famous words, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” are renowned throughout history.  Interestingly, Cain never receives an answer to his question.  What follows is silence.  Cain is punished, required to wander the earth.  But, why does God fail to answer Cain’s question?

When God finally addresses Cain, God tells him: “your brother’s blood cries out to Me from the ground!”  The word blood, damim, is in the plural.  It should be translated as bloods, “your brother’s bloods cry out to Me…”  The rabbis teach that Cain did not only kill Abel, he also killed all of Abel’s future descendants; an entire family line was uprooted in this murder.

As I reflected upon the story of Cain and Abel, my thoughts turned towards the rampant gun violence that pervades our society.  Just as Abel’s blood cries out to God, so too do we hear the cries of innocent victims murdered last week in Oregon.  We mourn the loss of life, of families broken, of entire family lines uprooted.  Recently, I recognized how desensitized I have become to the many shootings that seem to occur month after month.  There have been too many deaths from gun violence: from Virgina Tech, to Columbine, to Charleston, and now to Oregon, and many more.  Every few weeks another massacre occurs and yet nothing seems to change.  There are words of mourning, eulogies delivered, but once again life returns back to normal.  Time after time, my thoughts turn back to Cain’s question: “Am I my brother’s keeper?” and God’s silence.

As one of the first human beings, Cain might not have known the power he possessed in his hands.  As only the third person in the world, Cain was still figuring out how life worked, how relationship worked, how anger and violence worked.  Was his crime solely the murder of his brother or could his crime be something even more profound?

I believe that the words “Am I my brother’s keeper? - are the true essence of this story.  Yes, Cain murdered his brother, this was his sin.  But, I believe that his crime was deeper than that.  Cain had an inability to recognize his responsibility for others.  Cain showed no remorse and did not seem to care that his brother was gone. 

That’s why God never answers Cain directly.  In the silence, God affirms that Cain must find the answer himself.  Yes, God punishes Cain, but God wants Cain and all those that follow after him, including us, to discover our responsibility to care for and watch out for all of humanity.

Cain didn’t discover the answer to his question as he used brunt force or after the crime was committed.  It was only later, that he was able to change and to grow.  The Torah teaches that when God doled out punishment for the crime, Cain tells God, “My punishment is too great to bear!”    The word avon – punishment – is often translated as sin.  Cain tells God: “My sin is too great to bear!”  Here, we witness a different Cain; a man who is aware of his failings, who has finally taken responsibility for his actions.  At this moment, he begins that process of teshuvah, of repentance, and taking on the repercussions of his actions.

In many ways, after each shooting, after each massacre, I feel like I’ve stepped into Cain’s shoes.  I recognize how desensitized I’ve become to the violence; how powerless I feel to change anything; how complacent I’ve become with the status quo.  After each shooting, I hear myself asking: “Am I my brother’s keeper?” Yet, all I hear is silence.  Cain found the answer himself and changed his ways.  So too, after each massacre, must each of us, and our elected officials, look deeply into that silence, answer the question, and move forward.   Judaism teaches that “to save a life, is to save the world.”  By preventing one murder, we will save a family, a community, and a world.

Wednesday, September 30, 2015

Our Power to Break the Bonds of Racial Injustice - Kol Nidre Sermon


Many years ago, a young Jewish man from Boston traveled down to Florida for his honeymoon.  He and his wife were picked up at the airport by an African-American cab driver.  As they drove through wealthy neighborhoods, they passed by a Country Club, with a large sign out front, with the words, “No Jews, No Dogs.”  The man was shocked.  He turned towards the cab driver and asked if that was common practice down there.  The driver answered: “At least you made the sign.  They don’t even mention us.’”  That young man, Kivie Kaplan, became an activist and a philanthropist.  He marched with Dr. King in Selma, travelled to Mississippi for Freedom Summer, and served as a president of the NAACP. 


Late in life, Kivie helped found the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism.  The RAC has a long history of advocacy and fighting for justice.  A few years after the RAC’s founding, the very words of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965 were penned on its conference room table.

Kivie Kaplan was one giant among a generation of Jewish leaders who stood against racial injustice.  Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel and Rabbi Joachim Prinz and scores of other Jewish men, women, and college students risked their lives for the rights of others.  They helped make our world a more just, a more tolerant, a more equitable place for all.

That is why I am saddened by the recent news of racial injustice.  There are still too many who face prejudice solely because of the color of their skin.  We’ve seen parts of the Voting Rights Act struck down, and now, new, onerous laws make it challenging for many to vote.  On Rosh Hashanah, Rabbi White reminded us of the power that words hold, such as Eric Garner’s “I can’t breathe!”  There are too many stories of black men who were stopped by the police and failed to make it home.

In light of these recent events: of the shootings and the demonstrations, of the rulings and legislation: Cornell Brooks, President and CEO of the NAACP, called for a march, “America’s Journey for Justice.”  This was not any march; it was a 40 day, 1,000 mile journey that began in Selma, Alabama and ended in Washington, DC.  Why march?  Because “our lives, our votes, our jobs, and our schools matter.”  Why march? Because “Black Lives Matter.”

Fifty years ago, hundreds marched with Dr. King from Selma to Montgomery, to address the injustice around voting rights.  On your seats is a picture taken from that march.  Standing next to Dr. King, is Rabbi Maurice Eisendrath, then president of our Reform Movement, marching and carrying a beloved Torah scroll.

When our Reform Movement heard about “America’s Journey for Justice,” they pledged that at least one rabbi each day, alongside a Torah, would march the entire 1,000 miles of the journey.  I knew that I must follow in Rabbi Eisendrath’s footsteps.  That’s how, I found myself, in the middle of August, on a desolate road in rural Georgia.  Alongside me were dozens of other marchers of all races and religions.  In the heat and the humidity, with sweat pouring down my face, I marched, carrying the Torah.  I learned so much just by walking, talking, and journeying alongside my fellow marchers.  I’d like to share some of the stories I heard and I hope, that together, we can work to bring justice and compassion to our world.

That morning, I sat down for breakfast with Royal, who lives in Ohio, just a few hours from where I grew up.  Royal shared how terrified he is when his teenage son gets into the car and drives away.  I thought about all of the parents who worry when their kids get behind the wheel for the first time.  Royal worries about this too, but it’s not his only concern.  Royal fears that his son could get pulled over for the crime of “driving while black.”  Could his son be dragged from the car, arrested, or even worse, never make it home?

Carrying a 20 pound Torah in the 100 degree heat isn’t easy and as I marched next to Royal, the Torah truly became a burden.  But, it wasn’t the Torah’s weight that bothered me; it was its values of justice and righteousness that truly bore down upon my soul.  I couldn’t help but think about the prophet Isaiah, whose words we will read tomorrow morning:       

Cry from the depths, says God – do not hold back, lift up your voice like the shofar…[i]

Royal’s cry and the cries of millions of parents like him, sound like a shofar, awakening me from my complacency, my comfort.    I thought about all of the times I wanted to lock the doors of my car or hold tight to my phone.  I reflected upon my own prejudice and my own discomfort around race.  This Yom Kippur, I focus my Cheshbon HaNefesh – the accounting of my own soul – on racial injustice.  I challenge myself to look at the fears that plague my soul and the internal racism that goads me.  I challenge myself to understand the benefits of being white and finding ways to create equality and fairness for all.

Later that day, I marched alongside Sheila who is concerned about the next generation.  In her hometown of Detroit, Sheila told me that those without an education often only find work as a restaurant server – making the minimum wage – barely enough to make a life.  Sheila described the pain she feels for those stuck in the cycle of poverty, whose schools fail them, and whose job prospects are dim.  Sheila inspires me.  She just started a new job tutoring high school seniors, providing them with the skills they need to move forward with their education and their dreams.        

As I marched alongside Sheila, Torah in my arms, I once again thought back to Isaiah who reminds us that to change our world, we must act:

Is not this the fast I desire – to break the bonds of injustice and remove the heavy yoke; to let the oppressed go free and release all those enslaved?  Is it not to share your bread with the hungry and to take the homeless poor into your home, and never to neglect your own flesh and blood?[ii]

Without a doubt, our schools are failing many who live in low income areas.  This disproportionately affects students who are black because our schools are more segregated now than they were forty years ago.[iii]  There are so many barriers preventing us from fixing our schools, yet Sheila did not throw up her hands and walk away; she acted!  She is doing her part to better our world.

There are already so many in our community, from the grassroots to government, from philanthropy to hands-on work, whose acts make a huge difference in Long Island and around the world.  But, we know there is so much more we can do both individually and as a community to tackle racial injustice.  Here are just four things, some easier than others, which I hope will push us to do even more:

First, you can do something as easy as filling out a postcard!  In 2013, the Supreme Court struck down certain sections of the Voting Rights Acts.  Since then many states, most famously North Carolina, passed laws making it difficult for thousands of citizens, often people of color, the poor, or the elderly from accessing the ballot box.  There is nothing more unjust than preventing citizens the right to vote.  On your seat is a postcard.  Take a moment to fill it out and drop it in the baskets on your way out of services. 

This October, learn and study and open your minds!  The Temple Sinai Book Club will be reading Ta-Nehisi Coates, “Between the World and Me.”  Written as a letter to his fifteen year old African-American son, it powerfully describes race in America today.  I hope you will read the book and join us for the discussion.

This winter, help build a better community.  We already have a close relationship with Pastor Victor Lewis and the Friendship Baptist Church.  We will come together to have a discussion about race and religion.  This will not be an easy conversation, but by truly listening to each other, we can uncover new truths, deepen our relationship, and work together to heal our world.

This year, become an activist!  Temple Sinai is a partner of LICAN, a Long Island Community Organizing Initiative.  We advocate for social change as part of Reform Jewish Voice of New York and the Religious Action Center.  Whether it is a local issue or a national law, our congregation needs leaders who will help us advocate for justice and equality for all.  Please volunteer and join us! 

I know these might seem to be small things, but this is just the beginning.  Don’t let it stop here.  May our study and our building of relationship, encourage us to help all who are in need and discover new ways to give back to our community. 

As the day grew hotter, I marched alongside Keisha and learned her story.  In 1996, the Ku Klux Klan chose Ann Arbor, Michigan, her hometown, as the location for its next rally.  A small group of Klansman showed up wearing their white robes and conical hoods, while across the way, hundreds of others stood together in a counter-rally.  All was peaceful until a woman with a megaphone yelled out: “There’s a Klansman in the crowd!”  A white, middle aged man, wearing a confederate flag t-shirt with an SS tattoo on his arm, stood in the middle of the counter-demonstration.  Shouts of “Kill the Nazi” were hurled at him.  As he was knocked to the ground, the protesters began kicking him and hitting him with sticks.

Suddenly, Keshia, then only 18 years old, a High School senior, threw herself upon the man, protecting him from the blows.  Asked why she did this, she shared: “I knew what it was like to be hurt.  The many times that happened, I wish someone would have stood up for me.”[iv]

I asked Keisha if she ever spoke with the man whose life she saved.  She never did.  But one day, when she was at a local coffee shop, a young man stopped and thanked her.  “What for?” she asked.  “That was my dad” he answered. 

Keisha’s act not only changed one son’s heart, it transformed the trajectory of her life as well.  Like Kivie Kaplan, experiencing hatred and hostility, pushed Keisha to become an activist.  Twenty years later, she continues to fight for justice and equality.  We all can’t be Keshia, but we can possess her willingness to see each other not by the color of our skin, but as other human beings. 

This evening, on Kol Nidre, as I begin my fast, Isaiah’s cry summons me: Is not this the fast I desire – to break the bonds of injustice and remove the heavy yoke; to let the oppressed go free and release all those enslaved?[v]  Isaiah calls me to recognize my prejudice and my fears.  Isaiah calls me to act, to do my part, to not remain silent.  But, it is not only Isaiah who calls me: Royal, Sheila, Keisha and millions upon millions of others cry out, their cry like a shofar, for justice and equality.  They remind me that I have the power to heal our world so that on one feels injustice or hatred or discrimination for who they are.  I hear their call.  Hineni, Here I am, I am ready.




[i] Isaiah 58:1 (Verses from the Yom Kippur Morning Haftarah Reading)
[ii] Isaiah 58:6-7 (Verses from the Yom Kippur Morning Haftarah Reading)
[iii] http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/answer-sheet/wp/2013/08/29/report-public-schools-more-segregated-now-than-40-years-ago/
[iv] http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-24653643
[v] Isaiah 58:1, 6 (Verses from the Yom Kippur Morning Haftarah Reading)

Moving Past Perfection - Erev Rosh Hashanah Sermon




Long ago,[i] there was a great king.  This king possessed the most beautiful diamond.  It was perfect in every way.  The diamond brought the king great joy and he spent hours gazing at its beauty.  One day, tragedy occurred.  The diamond fell from the king’s grasp, smashing upon the marble floor.  A deep, long scratch, now marred its exquisite perfection. 


The king was distraught.  He sent for his best artisans pleading with them to fix the diamond.  Each diamond-cutter looked closely at the gem and shook his head sadly.  The scratch was too deep to be repaired. 

Finally, one last diamond carver arrived and gazed at the gem from every direction.  He told the king that he could create something beautiful out of its flaws.

Within the week, the diamond cutter had returned.  The king lifted the gem towards the light and saw that the long scratch still remained.  He became furious.  “Why do you mock me?” he yelled!  “Look closer” said the artisan. Instead of seeing the scratch as a flaw, the artisan saw it as the stem of a rose.  Patiently, he carved flowers, roots, and leaves: transforming an ugly imperfection into something unique and truly remarkable. 

At the start of these High Holy Days, we too focus on our imperfections.  We recognize that we made mistakes; we committed wrongs; we missed the mark.  We will spend the next ten days, searching, uncovering, and repairing the regrets that litter our lives.  The question is: how will we grapple with our imperfections?  The diamond carver recognized that our limitations can’t easily be erased or polished away; imperfections don’t just disappear, they must be transformed into something of lasting value. 

Our society more than ever believes in perfection.  A politician misspeaks; an athlete takes the wrong shot; a teen idol fails to live up to her image; and we gladly lambast them publicly.  Social media, tv advertisements, peer pressure, push us towards the elusive goal of perfection.  We want the killer body, the Ivy League education, the high flying job, the gorgeous home, and the perfectly behaved kids.  I believe our striving towards perfection is not only unhealthy, but inherently un-Jewish.  The Talmud teaches that: “The Torah was not given to the angels.”[ii]  God gave the ultimate gift, the treasure of Torah, not to those perfectly behaved Angelic Beings, but to us, human beings, even with all of our frailties and all of our many faults.  Judaism does not expect or even ask that we be perfect.  Our tradition teaches the reverse: be true to who you are and work to better your life and the lives of those who surround you.

Nothing better illustrates this point, than our understanding of God.  When Moses and God meet for the first time, God shares God’s name: “I will be, what I will be.” – The imperfect tense.[iii]  Through our personal experience and the stories shared throughout our tradition, we recognize that God is an imperfect being.  God is continually changing and adapting, never reaching a state of perfection.  We sometimes are challenged or even angered at God’s limitations, but are reminded that God makes mistakes, just like the rest of us.  If God is not perfect and the Torah was given even with all of our limitations, why must we continually strive for perfection?  Why must we push our children to achieve unreasonable expectations?

Many of you might not know this… but I guess there is no better time than this, to come out of the closet, and admit that… “I am… a perfectionist.”  Yes, I always make sure that everything is done “the right way, at the right time.”  Being a perfectionist served me well as a teenager, throughout grad school, and especially as a rabbi, but something changed since the birth of my son.  I’ve come to learn some incredibly important lessons.  As a parent, there is no such thing as perfection. Caleb is smack dab in the middle of the terrible twos with potty training to boot.  I’ve come to the hard realization that I’m not a perfect parent.  Like many others in this room: “I’ve lost my cool, said things I shouldn’t have, acted rashly, and didn’t do my best.” 

I’ve also come to the realization that although Caleb is incredible in every way and I kvell with joy when I speak about him, I don’t want him to be perfect either.  He will make mistakes; will do things his way, at his time; and will have his own limitations.  This year, as we will reflect upon teshuvah – working to better our own lives – I personally am wrestling with perfection.  It’s difficult to step back and affirm our flaws.  It’s challenging to accept the imperfections of loved ones.  But, it’s these imperfections that can transform our lives into something of lasting value.

Don’t get me wrong: I firmly believe that doing our best and working hard are truly admirable traits.  My concern is when our end goal is always perfection.  There is a danger when we expect perfection for ourselves and our loved ones.  Sometimes, we will use any means to get there: harming our bodies; working far too hard; cheating; finding the easy answer that might not be the “right” answer.  Striving for perfection can be a sign of low self-esteem or of an inability to believe in ourselves.  We lose our identity: that understanding of who we are and what we believe when we travel down the path that others assume for us.  

Imperfections are not always bad.  It’s our imperfections that allow us to see the flaws in the world and work to fix them.   Just look at the story of our most beloved ancestors, Abraham and Sarah.  These two stalwarts of the Jewish people were dedicated to our religion, fiercely loyal to our God, and advocates of Social Justice.  Why?  It was their imperfections that allowed them to see the cracks in the world and work towards the betterment of all.  Abraham and Sarah, as we will see tomorrow morning, were sometimes blind to the needs of family members and hurtful to loved ones.  As the founders of our ancient faith, we would expect them to be perfect.  Yet, even God does not command perfection; God tells Abraham, “walk in my ways and be whole.”[iv]   

What a beautiful sentiment.  Our goal as Jews is not to reach perfection; our mission is a journey towards wholeness.  As the scholar, Susan Handelman explains: “‘Be whole’ does not mean ‘…flawless [or] perfect.’  It means be ‘on the way,’ towards others, towards the future.”[v]  Since Abraham and Sarah, we Jews journey forth, not towards perfection, but towards the pursuit of wholeness.  A journey towards wholeness in not concerned with every detail of the moment or with every social expectation.  Instead, it focuses on the big picture – on the larger goal of bettering our lives. 

That means allowing ourselves the freedom to fail.  Often, we are scared of failure, terrified that a wrong turn will careen us off the path of life.  But, failure makes us stronger.  Moses stood before Pharaoh ten times before he could “Let his people go.”  Moses wasn’t worried about failing, he wasn’t petrified about how others viewed him; he kept on stumbling, kept on trying, and became stronger from the experience.  It’s not only Moses: Albert Einstein failed out of school.  “What?  A nice Jewish boy didn’t make the honor role?”  And Oprah, queen of television, was fired from her first job because she was too emotional.  She was “unfit for tv.”  By taking risks, recognizing that we aren’t perfect, and are special for who we are, we can achieve our dreams and pursue that path towards wholeness.

We all feel the need to be perfect, but it is our kids who bear the brunt of the pressure.  Beginning at an early age, our kids are told to not only achieve their best but to BE the best.  Our kids are expected to be the valedictorian, the star athlete, the prom queen, the prom king, and now to tower over everyone else.  Our teens continually jump through hoops in a race to nowhere.

Recently you might have seen Frank Bruni’s column from the New York Times on “How to Survive the College Admissions Madness.”[vi]  Bruni will be speaking at Temple Sinai later this year.  I hope you will join us!  He tells the story of Matt Levin a senior from Cold Spring Harbor, who was about to hear from his top schools.  His parents Craig and Diana were worried about him and wrote him this letter expressing their thoughts.  He could read it whenever he wanted; they just wanted him to know they wrote these words before he learned his fate.

Dear Matt, 
On the night before you receive your first college response, we wanted to let you know that we could not be any prouder of you than we are today.  Whether or not you get accepted does not determine how proud we are of everything you have accomplished and the wonderful person you have become.  That will not change based on what admissions officers decide about your future.  We will celebrate with joy wherever you get accepted…  But your worth as a person, a student and our son is not diminished or influenced in the least by what these colleges have decided. 
We love you as deep as the ocean, as high as the sky, all the way around the world and back again – and to wherever you are headed.  Mom and Dad
.
Matt read these words hours after learning that he was rejected from his top three schools.  As mentors, teachers, friends, and parents, we must remind our kids that we love and support them no matter which direction life takes them.  We are proud of our kids for who they are and our love will not be diminished.

Long ago, a king possessed a beautiful diamond; a perfect gem that was marred by a deep, long scratch; an imperfection.  We are that diamond.  Each one of us begins life as a perfect baby, but no matter where our journey takes us, we veer in the wrong direction, make mistakes, and miss the mark.  Deep down, we know that we possess flaws and blemishes; that we are imperfect.  That faithful artisan recognized, that our imperfections can be transformed into something unique --- something remarkable --- something even beautiful. 

During these High Holy Days, we become the artisan, transforming the blemishes that are upon our souls.  We open our eyes to the journey ahead and recognize in our hearts, that our goal is not perfection, but a pursuit of wholeness.  Let us be willing to fail.  Let us revel in our identity. Let us support our loved ones for who they are.  Judaism doesn’t expect you to be perfect.  It only asks: be true to who you are and work to bring wholeness to our world.


[ii] Babylonian Talmud, Me’ilah 14b
[iii] Check out this great article by Yoram Hazony entitled “An Imperfect God” from The New York Times, November 25, 2012, http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/11/25/an-imperfect-god/#more-136650
[iv] Genesis 17:1
[v] “Yom Kippur – loving our imperfections,” Sh’ma, September 1989
[vi] Frank Bruni, “How to Survive the College Admissions Madness,” March 13, 2015, The New York Times, http://www.nytimes.com/2015/03/15/opinion/sunday/frank-bruni-how-to-survive-the-college-admissions-madness.html