When does the night end? - Erev Rosh Hashanah Sermon 5786

 

Some of us are night owls – we like to stay up way too late!  Some of us are early risers – we wake up way too early!  And some of us are both – worrying about the state of world - we don’t seem to sleep at all! 

Long ago,[i] there was a Beit Midrash – a House of Study, far from here.  The students of that Beit Midrash loved Torah so much, that they never went to sleep.  They studied throughout the night until the early morning hours. 

Just as the sun would rise, they would gather together to recite their morning prayers.  The students were tired after their nightly studies.  They wished to recite their prayers as soon as the day began, so that they could go to bed.  There was only one problem!  The students weren’t sure when the night officially ended, and the day began.  Don’t forget this was a long time ago.  Our zealous students didn’t possess Apple Watches, iPhones, or even old school digital clocks.  They were truly perplexed.  They had no good answer.  So, they approached their beloved rabbi. 

“Rabbi,” they asked.  “When does the night end and the day begin?”

The esteemed rabbi, as do all good teachers, turned the question back to the students!   “Great question!  Go outside during the darkest hours of the night and pay very close attention to changes in our world.  Come back to me with your answer.

Early the next morning, the Know-it-All arrived first before anyone else had gathered. “Rabbi, I was wandering amongst our village when I saw a house in the distance.  When I recognized that it was indeed my house and not the house of my neighbor, that was when the night ends and the day begins.”

The rabbi turned towards the student and with shake of the head, said: “No Bubele, that is not quite right.”

A second, very studious student approached their teacher.  “Rabbi, as it was getting lighter outside, I wandered near my farm, when I saw an animal in the distance.  When I could see whether it was a sheep, a horse, or a cow, that is the moment that the night ends and the day begins.”

The rabbi gave a forced smile and with a slight look of sadness, said, “No Motek, that is not quite right.”

The rabbi’s youngest student, one who loved being outside timidly approached their teacher.  “Rabbi, as I wandered amongst the beautiful flowers, I began to make out all the vibrant colors: the reds, the blues, and the yellows.  I believe this is the moment that the night ends and the day begins.”

As tears streamed down the rabbi’s face, the rabbi said, “No Habibi, that is not quite right.”

Student after student shared their answer with the rabbi… the rabbi became sadder and sadder.  Finally, the rabbi turned towards all the students and became visibility angry.  “Beloved Ones, you don’t understand!  You divide your home from your neighbor’s home; one animal from another; one color from all the others.  Our world is already filled with too much division and separation.  Do you need to divide us even further?  Isn’t our world broken enough?  Is that what Judaism is about?”

The students turned to look towards their rabbi.  Then rabbi, please, tell us the answer!  “How do we know when the night ends and the day begins?”

The rabbi gently looked at each of the students.  “The answer is simple.  When you look into the face of the stranger beside you, one who is so different from you, and you realize that this person is your brother, your sister, your beloved sibling, then and only then has the day begun.  Until that time comes, it will always be night.”

It is so wonderful to gather with you all in our beautiful meadow as we welcome the New Year 5786!  As always, we pray that this New Year will be a time of health, happiness, joy, and peace for us all.  Yet, even amongst these hopes and dreams, a feeling of darkness, sadness, fear, and trepidation seemingly permeate our lives and our world.  On this New Year, may the shofar awaken us, and our world, from our slumber.

You know, as do I, that our society is more fragmented from one another than ever before.  We divide ourselves into different camps: “us” and “them.”  Even scarier, in 2025, we are more separated from human contact than ever before.   Study upon study has shown that because of technology, social media, new work environments, and the comforts of home, we are isolating ourselves from one another.  We are lonelier and more unhappy.  We seemingly lack the tools on how best to build strong and deep relationships. 

Over the course of these High Holy Days, I seek to answer the same question in different ways: “How do I be a Jew in this moment?”  My answer tonight: “to be a Jew is to be in community.”  Our esteemed rabbi shared a poignant, yet simple lesson.  The dark night will only end when we are in one another’s presence and recognize in each other, our humanity.

Luckily, our Jewish tradition provides us with the tools to make that a reality.  As Dr. Erica Brown teaches, “The biblical expression “panim el panim,” face-to-face, is used in the Hebrew Bible multiple times to suggest the highest level of intimacy in communication.”[ii]  Ancestors like Jacob and Esther, prophets like Moses, Miriam, and Ezekiel, turn towards the Holy One and one another, during challenging times.  These face-to-face encounters strengthen our relationships.[iii]  Jacob, seeing his brother for the first time in decades, shares in awe, “to see your face is like seeing the face of God”[iv]  Panim el Panim, face to face encounters, remind us of our deep connection to humanity, divinity, and morality.

Over the last few decades, the third spaces, the places outside of home and work, where we gather have been decimated. As Robert Putnam has taught us: very few of us these days are part of a bowling league, attend regular civic meetings, or make sure to be present at a movie’s opening night.  And yet, you are here!  I want to lift up that you put life on hold, perhaps even had a little bit of stress getting everything and everyone together, to be here.  This evening, you’ll meet old and new friends, you’ll eat, pray, study Torah, and build community. 

More than ever, we need strong and vibrant communities.  We know that the best way to combat loneliness and isolation is to be together face to face.  And I believe, that one of the most important mitzvot, commandments in our Jewish tradition is Kedoshim Tehiyu, “You Shall Be Holy,”[v] for our rabbis teach that to live a holy and sacred life, we must be together in community.[vi]  Whether at Bolton Street Synagogue, your community pool, your neighborhood, your school, or your community gatherings, we Jews must do our part to strengthen community.  That only happens when we leave our homes, when we gather in person, when we see each other panim el panim, face-to-face.  We also must do our part to visit those that are homebound, who are sick, who can’t be with us in person, to make sure they see a smiling face.  

But what happens when we lose sight of each other’s faces?  In the Torah, we learn of a phrase called Hester Panim[vii] – when God’s face is hidden from view.  The theologian Martin Buber adapted this idea in his masterpiece “The Eclipse of God.”  As Buber writes: “When history appears to be empty of God, … it is difficult for an individual and even more, for a people, to understand themselves as addressed by God. … During such times the world seems to be irretrievably abandoned to the forces of tyranny.”[viii]

Now, I know that many of us grapple with our beliefs around God and divinity.  That’s ok!  What I ask is that you interpret Buber through his words of warning.  Buber was writing after the horrors of the Holocaust, but his ideas are unfortunately very timely.

At this moment, we watch the rise of authoritarianism, tyranny, and violence in our own country and throughout the world.  When we hear politicians and leaders speak about fellow members of society as pests or animals, that is Hester Panim – our faces being hidden from one another.  When ICE agents hide their faces with masks, leading to a lack of accountability or anonymity, that is Hester Panim – our faces being hidden from one another.  When online bloggers disguise their true identities, when we aren’t sure if it’s a person, a BOT, or AI, that is Hester Panim – our faces being hidden from one another.

 It is precisely at these moments that Martin Buber called an eclipse, when we lose sight of each other’s humanity.  We know what happens when the stranger, the outlier, or the minority is no longer seen as a human being.  Our Jewish history serves as a stark reminder that when society is unable or unwilling to see one another’s faces, we let the forces of tyranny win.

So what must we do?  How can we lift-up one another’s humanity?  Rabbi Rami Shapiro teaches, “Whenever you see another… you can recite this line to yourself: ‘I see this face as an expression of God’s Face.’”  Perhaps you will change the wording of this prayer.  I urge you to make your own.  But think of the impact!  Each time we look into the face of another, we see their humanity and divinity.  Multiple times a day, we can do our part, to bring a bit of light into the dark night surrounding us.[ix]

There is so much danger when we are hidden from one another, so let’s take off our masks and open our hearts.  This New Year, let us truly see each other and do our best to be seen. This New Year, let us hold one another accountable, including our government, for their misdeeds.    This New Year, let us recognize that the stranger, the immigrant, those who look, act, speak, or love differently from us are our brothers, our sisters, our beloved siblings.  This New Year, let us prioritize our time, to be in community, gathering panim el panim, face-to-face, to end this dark night and bring on the morning light.  

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[i] An old Chasidic story.  This version is based upon “Day and Night” by Rabbi Ed Feinstein, found in “Capturing the Moon” p. 54

[ii] Erica Brown, “Seeing Ruth’s Face” – May 27, 2020 - https://ejewishphilanthropy.com/seeing-ruths-face/

[iii] Genesis 32:31, Exodus 33:11, Deuteronomy 34:10, Ezekiel 20:35

[iv] Genesis 33:10

[v] Leviticus 19:1

[vi] Me’or VaShemesh-Parashat Kedoshim, R. Kalonymos Kalman Epstein

[vii] Deuteronomy 31:18; Babylonian Talmud, Hullin 139b

[viii] Martin Buber, “Eclipse of God” – Chapter 16

[ix] Rabbi Rami Shapiro, “Seeing the Face of God” – September 3, 2022 - https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/seeing-the-face-of-god/

Letting Go of Hate - Yom Kippur Morning Sermon 5785

 

One of the highlights of this past summer was spending time with my oldest friend.  He’s a proud Jew who cares deeply about Judaism and Israel.  We’ve had lots of debates over the years!  We don’t always agree on every issue, but our discussions always feel important.  We were in the midst of an intense conversation about the current crisis in Israel, when a woman wearing a headscarf walked by.  She looked to be Muslim.  My friend turned to me and asked, “Do you think she hates us because we are Jews?”  I was surprised.  “No, of course not.”  He looked at me.  “I’m sorry, but I do.”

My friend is a compassionate and kind person who cares deeply about the world.  But, at that moment there was fear and perhaps a bit of anger.  She had said nothing and did nothing to us.  My friend didn’t know her story or her opinions, and yet, in his heart, he believed she hated us because we are Jews.  I silently asked myself: If we believe others hate us, does that mean we hate them too?

Unfortunately, this isn’t a new problem.  Throughout Jewish history, there have been many moments filled with fear of the other.  One surprising story is that of Elijah, the prophet.  You know Elijah!  We open the door for him at each Passover and provide a seat of honor when we welcome every baby into our community.  He represents… but wasn’t always such a compassionate figure in Jewish tradition. In the Bible, Elijah possessed a different type of temperament.  He was unpredictable, boiled with rage, and was filled with zeal. 

During the ninth century BCE, Elijah was a prophet of Adonai.  The rulers of Israel, King Ahab and Queen Jezebel, wished to bring a new religion, the worship of the idol Baal to the people.  Queen Jezebel persecuted the prophets of Adonai and murdered many in cold blood.  Elijah decided to act.  He brought the priests of Baal together for an old-fashioned showdown.[i]  Each side would ask their God to accept a sacrificial offering.  The prophets of Baal prayed their hardest, but nothing happened.  When it was Elijah’s turn, a fire came from the heavens and accepted his offering.

That’s all fine and good.  It’s what happens afterwards that is surprising and deeply troubling.  Elijah tells the Israelite people: “’Seize the prophets of Baal, let not even one of them get away.’  They seized them, and Elijah took them down to the Wadi Kishon and slaughtered [the 450 prophets] there.” 

Elijah flees and hides out in a cave.[ii]  Adonai appears and asks him: “Why are you here Elijah?”  He responds, “I am moved by zeal for Adonai.”  God tells him to stand on a mountaintop.  A great and mighty wind passes, but God was not in the wind.  An earthquake occurs, but God was not in the earthquake.  A fire appears, but God was not in the fire.  Finally, God appears in a soft murmuring sound.  God whispers, “Why are you here Elijah?”  Again, he responds, “I am moved by zeal for Adonai.”  And then… God fires him.  Literally, God says: “Go, find your replacement, Elisha the prophet.”  Because Elijah is a whirlwind of anger and vengeance, Adonai believes he’s not fit to be a prophet.

We’re living in a time where many possess a zealousness for their cause.  Hateful rhetoric and vitriolic statements raise the temperature to a boiling rage.  Certain politicians tell lies about Haitian immigrants, a modern blood libel.  Some leaders of the Israeli government unapologetically state their wish for a Greater Israel and the destruction of all Palestinians.  While at the encampments on college campuses, some chant “From the River to the Sea,” which whether knowingly or not, undermine Israel’s right to exist.  I’m worried that this type of rhetoric fans the flames and leads us towards the fiery actions of Elijah.

Judaism has always recognized that vitriol exists.  We can’t rid our world of hateful rhetoric, but we can do our part to keep hate in check.  In the Book of Deuteronomy, we learn: “You shall not abhor an Edomite for such is your kin.  You shall not abhor an Egyptian for you were a stranger in that land.”[iii] 

Too many times in the Torah, we are commanded to attack or destroy our enemies like the Midianites, the Moabites, and the Amalekites.  Why here are we specifically told to “not abhor” an Edomite or an Egyptian?

Our sages[iv] teach that during the time of Joseph, the Egyptians welcomed us with open arms.  While the Edomites were our kinspeople.  Their patriarch Esau was the brother of Jacob.  They’re family.

But you might be thinking - These statements are outrageous!  The Egyptians enslaved us and were our taskmasters for over 400 years; the Edomites our ancient enemies.  The Torah here teaches a valuable and sometimes very difficult lesson.  We can redefine our relationship with our perceived enemies, even our current or past enemies[RS1] .  The Egyptians could be viewed as taskmasters or those who welcome us.  The Edomites could be foe or family.  We too can reframe our  relationship with all those whom we disagree.

Perhaps there is a clue in a second interpretation to this verse: “You must not abhor an Edomite or an Egyptian.”  At the heart of Torah is the belief that each one of us is created b’tzelem Elohim, in the divine image.   Each of us is a unique individual who possesses our own beliefs, our own opinions, and our own actions. We are told to not abhor an Edomite or an Egyptian not THE Edomites or THE Egyptians.  We are to see humanity in each person.   

That’s hard in our black and white society.  Too many can’t distinguish between Prime Minister Netanyahu’s policies and the Israelis who protest after each Shabbat at Hostage Square.  Too many can’t differentiate between a Hamas terrorist and a Palestinian civilian. Too many can’t separate a college student who feels passionate about the suffering of Palestinians and one who has bought into antisemitic rhetoric.  I pray that we take a step back and don’t jump to conclusions about a person’s beliefs.   I sincerely believe that the only way to mitigate our feelings of distrust and fear is by breaking down barriers and learning more about who we each are as individuals.

Our great sage, Hillel, takes this a step further, in his most famous statement: “That which is hateful to you do not do to another; that is the entire Torah, the rest commentary.  Now Go and Learn!”[v]  Other religions often downplay Hillel’s interpretation of the Golden Rule and believe that his double negative is pessimistic.  “Where’s the love?” they ask.  We know there can’t always be love.  Not every political position is worthy of empathy.  There are views that are beyond the pale. Too many of us this past year have encountered antisemitism and hateful rhetoric.  We can’t ignore these comments, we must speak out.  But, we can act differently when we encounter malice.  We might want to fight fire with fire.  We might want to stew in anger.  Hillel reminds us that we must not mirror their hate or fan the flames of distrust.   

That’s not always easy.  When we’re hurt or harmed, we often just want to lash out!   Rabbi Sharon Brous in her new book, The Amen Effect,[vi] shares a different approach on how to face hate. A few years ago, a Shock Jock who had an incredible reach became an unapologetic purveyor of racism, misogyny, homophobia, and ableism.  He felt he was permitted to speak freely and share a long list of perceived grievances.  After he published an inflammatory piece targeting transgender people, Rabbi Brous recognized that his rhetoric could lead to harassment, violence, discrimination, and even criminalization of transgender friends and family members.

She reached out and asked for a one-on-one meeting.  When they met in person, she told him that his words broke her heart and endangered the safety of her congregants and people that she loved.  Unfortunately, that meeting didn’t change anything.  His writing still fuels racism and anti-trans hatred today.

Rabbi Sharon Brous summed it up this way: “Even though the meeting was a failure, it didn’t feel like a waste of time.  It was the effort to try and puncture even one layer of the thick residue of hate around his heart.”[vii]

Rabbi Brous could have hated the Shock Jock for his vicious words and actions.  She could have upped the ante, pouring more hate on his hate, enflaming tensions, but she didn’t.  Instead, she did the difficult work of sitting down and talking.  She hoped that by sharing her views, it would change his ugly rhetoric.  It didn’t work that time, but every conversation is a possibility.  Every discussion is a moment of action.  Every meeting can puncture a small residue of hate in their hearts.  That is the power of a conversation because we aren’t screaming into the void.  These days, we do too much screaming and not enough talking. 

By putting herself out there, Rabbi Brous also changed herself.  When we step up for what’s right, when we speak up for our values, when we stand alongside our community and our loved ones, we too change for the better.  We reaffirm who we are and what we believe.  We open our hearts to bring more justice and love into this world.

Long ago, Elijah was unpredictable and boiled with rage.  He boarded a fiery chariot and flew to the very Heavens.  That should have been his end, but our sages gave him a second act.  Over time, in their stories, Elijah learns and grows.[viii]  His zeal for the enemy disappears and transforms into an undying support for the downtrodden.  Elijah appears in every generation.  His greatest miracle is the opening of hearts and the transformation of how people act towards one another.  Each Passover, we welcome him into our homes, not because of his zeal, but because he will herald the coming of the Messianic time.  He reminds us that even when hate and fear are seemingly everywhere, we must not close our hearts from the world.

My friend and I have known each other for a long time.  We’ve had many enriching and challenging discussions and I’m sure there will be many in the future!  Our conversation this summer is still with me.  I hear his worries and his fears, but once again, I answer “No” to his question. I won’t assume that  every person hates us because we are Jews.  And perhaps I’m putting words in his mouth, but, “No, I don’t believe we are justified to hate others, even if they do hate us.” 

I know this is not an easy time to be a Jew.  We are scared and worried.  I believe firmly in my heart that there is a different path than hate or fear.  We have little ability to upend the political leadership in Iran, Gaza, or even in Israel.  We are unable to change every person’s perspective, especially those who harbor antisemitism in their hearts. But we do have the power to focus on our own emotions and our own actions.  We can locate the sliver of humanity in each person.  We can live by Hillel’s maxim “that which is hateful to you do not do to another.”  We can speak up for our values, our community, and never back down.  We can live our days filled not with fear or retribution, but with justice and love. It might be naïve, but I believe this is the only path forward, to make our community safe, and to bring peace to us all.  Amen.

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[i] I Kings 18

[ii] I Kings 19

[iii] Deuteronomy 23:8

[iv] See Rashi and Chizkuni’s commentary on Deuteronomy 23:8

[v] Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 31a

[vi] The Amen Effect by Sharon Brous, p. 166-168

[vii] The Amen Effect, p. 168

[viii] Becoming Elijah: Prophet of Transformation by Daniel C Matt, pp. 148-151

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The Broken Clock - Kol Nidre Sermon 5784

 

Long ago, there was a small village located far away at the very edge of a kingdom.  Although the village was very tiny, it was a vibrant community with its own park, library, school, hospital, court of law, even a synagogue.  Only a few hundred people lived in that village, yet there were tailors, shoemakers, carpenters, and masons.  Only one trade was missing; there was no clockmaker. Once, there was a clockmaker, but long ago they moved away.  Before leaving, the clockmaker warned the village, “Make sure to wind your clocks each and every day.”  At first, they all followed the clockmaker’s directions, but after many years, the clocks became increasingly inaccurate.  How annoying to always be looking at the wrong time!  No one knew if or when a new clockmaker would arrive in their far-off village.  And so, they stopped winding their clocks and let them run down.[i] 

Our world these days is filled with lots of ifs, whens, and maybes.  There is so much uncertainty.  Too many problems keep us up at night!   Will our democracy survive another election?  What about our Jewish community with the threats of antisemitism, Israel’s future, and continued assimilation?  What about the climate?  Can we stop emitting carbon quickly enough to save our planet?  The problems of the world seem unsurmountable, but perhaps, maybe, with a little bit of human ingenuity, technological knowledge, and a miracle everything will be, ok?   These challenges seem beyond our capacity as individuals.  What does our Jewish tradition teach about navigating uncertain times?

Dr. Alyssa Gray, professor at the Hebrew Union College, teaches[ii]  that for our rabbis, “uncertainty is the stage of which all human beings, Jewish and not, act out their lives.” Our Jewish tradition loves to live in the gray, in uncertainty.  Major theological questions often go unanswered.  Does the innocent suffer?  No, says Deuteronomy. Yes, says Job.  Are we punished for the sins of our ancestors?  Yes, says Exodus.  No, says Jeremiah.  Unlike other religions, so many of our Jewish beliefs are unclear.  It is in uncertainty that we thrive as a Jewish community.

It can be liberating to have such flexibility in answering theological questions.  Unlike many other religions, we Jews love to ask questions, to debate, and to come up with dozens of answers to a single query. But how do we move forward?  We can’t live in uncertainty forever, can we?

One answer to that question is found in a Talmudic debate.[iii]  We learn that the Roman military leader Turnus Rufus encounters the great teacher, Rabbi Akiva and asks him this provocative question: “If your God loves the poor, why does your God not support them?”  As befits this type of question, a theological debate occurs between rabbi and general.  Each of them, contemplates God’s role in the world and attempts to understand why God would or would not act.  After much back and forth, Rabbi Akiva concludes his argument with a quotation from the prophet Isaiah (a verse found in tomorrow’s haftarah reading), “It is to share your bread with the hungry, and to take the homeless poor into your home” (Isaiah 58:7).  Rabbi Akiva then asks the question: “When do we bring the poor into our homes?” He answers: “Right now!” 

Dr. Alyssa Gray sums up this idea: “Over the course of his dialogue with [Turnus Rufus], [Rabbi Akiva] has come to realize that there can be no certain, confident answer to a “Why?” question (“Why are there poor?  Why doesn’t God take care of them?”).  The only possible certainty lies in answers to questions of “How?” and “When?” to act.  And the answer to “When?” is clearly “Now.”[iv]

What must we do in uncertain times?  We act!  Our world is burning, and we can’t fathom why humanity allows this to continue.  Russia attacks Ukraine in an unjust war and we can’t understand why the world refuses to act.  Homophobia, racism, misogyny, and antisemitism fester openly, and we question why decent people won’t speak out.  Why do bad things happen to good people?  Why does God allow these problems to continue?  We don’t know and are often unable to answer any of these why questions!  We can’t contemplate the theological or complex problems that are seemingly beyond our personal reach.  But we aren’t expected to find an answer to these questions. Our role, according to Rabbi Akiva, is to do our small part to answer how and when we can make this world a better place.  We just need to act, right now!

How must we act?  Just reflect upon Rabbi Akiva’s answer to Turnus Rufus.  “When do we bring the poor into our homes?”  “Right now.”  Our Jewish tradition believes that during uncertain times we must act together.  We do this work not alone, not off by ourselves, but in solidarity with each other.  Our Jewish tradition teaches that we pray together in a minyan with at least ten adults, we study together in chevrutah with at least two people, and we work to heal this world in community.

I believe that many answers to our questions can be found by looking closely at the natural world.  The beauty of nature has so much to teach us.  One example is the incredible sequoia trees known as the California redwoods.[v]  Perhaps you’ve been lucky enough to see them?  These magnificent trees can grow well over 300 feet tall, up to 35 stories, and can be up to 26 feet in diameter, so big that a car can drive through them.  Many have lived over 1,000 years.  What contributes to their incredible height, but also their longevity?

You would think the trees would have deep root systems, but their roots only travel five or six feet into the earth.  That is shocking considering how tall the trees can become.  A redwood tree, alone in the world, with a root system this shallow would not survive even the smallest gust of wind. 

Instead, the roots of each tree branch out over 100 feet away from their trunk.  Each sequoia tree intertwines their roots with other sequoias providing them with strength and vitality and resources to continue their growth. 

The redwoods only thrive when they form “tribes” or communities of trees where their roots can fuse together. This provides them with incredible resilience to survive the most damaging floods, droughts, earthquakes, and other natural disasters.

During uncertain times, we too only thrive when we are in community.  Alone, we will fall, but together we support, strengthen, and continue each other’s growth.  When we act together, in solidarity, we are better equipped to fight adversity and survive the challenges of uncertainty.

But what keeps us going?  Last summer, Dahlia Lithwick[vi] of Slate was feeling utterly shattered in this uncertain world.  Not only had COVID gotten her down, but in only a few few weeks, Roe was overturned, the Uvalde school shooting, the racist attack in Buffalo, and the continued assault on LGBTQ+ people paralyzed her.  Dahlia was searching for a word that summed up her feelings of helplessness, a word that expressed the need for action and hope.

Out of nowhere, a friend introduced her to a Yiddish word, tzebrokhnkayt, which is typically translated to mean dejection or despondency.  But Dahlia’s friend translated this word in a more positive light “the quality of broken heartedness that gives strength in healing.”  As Dahlia Lithwick shares, “at its essence we each carry our shattered pieces with us.”  Tzebrokhnkayt is not something in need of a quick fix, it instead should be honored.  We are obligated to gather up, tend to, and honor the pain, but also take up the work of healing.

Our people encountered pain and adversity for thousands of years.  Our Temple was destroyed, we were expelled from our land, we wandered the world never truly feeling at home.  We faced crusades, pogroms, and antisemitic attacks.  And yet, during the uncertainty, we continued forward, that path was hope.  We always believed that tomorrow would be better than today, that there was always a possibility of redemption. 

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks teaches:[vii] “Optimism and hope are not the same.  Optimism is the belief that the world is changing for the better; hope is the belief that, together, we can make the world better.  Optimism is a passive virtue, hope an active one.  It needs no courage to be an optimist, but it takes a great deal of courage to hope.”

Our world is filled with uncertainty.  There is so much worry and despair, so much unknown about the future.  It’s so hard to keep going.  The big problems seem so overwhelming and out of our control.  How can we stop climate change when too many deny that it’s even happening in the first place?  How can we end gun violence when our leaders prevent even the smallest regulation to pass?  How can we protect transgender individuals, queer people, women, and the most vulnerable when laws are enacted that take away their rights?

We navigate these uncertain times by holding on to hope.  Hope isn’t passive, it isn’t pollyannish, it’s not rainbows and unicorns.  It is courageous to hope.  Hope is the belief that through our actions we can make this world a little bit better.

Long ago, there was a small village whose clockmaker moved away.  “Make sure to wind your clocks each and every day.”  At first, many followed the clockmaker’s directions, but after many years the clocks became increasingly inaccurate.  No one knew if or when a new clockmaker would arrive in their far-off village.  And so, many let their clocks run down.  There were others, a small group, who maintained that if the clocks ran, they should not be abandoned.  So, day after day, they wound their clocks even though they knew they weren’t accurate.  One day, news spread through the town that a new clockmaker had arrived.  Everyone rushed to see the clockmaker with their clocks in tow.  But the only clocks that could be repaired were those that had been wound every day.  The abandoned clocks had grown too rusty!

After so many years, too many of those villagers lost hope.  How long can you stare at the incorrect time before giving up? But for others, the clock was of value to them.  They cared, they hoped, they kept winding those clocks.

In this uncertain world, may we too be filled with hope.  We face so much despair, so much fear of our shared future.  Our small actions often seem like a drop in the bucket.  But, if we stop turning the clock, we guarantee that it will break.  Hope requires action.  May we find the courage to wind our clocks day after day, for even the smallest actions can make this world a little bit better.  Amen.

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[i] Story by Rabbi Israel Friedman found in Man’s Quest for God (1954) by Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel (Adapted)

[ii] Uncertainty, Action, and Faith: Talmudic Theological Musings for the Year(s) of COVID by Dr. Alyssa Gray (pp. 3-4)

[iii] Babylonian Talmud, Bava Batra 10a

[iv] Uncertainty, Action, and Faith: Talmudic Theological Musings for the Year(s) of COVID by Dr. Alyssa Gray (pp. 9-10

[v] https://joanneeddy.com/2016/06/29/intertwining-roots-a-lesson-on-community/

[vi] https://slate.com/news-and-politics/2022/06/uvalde-shooting-politics-is-the-poison-and-the-cure.html

[vii] Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, To Heal a Fractured World, p. 166