Kol Nidre Sermon: Check the Box

Long ago,[i] in a land far away, there once lived a water carrier.  Each day, as the sun began to rise, the water carrier would leave home and travel down a long path to the riverbank.  Upon the water carrier’s broad shoulders, was a long pole, and on either side of the pole, were two buckets.  When the water carrier reached the river, the buckets were filled with cool refreshing water and placed back upon the pole.  The buckets and the pole were balanced on the water carrier’s shoulders for the long walk back home.

Now, there’s one thing you should know.  When the water carrier arrived back home, one bucket was full of water, while the other bucket was only half full.  This second bucket had a crack in it. Yet, the water carrier never changed the routine.  For days, weeks, years, the cracked bucket would arrive home half full.

As you might expect, the cracked bucket became ashamed and saddened by all of this.  “Excuse me” said the cracked bucket.  “I want to apologize and beg forgiveness.” 

“Why?” said the water carrier.  “What are you ashamed of?” 

“I haven’t done my full share!  You work so hard to bring water to town, yet because of my crack, you don’t arrive with the full amount of water.  Your job is harder because of me and my crack!”

The water carrier replied: “Tomorrow, when we begin our walk back home, I want you to look out at the right side of the path.”

The bucket agreed.  The next day, after the water carrier filled the buckets with water and began the slow climb back home, the cracked bucket looked out at the right side of the path, just as instructed.  And what was there was truly breathtaking: an incredible number of beautiful flowers.

The water carrier stopped in the middle of the walk home.  “Do you see all of these gorgeous flowers?  Did you notice that the flowers are only on your side of the path?  I have always known about your crack, and so I planted seeds there.  Every day as we walked back home, you watered these seeds, helping to bring forth those beautiful flowers.  It was your crack that allowed these flowers to flourish.  I need to thank you!  Thank you for being a cracked bucket!”

As the sun sets and Yom Kippur is upon us, we begin this annual day long feat of self-chastisement.  Over the next twenty-four hours, we will apologize, dozens of times, for our mistakes, transgressions, and sins.   We will beat ourselves up by pounding on our chests.  We will express remorse for all the times we missed the mark.  Let our Jewish guilt go into overdrive!

We are our harshest critics.  Most of us have unrealistically high standards for ourselves.  Either, we spend way too much time focusing on the cracks: the seeming flaws  or we attempt to emulate those that surround us, wishing away the cracks in order to become someone else.  It’s difficult when there are so many “perfect buckets” out there.

Rabbi Nachman of Breslov, the famous Hasidic Master, once taught, that we often give up hope because we look around and see our contemporaries, and imagine them to be far worthier than they in fact are.[ii]  That was true during the 18^th century when the rebbe lived and even more so in our day, especially with the advent of Social Media.  We see pictures of perfection online: perfect smiles, perfectly dressed children, delicious meals, the incredible backdrop of an exotic location.  Everything online looks to be magical, fun, and easy.

Yet, no one, and I mean no one shares the pictures of the messy house, the lonely nights, the microwave dinners, or the latest arguments.  Very few of us share the battles with addiction, depression, sickness, abuse, or fear.  The worries, the challenges, the difficulties, are hidden away from public view.

We only see pictures of perfection.  The Social Justice pioneer, who can march at every rally, volunteer each night, work a full-time job, and be the perfect parent at home.  Reality is, as we know, quite different.  You might be the Social Justice Warrior, helping to change the world, but are barely keeping up at home.  You might be the perfect parent but are searching for sustenance that can only be found outside of family life.  It’s impossible to do everything.  No one is the “perfect bucket,” even if they appear so on Facebook.

On Yom Kippur, we must recognize the good we accomplished.  Too often, we focus on our failures and inadequacies, instead of our strengths.  Too often, we imagine that we are that much worse than everyone else.  Each of us, possesses great blessings alongside our cracks; it’s these blessings that often go unnoticed.  The cracked bucket couldn’t recognize its goodness without the help of a kind friend.  Alongside our water carriers, we too must shine a light on our entire being, the bad and the good.  On this Kol Nidre Night, we ask: Am I being my true self?

There’s the story of Rabbi Zusya, the Hasdidic teacher, who knew that he was about to die.  As his students gathered around his bed, the rabbi broke down into tears.  “Reb Zusya,” asked his students, “What’s wrong?”

“I had a dream,” he said, “where I learned of the question that would be asked of me when I die.”

The students were puzzled, “Reb Zusya, you are pious, a scholar, and so humble.  You have helped so many of us.  What question about your life could be so terrifying that you would be scared to answer?”

The rabbi replied, “I learned that I will NOT be asked, ‘Why weren’t you Moses leading your people out of slavery?’  For I am not Moses.  And I won’t be asked, ‘Why weren’t you Esther standing up to evil, to save your community.’  For I am not Esther.  And I won’t be asked, ‘Why weren’t you Abraham and Sarah willing to make a difficult journey?’  For I am not Abraham or Sarah.”

“No, the question that will be asked of me, the question that terrifies me is: ‘Zusya, why weren’t you Zusya?’”[iii]

Reb Zusya was a great rabbi.  Caring, kind, a good teacher.  He was beloved by his students and his community, yet something was missing.  Reb Zusya hid a part of himself from those that surrounded him.  He tried to be the perfect rabbi.  It was only on his death bed that he realized who he needed to be: himself.  It was in these final moments of life that he was able to share with his students who he truly was, his perceived imperfections and cracks.  Reb Zusya’s final lesson, is one of the only stories that we know about him today; it was his greatest teaching: Be yourself!  Recognize the good and the bad, the warts and the blessings.  But, most importantly. Be yourself!

As hard as it is to recognize our blessings, it’s even harder to accept our imperfections.  As Rabbi Ellen Lewis teaches: “Not perfect, but fully human: this is what God asks of us.  And, in response, this may be the best we can do: forgive ourselves for our yearnings and failings for being human [and] not God; [to] accept the imperfections, satisfactions, of being a person.”[iv]

On Yom Kippur, we aren’t ask to be perfect.  We aren’t ask to be God.  We are asked only to be human: to accept our entire selves, including the cracks, the challenges, and the perceived imperfections.  To be human, is to recognize our entire being, it’s to be us!

One person who recognized his humanity is Jason Kander.  You might have heard of Jason, who almost unseated Senator Roy Blunt in the 2016 election.  Jason is a rising political star, who served two terms in the Missouri state legislature and as Secretary of State all before the age of 36.  He is an Afghanistan Veteran; a progressive in a very conservative state. When President Obama was asked who he saw as the future of the Democratic Party, the first name out of his mouth was Jason Kander.  By all objective measure, things were going great for Jason.  His first book was a New York Times Bestseller, his non-profit “Let America Vote” was incredibly effective, and he was in the homestretch of a mayoral run for his hometown of Kansas City. 

To everyone outside his intimate circle, Jason’s life looked perfect.[v]  Yet, the truth was different.  It had been eleven years since he left Afghanistan as an Army Intelligence Officer and things just weren’t right.  He had uncharacteristic anger, paralyzing nightmares, paranoia, suicidal thoughts, and severe depression.  Jason went online to fill out the VA forms, but left the boxes unchecked – to scared to acknowledge his true symptoms.  Afraid of the stigma and what it could mean for his political career.

As Jason shares, “Instead of celebrating [these many] accomplishment[s], I found myself on the phone with the Veterans Crisis Line, tearfully conceding that, yes, I have had suicidal thoughts.  And it wasn’t the first time.  I’m done hiding this from myself and from the world.”[vi]

Jason’s campaign manager asked him: “Are you sure this is how you want to be remembered?”

Many politicians have grappled with the wounds of war, but Jason was one of the first to do so publicly, to share his PTSD and his depression openly.   By sharing his struggle with us all, by checking the box, Jason helped change the conversation around trauma and healing.  His story opened the door for veterans and many others get the help they need.  As Jason shares: “It’s not like it’s cured or ever goes away.  But you learn how to treat it and you make sure it’s no longer disruptive in your life.”

Jason Kander had a crack in his bucket.  He tried to run away.  He tried to pretend the crack wasn’t there, but it was.  He was terrified to share his PTSD because of the implied implications on his career.  Yet, Jason decided to check the box.  It took him years to do so, years of struggle and challenge to get the help he needed.  Yet, Jason recognized the crack for what it was, a piece of him.

Jason reminds us that some cracks travel with us our entire lifetime.  Some cracks can’t be fixed.  Some cracks continue to torment us years later.  But, we can acknowledge these cracks and get the help we need.  We can gain strength from each other.  We can feel a sense of healing.

During these High Holy Days, we pursue Cheshbon HaNefesh.  We take stock in ourselves and pursue a self-assessment of our souls.  We look closely at our blessings and our cracks.  We do our best, to be open and honest with ourselves, to pursue the support we need, and to live each day as only one person: as ourselves.

The cracked bucket was blind to its entire being.  Reb Zusya waited until his dying day to share his entire self.  It was Jason Kander, who, after years of challenge and struggle, was finally able to check the box. 

What boxes do you need to check?  What help and support do you need?  Are you being your true self?  Are you being YOU?

Today, on Yom Kippur we vow to live openly, honestly, and unabashedly as ourselves.  Today, on Yom Kippur we vow to live life to the fullest.   Today, on Yom Kippur we vow to check the box.  Shana Tova! 

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[i] The Cracked Pot, based upon the telling of Rabbi Francine Green Roston in Three Times Chai: 54 Rabbis Tell Their Favorite Stories” ed. Laney Katz Becker 

[ii] Yom Kippur Readings ed. Rabbi Dov Peretz Elkins, p. 252

[iii] Based upon the telling found in Tales of Hasidim by Martin Buber

[iv] Mishakn HaNefesh, Yom Kippur, xxvii

[v] https://www.nytimes.com/2019/08/25/us/jason-kander-ptsd.html

[vi] https://medium.com/@JasonKander/about-four-months-ago-i-contacted-the-va-to-get-help-2dc6006804c1

Rosh Hashanah Morning Sermon: Double Down on Judaism

Welcome home!  I love the High Holy Days because it feels like a big family reunion.  I am heartened when I look out into the pews and see all of your beautiful smiling faces.  It is my favorite moment of the year!  Normally, I’d joke that the last time we had this many people in the building was last High Holy Days, but sadly, that is not the case this year.    It was just days after the shooting at the Tree of Life Synagogue that hundreds of us gathered on Solidarity Shabbat to mourn the loss of eleven precious souls. 

Our community was in a cloud, our world upended; there was real fear for our fellow Jews and our own congregation.  Pittsburgh was the first mass shooting at a synagogue in our nation’s history.  And sadly, it was not the last.  Since then, our Jewish community has endured a second shooting at the Poway Chabad Center.  The ADL[i] recorded a dramatic rise in anti-Semitic attacks over the last couple of years.  In 2018, there were 1,879 attacks in our country, a staggering 99% higher than 2015.

For 16 years, I have been privileged to preach on the High Holy Days.   Not once in 16 years have I spoken about anti-Semitism.  This Rosh Hashanah will be the first time.  What does this say about our country?  What does this say about the state of Judaism today?

For some of us, anti-Semitism is an old wound that continues to threaten our lives and our families.  Many in this room remember a time when we were prohibited from attending specific colleges or couldn’t buy a home in certain neighborhoods, including Roland Park, solely because we were Jewish.  For others of us, the rise of anti-Semitism seems to have come out of nowhere.  In either case, there is a new reality that has bubbled up to the surface. 

I am not here to fear monger.  I’m not here to scare you.  Yet, it is time to speak frankly and openly about our changing country; to ask the difficult questions and search our hearts for answers.

One of the major changes has been the rise of White Nationalism.  White Nationalism uses anti-Semitism as the fuel to power its anti-Black racism. Eric Ward, one of the foremost thinkers on anti-Semitism today lays this out in a recent article: “Skin in the Game: How Anti-Semitism Animates White Nationalism.”  As Ward shares: The successes of the Civil Rights Movement created a terrible problem for White Supremacist Ideology.  Jim Crow had been the de facto law of the land, yet a Black led Social Movement toppled the political order.   As Ward writes, the White Supremacists were thinking: “How could a race of political inferiors have unseated this power structure through organizing alone? … Some secret cabal, some mythological power, must be manipulating the social order behind the scenes.  This diabolical evil must control television, banking, entertainment, education, and even Washington, D.C…. What is this archnemesis of the White race…?  It is, of course the Jews?” [ii]

White Nationalism differs from White Supremacy because it wants to create a Whites Only Nation with anti-Semitism at its core.  If we care about combatting racism, the mistreatment of immigrants, islamophobia, misogyny, homophobia, and transphobia, if we care about a just world for all, then we must end the fuel of White Nationalism, and work tirelessly to end anti-Semitism. 

For anti-Semitism occurs most prevalently in a binary world and plays out best when White Nationalists feel empowered and when democratic systems such as the judiciary and free press are weakened and unable to fight back.  When the President of the United States says that “There were good people on both sides” after the Unite the Right Rally in Charlottesville, we speak up.  When our Jewish loyalty is questioned, we speak up.  When anti-Semitic tropes are heard on the right, the left, or the center, we speak up.  Just as we fight to protect our neighbors and the democratic institutions that are the bedrock of our country, so too must we fight to protect ourselves

So, what should we do?  What should be our personal and also our communal response to anti-Semitism?  Bari Weiss Op-Ed Staff Editor and Writer at the New York Times believes that the Jewish people have had two responses throughout our history, I’d like to call them: “Accommodation” and “Separation.”

With Accommodation, if we only show that we are perfect Greeks, Spaniards, or Germans than that country will love us.  If we wish to become more and more American and shed our Jewish identity, than why even be here?  Let’s close up shop and go home.

Separation is the opposite, it believes that lasting security for the Jews comes when we turn inward.  From the Maccabees to the Bar Kochba Revolt to Ultra-Orthodoxy, we can only be saved if we rely on our Jewish leaders and our Jewish movements.  Separation often believes that building ever greater walls and circling the wagons will protect us and our own.

There is a third approach, as Bari Weiss writes, "In these trying times, our best strategy is to build, without shame, a Judaism and a Jewish people and a Jewish state that are not only safe and resilient but also generative, humane, joyful and life-affirming.  A Judaism capable of lighting a fire in every Jewish soul - and in the souls of everyone who throws in his or her lot with ours." [iii]

When our loyalty is questioned, when we fear the rising tide of anti-Semitism, when we are scared about our future, we double down on Judaism.  We double down on our Jewish community; we double down on our Jewish values; we double down on our Jewish commitments, to each other and to the world around us.

How do we double down on Judaism?  We Live Proudly as Jews

Judaism is lived outwardly, through dress, action, and expression.  But, throughout our history, from the Greeks to the Conversos to the modern day, many have been scared to live openly as a Jew.

Our exemplar is Esther, the Persian Queen, and hero of the Purim Story.  Esther hid her Jewish identity from King Ahasuerus and from the entire nation.  At the opportune moment, when things were dire for the Jewish people, Esther “came out of the closet as a Jew,” saved her people, and lived her Judaism proudly. 

Like Esther, we often feel scared.  Is it safe to go to synagogue?  Should we tell the stranger that we are Jewish?  Do we speak up when we hear an anti-Semitic joke?  Esther reminds us that there is no better way to combat anti-Semitism than by sharing why Judaism matters to us.  When we express our Judaism outside our homes and synagogues, we can change hearts and minds, including our own.

Yet, for students on college campuses and for those of us who are more liberal in our thinking, it can often be a little more challenging.  With the rise of intersectionality, Jews and Israel are often seen as colonizers.  When we are working on issues such as racism, LGBTQ rights, or Immigration, must we choose between Social Justice and Israel?  Can’t we do both?

It’s not easy, but we must share our entire selves, including our Jewish selves.  We look to our tradition and the prophets of old for comfort and guidance.  We reach out to our allies and our neighbors to listen, to learn, and to teach.  We speak up when we see anti-Semitism or any acts of hatred.  For is it not better to work together when we can, than to not be part of the conversation at all?

How do we double down on Judaism? 

We Celebrate Our Jewish Tradition

We aren’t the first generation to discover the challenges of anti-Semitism.  The prior generations created rituals to provide us with strength during tough times.  Playing dreidel at Hanukkah (served as a ploy to study Torah); eating Matzah during Passover (reminds us of our suffering and the suffering of others); affixing a mezuzah on our door (proclaims that this is a Jewish home).

And then there’s the story told by the late Rabbi Hugo Gryn.  Many years before becoming a rabbi, young Hugo lived through the Holocaust and was a child of Auschwitz.  One year during his time in the Camps, Hanukkah arrived.  His father created a small menorah and used their margarine rations as the oil to light the wicks.  Young Hugo protested to his father that this was a foolish act.  Every ounce of food was needed in order for them to survive.  How could they waste this precious resource in order to light the Menorah for Hanukkah?

 

Rabbi Gryn never forgot the words his father shared with him that day.  “My child, we know that you can live three days without water.  You can live three weeks without food.  But you cannot live three minutes without hope.”[iv]  Our Jewish tradition is filled with rituals, holiday celebrations, prayers, and foods.  Each ritual provides us with the strength and more importantly the hope we need to carry on day after day. 

How do we double down on Judaism? 

We Live Our Jewish Values

For our Judaism is based upon the values of treating each other with respect, compassion, and dignity.  In the Babylonian Talmud, we are taught that if a non-Jew is interested in becoming a member of our community, we are required to ask them these difficult questions: “Why do you want to become a Jew?  Do you not know that Jewish people at the present time are persecuted and oppressed, despised, harassed, and overcome by affliction?”  If the reply is: “I know and yet I am unworthy,” than we open our doors and we teach some minor and major commandments.  The Talmud then asks: What commandments should we teach?  The mitzvah of gleanings, the forgotten sheaf, the corner, and the poor persons’ tithe.”[v]

When someone wishes to become a Jew-by-choice, what do we do?  We welcome with open arms and first teach the ethical commandments of providing food for the poor, as well as the mitzvot centered on justice and compassion.

Take that a step further… when we are the ones feeling oppression and fear, we double down on our Jewish values, the values of treating all in our world with dignity and respect.  As individuals and as a congregation, our Jewish values provide us with the strength to go out into the world and repair the shards of brokenness.

How do we double down on Judaism?  We Join Together.

It can be lonely to be a Jew.  Especially when many of us don’t live in the Jewish neighborhood or when some of us don’t have Jewish family nearby.  Our rabbis teach us that we need 10 people for a minyan, 10 people in order to pray.  Why?  Because to be a Jew means to be part of community.

I felt this most prevalently during the hours prior to Solidarity Shabbat, just days after the Tree of Life Shooting.  I had a pit in my stomach and one question on my mind: “Do we open up the wall at the back of the sanctuary?”  I was fixated on the wall.  It seems silly now, but I was terrified that no one would show up, that they’d be too scared or wouldn’t care to be with us that evening.

Forty-five minutes prior to the service our parking lot was already full and dozens of people were flooding into the synagogue.  I realized that I didn’t recognize many of the faces.  These were neighbors, our Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, Jewish, and Secular neighbors.  With tears in my eyes, I nodded to Johnny, our Custodian, and the wall was open, the chairs placed.  We ran out of prayer books that evening; it was standing room only, more people than at the High Holy Days

Our then President, Melissa Zieve, looked at me and said, “I feel safer with our doors open.”

 

We doubled down on Judaism that night.  We doubled down on being proudly and unapologetically Jewish.  We doubled down on celebrating, singing, praying, and eating the most delicious veggie potluck ever to feed 300.  We doubled down on our Jewish values by opening our doors to our neighbors.  We doubled down by joining together, hundreds of us gathered in our sanctuary and social hall.

We were safer that night because we doubled down on Judaism.  We will fight anti-Semitism and will make our community stronger and our world safer when we double down on Judaism.

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[i] https://www.adl.org/audit2018

[ii] https://www.politicalresearch.org/2017/06/29/skin-in-the-game-how-antisemitism-animates-white-nationalism

[iii] https://www.nytimes.com/2019/09/06/opinion/sunday/anti-semitism.html

[iv] Adapted from a retelling by Rabbi David Wolpe, “This is the True Lesson of Hanukkah” – Time Magazine, December 6, 2015

[v] Babylonian Talmud, Yevamot 47a (my own translation/interpretation)

Erev Rosh Hashanah Sermon: "That's Water, Not Wine!"

Shana Tova!  As we gather in the Meadow on this Erev Rosh Hashanah, our dress and even our surroundings are a world away from the usual High Holy Day formality.  And so, in this vein, as has become our tradition, I’d like to share a story with you this evening.  It’s a Chasidic tale, retold by Rabbi Steven Leder, with my own twist.  Sit back, take in a deep breath, and relax!

Long ago,[i] in a land far away, nestled in the mountains, was a small little village.  This village was filled with hard working, good people.  The village was small enough that everyone knew each other, and everyone took care of each other.  Now this village didn’t have much, it wasn’t known for its business, its food, or its culture, but it was known, for one reason; its claim to fame was its mayor. 

Now this mayor was wise and caring.  For many decades, the mayor governed with kindness and compassion.  The mayor brought prosperity and optimism and so the mayor was beloved by the denizens of that village.

The mayor had just one child.  The child was born in the village and the child grew up amongst all the citizens.  From a cute cuddly baby, to a tottering toddler, to a pimply faced teenager, everyone cared for and loved this child.  

And now, in a blink of an eye, that cute cuddly baby was now grown-up and had found a loving partner.  There was going to be a wedding!  The feeling of excitement permeated every corner, every shop, and every house in the village.  For, there was only one mayor, and that mayor had just one child.  It would be the celebration of the year, no, the celebration of the decade!

As word sprung like wildfire, the murmuring began.  Where would the wedding be held?  What gifts could they provide?  How to make this the most joyous event the village had ever seen?

As the murmuring increased, the villagers decided that they, as a group, could provide the wine for the celebration.  This would be the perfect gift!  And so, a proclamation was sent out by the Chief Steward to each and every citizen:

“Hear ye, Hear ye, each member of this village is asked to fill a bucket with your best wine and bring it to the Town Square.” 

“Hear ye, Hear ye, a huge barrel should be built in the town square, alongside it, a ramp that will lead up to the barrel.  Each villager should pour your bucket into the barrel!” 

“Hear ye, Hear ye, on the evening of the wedding, the wedding couple and all in our village will tap the barrel and we will have the most glorious celebration our village has ever seen.”

 

And so, they all began diligently getting ready.  The Chief Carpenter and all the workers began to construct the biggest barrel you’d ever seen.  They set the barrel on top of tall poles in the very center of the town square.  Next to the barrel and the poles, they made a large ramp, leading right up to the barrel.

Over the course of the next month, every citizen, young and old, rich and poor, climbed the ramp and poured the contents of their buckets into the barrel.

Days before the wedding, the people could see the level of the liquid rising to the top of barrel and watched as the moisture began to seep through the wood.  As the barrel began to fill up, the people became more and more excited.

Finally, the wedding day arrived!  It was a beautiful sunny September day, perfect weather for a wedding.  The mayor walked the child down the aisle, and everyone oohed and awed!  The wedding couple was so happy, so filled with love, they were a perfect match!  Their vows were beautiful and everyone, and I mean everyone, commented on the rabbi’s astute and meaningful wedding address!  Excitement began to build as the couple smashed the glass and everyone yelled out: Mazel Tov!

As the wedding couple danced down the aisle, everyone in the village followed after them!  They grabbed hands and began to dance the hora.  The couple was lifted on chairs and everyone yelled out: Mazel Tov!

And now, the moment that they had all been waiting for!  The entire village gathered around the big barrel.  The Chief Steward grabbed the mallet and climbed up the ramp.  In everyone’s hands, was an empty glass, ready to be filled with sweet delicious wine!

The Chief Steward stood on top of the ramp and gazed out at the village below.  He yelled: “Mazel Tov to our mayor, Mazel Tov to the wedding couple, and Mazel Tov to our village, as we celebrate the happiest day ever!

The Chief Steward grabbed the mallet, tapped the barrel and placed a glass underneath the spigot.  And everyone yelled one final: Mazel Tov!

The village stood silent as the Chief Steward turned the spigot and they all watched as the liquid poured out.  And what flowed from the barrel?  Nothing… but… water.

What?  How could this be?  For weeks, each villager had filled their bucket and poured the content into the barrel.  Each citizen thought, “Well, there are a lot of people filling up this barrel!  One bucket of water won’t change the taste of this delicious wine.  No one will know the difference!”

Except, that each and every person did that exact same thing.  Instead of the barrel being filled with sweet delicious wine, there was only water.  Instead of being the happiest day, that celebration turned out to be the saddest moment in the village’s history.

Now, I know the wine lovers out there are horrified that anyone would even think of mixing together different styles and vintages of wines; a Malbec with a Pinot Grigio, what a disaster!  We know that it’s not about the mixing, it’s about our bottles, yours and mine, and the way we fill them up.   I use the metaphor of wine, but choose your drink of choice, whether it’s juice, soda, or chocolate milk!

For in the Talmud, our rabbis teach: “A person must not fill up a jug of wine with water because it misleads others.”[ii]  I firmly believe that most of us, most of the time, are good people.  We aren’t trying to mislead each other, we aren’t trying to commit fraud, we aren’t trying to get away with murder, but sometimes, it’s just easier to fill up the jug with water, not wine. 

For we know: we’re tired, we’re busy, we’re a little strapped right now; we know that someone else will do it!  What’s a little white lie here or there, it’s not really hurting anyone?   Why put in the time when we can get by with just a little less?  Why not cut a corner especially when it seems like everyone else does?  No one will know the difference so why put forth the effort?

When we tell a friend that we’ll help, knowing that we won’t follow through: that’s water, not wine!    When we complain about the state of Baltimore, yet never do our part: that’s water, not wine!  When we’re out to dinner with loved ones and barely glance up from our phone: that’s water, not wine!  When we share our “thoughts and prayers” and fail to make any change at all: that’s water, not wine!   When we tell our children we’re too busy and can’t find the time: that’s water, not wine!

As Rabbi Steven Leder teaches: “If one partner in a marriage tries to add water because he or she expects the other will bring the wine, the couple will have a watered-down marriage.  If you try to parent according to that principle, you’ll have a watered-down family.  If you behave that way as an employee, you’ll have a watered-down business.  If you put nothing into your Judaism, what do you expect to get out of it?”

Our tradition recognizes the good in us.  We are told that our cups at Shabbat and Passover should be overflowing, so that the grape juice and wine spills over the edge.  When the Mishkan, the Tabernacle was built, the people brought so much gold, jewels, and precious possessions that Moses had to say: “Stop!  We have enough!”  And our rabbis discuss the limits of tzedakah because individuals in their community were giving too much money as charitable gifts. 

Rosh Hashanah is the opportunity for us to ask the question: “What’s in your bottle?”  Are you filling up your bottle with water or wine?  It’s our choice: we can pretend, act like a fraud, sit back and lets others step up in our stead.  We can complain or kvetch and mail it in!  Or we can bring our entire selves into relationship with others.  We can be present for loved and friends, we can volunteer, we can do our part to better the lives of others, we can live openly, truthfully, and honestly in word and deed.  

So, take a moment to imagine a different ending to this story…  Imagine that as the spigot turns, out… comes… sweet delicious wine.  Imagine the celebration that ensues, imagine feeling that you are a part of something greater than yourself, imagine the pride you feel in following through with your commitments and responsibilities.  We can’t control the actions of others, but we can control what’s in our bottle.  So bring the most precious, sweet, delicious wine wherever you go.  “That’s wine you say, never water!”  

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[i] There are many versions of this Chasidic story, but my version is based upon the storytelling of Rabbi Steven Z. Leder entitled “The Barrel” found in Three Times Chai ed. Laney Katz Becker

[ii] Babylonian Talmud Chullin 94a

Solidarity Shabbat: Remembering the Victims of Tree of Life Synagogue

This has been a tough week.  I’ve personally been in a cloud from the moment my Shabbat joy was shattered last Saturday.  I’ve been filled with utter sadness at the loss of precious life at the Tree of Life Synagogue.  I’ve been filled with fear.    Fear for myself.  Fear for the Jewish Community.  Fear for the future of our country.

I know that I am not alone.  The Jew’s heart is breaking.  All in our wider community are hurting.  All of us are in grief, in mourning.  That is why we are here together.

Each week, we gather to read a section of the Torah, the five books of Moses.  We began a few weeks ago with the very beginning of Genesis.  And now, we are in the midst of the story of Abraham and Sarah.  It completely confounds me that no matter what is happening in our lives, no matter what is happening in our world, the week’s Torah portion seems to fit perfectly to our communal mood and mindset.  This week is no exception.

Our Torah portion, Chayei Sarah, begins with death and mourning.  Sarah dies suddenly, and Abraham mourns the loss of his beloved wife.  The Torah teaches that Abraham grieves for Sarah in two distinct ways: he wails, and he remembers her.

We are in the midst of shiva, the seven days of initial mourning, for the eleven souls of Pittsburgh.  We’ve cried.  We’ve grieved.  We’ve wailed.  We Jews also mourn by sharing stories of the dead.  Abraham remembered Sarah by reflecting upon her very essence.  We too need to remember the dead: what they believed, what propelled them in life, and what mattered most in their world.  You may have heard their stories, but they bear repeating.

Joyce Feinberg was a research specialist at the University of Pittsburgh Learning Research and Development Center for more than 25 years.  She was an elegant and warm person who was enormously caring with a huge personality.

Richard Gottfried was a dentist who along with his wife shared a dental practice.  Richard and his wife were fixtures in the community and they volunteered together at the Catholic Charities Dental Clinic.  He was an avid runner who had recently been attending services at Tree of Life Synagogue.

Rose Mallinger was spry, vibrant, and full of life.  At 97 years old, she was the quintessential bubbe (Jewish grandmother) where family was everything.  She was mother of three, grandmother to five, great-grandmother to one.  Rose attended services every Saturday, sitting next to her sister in synagogue.  She was always quick with a friendly greeting, a hug, and a smile.

Jerry Rabinowitz was a primary care physician.  During the early days of HIV treatment when stigma was high, Jerry was known to hold patients’ hands without gloves and to embrace them.  He was known for wearing bow ties to help make people laugh.  Jerry escaped the initial assault on Saturday. and turned around and ran inside to see if anyone was hurt or needed a doctor.

Cecil and David Rosenthal – were two incredible brothers.  Cecil was a gentle giant who greeted everyone with a smile and a strong handshake.  He had a youthful exuberance and a laugh that was infectious.  He had developmental challenges and was a beloved member of the community.  David was quieter, but no less beloved.  He was a greeter, standing in front of the sanctuary handing out prayer books.  The brothers were inseparable.

Bernice and Sylvan Simon were married at the Tree of Life Congregation more than 60 years ago.  A neighbor shared that they were the sweetest people you could have imagined.  They were always giving back to people, they always stepped up, and were kind and generous. 

  

Daniel Stein was a simple man who didn’t require much.  He had a dry sense of humor and was a great guy.  He was a former president of the New Light Congregation and is remembered for his kindness.

Melvin Wax was known as Mel to everyone.  His greatest passion besides the Pittsburgh Penguins was his grandson.  Mel was generous and a sweet man who would help anyone.  At almost 88 years old, he’d always park his car a few streets away from the synagogue to leave closer spaces to those who needed them.

Irving Younger greeted each member with a big smile and a handshake.  He liked to make sure that everyone knew what page they were on in the prayer book.  He went to synagogue every day, he never missed a day.  He felt a true responsibility and a role to serve the community.

These eleven precious souls are us.  They are young and old.  They are singles, couples, siblings, and friends.  They are Jews, interfaith couples, Jews-by-choice, those with disabilities; the rainbow of our Jewish community.  They are the greeters, the Torah readers, the prayer leaders, and the board members.  They are the regulars and those who come every once and a while. They are us.

As I read their stories this past Monday, I began to cry.  I know the Rose Mallingers, the Jerry Rabinowitz’s, the Cecil and David Rosenthal’s.  I know the Bernice and Sylvan Simon’s and the Joyce Feinberg’s.  Pittsburgh is us.  Squirrel Hill is us.  We are Squirrel Hill.  I cried because we are one big family.  We lost precious lives.  We are all in this together.

As we mourn, I’m cognizant that our shiva, our initial seven days of mourning, is almost complete.  As one rabbinic colleague shared: “Today we mourn, tomorrow we act.”  What happens tomorrow?  Where do we go from here?

I find my answer by going back to the Torah.  Halfway through our portion, we meet Rebecca, the matriarch, for the first time.  Rebecca sits by her town’s well.  When Eliezer, servant of Abraham, appears, she welcomes him with open arms.  She provides him with water and also draws water for Eliezer’s many camels.

Rebecca’s quintessential feature is kindness.  She welcomes Eliezer, a stranger, into her home.  She goes out of her way to help him through his troubles.  It might seem like a small thing to provide someone with a glass of water but remember she didn’t have a tap or a sink!  The well was far away.  And camels after a long hot journey drink much water.  This was a big moment and a lot of hard work.  Rebecca lives her every moment with kindness and with a welcoming personality.

There is real fear in our community.  There is so much hatred and anger in the world.  We wish to guard ourselves by building a fortress around our community.  There is an urgency to protect ourselves with ever greater walls, doors, guards, and guns.  After this attack, the trauma, pushes us to look inward, to circle the wagons, to protect our own.

Now, don’t get me wrong.  We must keep our community safe.  With our President, Melissa Zieve’s leadership, we have already begun conversations about security and safety.  New protocols and new procedures have been implemented and will be implemented to make our community secure in the days ahead.

Yet, it’s not just safety procedures, it’s also outlook and prospective.  Do we look inward?  Do we close the door?  Or do we look outside our walls?  As a community, Bolton Street Synagogue has always stood for warmth, welcoming, and community.  Our new tagline is: “Doors Wide Open.”  Our identity is about opening ourselves up to the broader Jewish and non-Jewish community.

It’s more than us, it’s also the lives who were lost in Pittsburgh.  I shared their stories because each person whose life was lost, lived his or her days with kindness and compassion.  They focused their days living life with: generosity, kindness, caring, giving, warmth, laughter, smiles, and love.  As Rebecca’s essence was kindness and a welcoming personality, so too did the eleven who died at Tree of Life Synagogue.  We can’t put up barriers.  We can’t turn in the wagons.  We Jews need to live our lives with kindness in our hearts and with our doors open to the world.

Our Torah portion begins with mourning.  Abraham grieves with wailing and remembrance for his beloved wife Sarah.  But, our Torah portion ends in an entirely different light.  It ends with comfort.  Isaac, the son of Sarah, also grieves.  He finds comfort in his new wife Rebecca.  We learn in the Torah that: “Isaac loved Rebecca and finds comfort after his mother’s death.”

Isaac finds comfort not through vengeance and anger, not through rage and resentment, but through kindness, love, and togetherness.  It’s through relationship and friendship, that Isaac finds peace.

Even more powerfully, our Torah portion ends with the burial of Abraham.  We learn that Isaac and Ishmael, Abraham’s two sons, come together to bury their father.  Jewish tradition teaches that Ishmael is the patriarch of the Arabs and Islam.  How powerful that two brothers, of two different religious traditions, come together, to bury their father.  To comfort each other.  To support each other.

Tonight, I’m overwhelmed at the number of non-Jewish friends, family members, and allies who are here to support us.  In addition, we have a dozen members of the clergy: pastors, reverends, priests, and ministers, who are here with us in solidarity.  We know that we as a Jewish community are not here alone.  There are so many of you, who have our back.  You are here to comfort us, support us, and be our friend.  There is fear for the future, but there is also great optimism that together we can make a difference.  Together we can help change this world for the better. 

I firmly believe we do that by getting to know each other better, by building deeper relationships across religion, ethnicity, race, and community.  That’s why we invited you to be here with us tonight.  Don’t just leave after the service and never see us again.  Let this be the moment to renew our relationship with each other.  As Rebecca opened her home to Eliezer, we too open our home to you.  After the service, lets join together to talk, to get to know each other, and to break bread together.  Let this moment of sadness and grieving, lead us to comfort, to friendship, and to peace.