High Holiday Sermons 2007

Rabbi Richard Plavin

Temple Beth Sholom, Manchester, CT

Erev Rosh Hashanah 2007

This past year I participated in two Habitat for Humanity building projects. Both were in the north end of Hartford, a neighborhood that is improving remarkably thanks to this work. One project was in January and the other in July. The summer project was called House of Abraham because volunteers were recruited from the Christian, Jewish and Moslem communities. The site captain on that project was a former Protestant minister named Carl. He was the expert that knew all the answers and could correct our mistakes. At the beginning of the day’s work, Rev. Carl gave the opening pep talk, and hearing it, I knew immediately this was a Rosh HaShanah sermon.

He made four points – a good number in our tradition:

Stay safe

Do good work

Have fun

Clean up after yourself

These points had very specific meaning for a house-building project; for us, at the outset of a new year, they may be interpreted more broadly.

Point one was “Stay safe.” On the building project this referred to physical safety; how to swing a hammer and use a power saw without it costing an arm and a leg, or worse. As Jews and as a Jewish community, we also have concerns for safety. The Unetane Tokef prayer deals with the uncertainly of life, but there are things we can be doing to improve our physical safety. As a matter of fact, protecting our health is a mitzvah. God commands us in the Torah, “U’shmartem et nafshotachem – and ye shall guard your life.” Allow me to share just one pet peeve in this regard. How can intelligent people still smoke cigarettes - knowing what we all know today? Staying safe does not include polluting your lungs.

But the issue of safety goes beyond our selves. We are also concerned about the physical safety of the Jewish community. The incident last Tuesday morning in Newington was a rude awakening, and at first, was very frightening. As it turned out, it was not act of anti-Semitism. Nonetheless, it made me think of other incidents that were less benign, and reminded me that we must remain vigilant. Thank God, there is much less anti-Semitism today in America than our parents or grandparents experienced, but it is not non-existent. Nowadays, it takes a new form. Consider the recent publication of The Israel Lobby and U.S. Foreign Policy by professors Mearsheimer and Walt. It is very much a repetition of old anti-Semitic canard promoted in the Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion. In a single year, 1920, five editions of that anti-Semitic tract sold out in England. And in the United States that year, Henry Ford sponsored the printing of 500,000 copies. And now, when we thought that was an old story, long buried, the same idea reasserts itself in this new book by two American Ph.D.s. Take a look at the reviews on Amazon and you will see how many anti-Semites are out there eating up this nonsense and promoting it to others.

Physical safety is very real issue in Israel, as Iran continues its program of nuclear development and repeats threats to wipe out the Jewish state. We know better than to consider any threat as being idle. The Muslim extremists may be murderous barbarians, but they earnestly try to keep their word when it comes to killing Jews. This summer I spoke with an Israeli visiting our community about this threat. Told me it did not bother him as much as the threat of the destruction of the Jewish community in America due to assimilation. That too is a physical threat. If we disappear due to low numbers, we are still physically gone. I think the next three points: doing good work, having fun and cleaning up after ourselves, should address the issue of our continued survival.

Rev. Carl’s third point was “Doing good work.” On the building site this referred to the quality of our workmanship. Last January, the building project volunteers were all clergymen. We joked about the unfortunate family that would have to live in a house built by ministers and rabbis. At least they could say, “God help us."

When I heard the term “Good Work,” I immediately thought in my mind of the Hebrew phrase Maasim Tovim, which literally means “good works,” but we use it to refer to acts of kindness and righteousness, what is often called Tikun Olam. When I was a child in Hebrew school, and even when I was a young man in rabbinical school, we rarely spoke about Tikun Olam. Nowadays it is a Jewish buzzword. We use it to talk about saving the environment, feeding the hungry, stopping genocide, working in a homeless shelter – important good deeds that benefit our society and our world. The underlying idea is that we live in a broken world, a world in need of repair. Tikun Olam literally means repair of the world. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, a teacher who died during the semester in which I studied it him, would have celebrated his 100^th birthday this year. Listen to his words from A Passion for Truth: One may look upon the world with enthusiasm and absorb its wonder and radiant glory; one may also see and be shocked by its ugliness and evil. The prophet Isaiah heard the angels proclaim: ‘The whole earth is full of God’s glory’; Job, however, maintained that ‘the earth is given to the power of the wicked.’”

Thru Tikun Olam, we attempt to change the world such that we overcome the power of the wicked, that we make it more possible to absorb its wonder and radiant glory.

The Reform movement has excelled in the field of Tikun Olam, but it does not have a monopoly on it. Our congregation is very involved in doing good work. We have an active social action committee. They have sponsored wonderful programs such as the “Corners of our Fields” program in which we collect food for the hungry at this High Holy season. Be sure to prepare your bag of non-perishable groceries to bring with you next Friday, as we welcome Yom Kippur. The committee will get the groceries to where they are most needed. That program is just one example of the many good works in which they are involved.

What does that have to do with the survival of the Jewish community? I think if more of our young people understood that involvement in good-words is an expression of living according to Jewish values, that Judaism is not only Kiddush and Motzi and Hebrew prayers but also stresses Maasim Tovim, deeds that help our fellow creatures, they would more appreciate our heritage. They would not feel a need to look elsewhere for the spiritual values whose origins are almost always within Judaism.

I recently heard about a wonderful Tikun Olam project undertaken a nearby congregation. Like us, they are concerned fulfilling the mitzvah of Ma-achil r’ayvim, feeding the hungry. But they do not limit their effort to collecting groceries. They work with Foodshare in Windsor and actually harvest produce, getting out in the fields and picking fruits and vegetables, packing the produce and preparing it for distribution to poor families. I would love to see us get into that. What we need is someone to step forward and say, “I will chair that project.” I know many of you will come to me and say that sounds wonderful and I would love to help but I cannot commit to chairing the project. It is indeed great that you want to help. But I need someone to do more than just that. Unless someone is willing to truly undertake the responsibility of chairing the program, it won’t happen. Give it careful consideration, please.

“Have fun” was the third principle at the building project, and it can be a principle for our Jewish living as well. When people ask why I became an observant Jew and chose to enter the rabbinate, I will tell them about my love for Torah study and that as an undergraduate in college I always excelled in Judaic studies classes. That is all true; but the deeper truth is this: when I was growing up, being Jewish was fun. With the possible exception of getting beaten up on the playground, I enjoyed every minute of being Jewish. My home was not especially observant, but it was intensely Jewish. Friday night was Shabbat dinner every week. I attended religious services Friday nights and Shabbat mornings, and thanks to Rabbi Neuberger, alav HaShalom, I really enjoyed the prayers and community, and most especially, the singing. Pesach Seder was a highlight of the year in our home, and my dad, alav HaShalom, built a beautiful electric Hanukia for us to put in the living room window. The key was that we had a loving, enjoyable Jewish life. I complained about Hebrew school as much as anyone else, and learned very little, but I enjoyed being with my Jewish buddies, and that was the essential. As I got older, I was sorry our home was not more observant, and my parents surprised me one summer and when I came home from camp, I found that they had the rabbi over and the kitchen was now kosher. I was thrilled. Summer camping was also a Jewish experience for me, and I know that for those who are lucky enjoy to go to Camp Ramah or Young Judea, it is even more Jewish, but again, the essential is the enjoyment of normative Jewish living. I can say the same of my first Israel experience on USY. It was inspiring, it was enlightening, but most of all, I loved it because I had fun.

We take this principal very seriously in our Rabbi Leon Wind Religious School and in our Hebrew High program. We want to teach the kids so much, and we do impart a great deal of knowledge, but if we don’t make it fun, if the kids don’t enjoy being here with other Jewish children, they won’t come back.

When our girls were little, we had something we called “Shabbat treats.” The idea was to help our children enjoy Shabbat as much as we did. Just after we lit the Shabbat candles, we gave the girls their treats. These were not major bribes; they were little things: a barrette, some paper dolls, a favorite candy. Just something to add sweetness to Shabbat in the eyes of young children. I am pleased that one of my daughters is doing the same now for her children.

The Reverend Carl’s point makes sense beyond the building site. Make sure your Jewish living is fun whenever possible.

His final item was “Clean up after yourself.” That is such an important principle in Judaism. Our life is our responsibility. God helps, but don’t think God will do it for you. That is why we make the point so clearly in regard to repentance. When it comes to asking for forgiveness, it is the injured party that must be approached, and it is our responsibility to do that. You know, there is another religion quite popular in this country that says you should forgive others whether they show remorse or not, whether they ask for forgiveness or not, and the only way that you yourself can be forgiven is through faith. Jewish theology does not accept that position at all. We are each responsible for our own deeds and misdeeds. We must clean up after ourselves.

There is a beautiful Midrash, which I have shared with you in the past, and its message is eternally relevant. In the text, God takes Adam for a tour of the garden, and points out all the flora and fauna and says to him, “Behold My works, how splendid they are. All that I have created, I created for your sake.” It continues: “Now listen up – do not ruin or destroy my world. Sh’im kilkalta, ayn mee sh’y’taken achrecha –if you mess it up, there is no one to clean up after you.” That was the message Rev. Carl had for us on the building site, and it certainly applies as well to our entire life. There is no one to clean up after us, so we had better do it ourselves. Bottom line, it is your life.

I want to conclude with a Hasidic tale that carries a powerful message.

The rabbi of Rhyzen once entered a room where he found his closest disciples playing checkers. When the students saw their master, they were deeply embarrassed; they knew they should have been studying Torah rather than squandering their time playing games. But the rabbi was not angry. He approached his disciples and said, "I am glad that you are playing checkers, for if you have learned the rules of checkers, then you have learned something important about spiritual and moral development. There are three rules in checkers that are also three rules for spiritual and moral development.

1. You may only move one step at a time. Don't skip steps.

2. Second, you should move only forward, and not backward.

3. Finally, when you have reached the highest rung, you can move whichever way you want."

May all of us continue to strive for that highest rung, and may this new year of 5768 be one that brings us all blessings, good health, and fulfillment.

Amen

Rosh Hashanah Day 1 2007

The Ten Commandments

Computers can drive us crazy. All the so called time saving and paper saving benefits that technology was supposed to bring our way has somehow stolen a good deal of our time. David Pogue’s technology column in the NYTimes recently quoted a study indicating that writing a letter on your computer actually takes more time than doing it on your old typewriter. Of course, some of you only know what a typewriter is because you have visited the Smithsonian Museum in Washington.

Admitting all that, the truth is computers, and especially the Internet, can be a great deal of fun.

I recently came across a website, as I was surfing for some information on the Ten Commandments. The Jesus Saves Ministry published the site, and it was quite fascinating. I have always known that the world appreciates the gifts of the Jews. Thomas Cahill wrote book by that title just a few years ago. The notion was similarly reinforced just a few weeks ago on a CNN program “God’s Warriors.” In the broadcast, a Christian minister said flat out that were it not for the gifts of the Jews there would be no Christianity. But what was fascinating about this website is how differently the Christians understand many of those gifts.

The section of the site I was reading dealt with the topic of the Ten Commandments. This ministry is selling yard signs with the Ten Commandments! If that is not your cup of tea, you can also get the commandments on a magnet for your dashboard or refrigerator or you could have them printed on several styles of T-shirts. The Christian understanding of the commandment “You shall write them” which we read in the Sh’ma, is that it refers to the words of the Ten Commandments. We Jews have understood it as the basis for the mitzvah of mezuzah and Tefillin, and neither of those ritual objects includes the Ten Commandments.

Displaying the Ten Commandments is a significant topic among Christians. You remember the controversy a few years ago when Judge Roy Moore in Alabama defied a Supreme Court order by refusing to take down a 5,280 pound granite block covered with quotes from the Declaration of Independence, the national anthem, and various founding fathers. The crowning element was two large carved tablets inscribed with the Ten Commandments. The Supreme Court threatened a $5000 per day fine for not removing the stone. It wasn’t the weight of the granite that rankled the Supreme Court justices. It was the symbolic weight of the Ten Commandments.

The fact is, we Jews hold the Ten Commandments in the same high regard. Just look behind me. Why did our forebears, the founders of Beth Sholom and those involved in designing this beautiful building, choose this particular design for the Holy Ark? For those of you new to Beth Sholom, the design on our Aaron Kodesh is an artistic rendition of the first words of each of the Ten Commandments.

Interestingly, the emotional and symbolic power of the Ten Commandments loomed so large in our tradition, that Maimonides ruled against including the text in our daily service, lest Jews come to think we value this particular passage above all others.

What is in the message of this passage that makes it so significant? Our Torah, according to an ancient tradition, contains a total of 613 commandments, not just ten. Why do these in particular make the category of Top Ten?

This topic is certainly worthy of our appraisal on this first day of 5768.

A very interesting feature of the Ten Commandments is that in Hebrew, we have a different name for them. We call them the Asseret HaDibrot, ‘The Ten Utterances.’ Why not Asseret HaMitzvot, literally ‘the Ten Commandments?’ Are they in fact Ten Commandments? A close look will quickly reveal the problem.

The first begins “I am the Lord your God who took you out of the land of Egypt.” What exactly is the commandment here? We are not being told to do anything in particular. Almost all the classic commentaries hold that this is not a commandment at all, but an introduction, a rational, a premise. “ Listen up – the God who just saved you from the horrors of Egypt has something to tell you. You had better pay attention.” Following that intro there follow nine other commandments – or are there nine?

The last commandment is also problematic. “Lo Tachmod” “Thou shalt not covet.” At first blush, that sounds very nice, a very lofty ideal. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we lived in such a world? Being satisfied with what you have and not wanting anything more is rather rare. We have an entire marketing industry that devotes itself to developing dissatisfaction in people. They produce creative plans to make you lust for another gizmo or toy or luxury automobile. The rabbis expressed the idea behind this prohibition against coveting in positive language in a passage in Pirke Avot, the Ethics of the Sages. “Azeh hu ashir? HaSameach b’chelko. – who is truly wealthy? One who is satisfied with what they have.” But how can you be satisfied with version Two point Oh, if version Two point two is already available?

The question is: does the law “Thou shalt not covet” make sense? Can a person truly be commanded to think or feel in a particular way? Can thought be mandated, or only action?

In our tradition, thought does matter a great deal. A mitzvah, without the proper thought behind it, the kavanah, doesn’t count as a fulfillment of the commandment. If you light Shabbat candles just to make the room more attractive, have you fulfilled the mitzvah? I thought about this question just a short time ago. I was called to the ICU at Manchester Hospital to be with a family as a man was dying. As is appropriate I recited the Sh’ma and other prayers on behalf of the patient. So the question arises, does my recitation of the Sh’ma Yisrael prayer count as my fulfillment of the mitzvah to recite Sh’ma morning and evening? The timing was correct. It was about 5:30 AM, just as the sun was rising, the optimum time to recite Sh’ma. But the intention was not there. My recitation was on behalf of the dying man, not for my fulfillment of that particular mitzvah.

In our tradition thought does count, but can it be mandated? Can an emotion be an imperative, or is that by definition impossible? We do, at first glance appear to have several mitzvot that involve emotions: Thou shalt love the Lord thy God, Thou shalt love the stranger; Thou shalt not hate thy kinsman in thy heart. These clearly are emotions, so perhaps we can in the same way command, “Thou shalt not covet.” The answer is the same for each of these mitzvot. As our tradition has evolved, it is not a feeling that is mandated but action. “Thou shalt love thy neighbor” is understood to demand appropriate deeds. Care for him; be compassionate to her; treat another’s property as carefully as you treat your own. And so it is with coveting: Maimonides tells us, “don’t act covetously, don’t behave in that fashion.” The Torah urges good thinking, but only commands action.

There is another thought about this tenth commandment that I want to share with you. It is mentioned in our Etz Hayim Chumash and I think it is brilliant. My colleague Rabbi Jim Rosen called it to my attention. The commentary there quotes Rabbi Yechiel Meechaeyl, a Chassidic master. He says: “’You shall not covet’ is not a directive but a promise. A person careful about the previous nine, will have no reason to covet what anyone else has.” I think that is a remarkable thought. The first and the last of the utterances, as we call them, relate to our mind: Belief in God and a life without covetous thinking. The other eight, for which these two are the bookends, all concern deeds. This explains the Hebrew terminology, Asseret HaDibrot, the Ten Utterances, rather than “the Ten Commandments.” In fact, only eight are mitzvot, but just consider how significantly they can impact your life. Live a life of mitzvot, fulfilling the commandments, and you will never be the same. A life of integrity, of loyalty to Torah, of mitzvah, makes a difference; it affects the very essence of the person. In the wise words of Rabbi Rosen, “Between premise and promise is life as sacred duty; that is the message of Sinai.” The premise is that there is a God in this world and that God makes demands of us. The promise is a life without lusting after things that are not yours.

So let’s consider these eight mitzvot, these eight remarkable goals.

Imagine a world in which people did not worship other gods. Few of us have neighbors who are polytheists, pagan worshippers bringing grain offerings to the god of corn or whatever. But we certainly know people who worship other gods – be it the god of personal finance, of technology, or of fashion. You know the popular television program “American Idolatry” or rather “American Idol?” Think about the way some people relate to entertainers and you will understand why I gave it that name.

Imagine a world of 24/6, not 24/7. Imagine retreating from the rat race one day a week, escaping your email one day in seven. Just one day of not hearing advertisements blaring from the radio or television. Do you recall the crisis a few months ago when the Blackberry system went down for 12 hours? Talk about slavery!

Of course, you know what I am referring to. We don’t have to imagine such a world. Those who observe Shabbat enjoy it now. One day a week to actually talk to people, not IM them. One day a week to linger over dinner, enjoy family, schmooze and tell a few stories, or even take a nap.

Notice that the next commandment is “Honor your father and your mother.” It doesn’t command that you love them. The Torah knows that relationships can be problematic, and while you cannot legislate love, you can demand honor. Whether your parents are still in this world or are already in the next, how you treat them or their memory, whether you live up to the ideals they set for you or not, will effect the kind of person you are.

The next three commandments go to the core of who you are, to the essential life of integrity. They involve truth and justice. No theft, no murder, no lies, no false witness. Imagine a world in which fundamental trust exists because you can depend upon your neighbor, be he or she next door or on the next continent. Imagine being able to believe all you read in the newspaper, because you know that people are truthful and respect human life. What would our world be like if relationships were cherished; promises kept, and all husbands and wives truly lived according to the vows they stated on the day they wed. Why do we call it adultery? Is that because it involves the kind of acts contained in adult films, another misnomer?

The world indeed owes a debt to our people, and that is something for which we can be eternally proud. But can we take credit for this remarkable document if we don’t ourselves live up to its ideals?

So often a congregant has said, “Rabbi, I may not be in schul very often, but at least I live according to the Ten Commandments.“ Halivai! You can’t imagine how tempted I am to ask, “And do know what the Ten Commandments are? Can you name them?”

The truth is, few of us, and I surely include myself, live up to the high ideals of Asseret HaDibrot. Today is Yom Hadin, the Day of Judgment, and the beginning of the period of repentance and self-scrutiny. Wouldn’t this be the perfect time to recommit ourselves to at least these 8 mitzvot, and if you want to pick a few of the other 613 to work on as well, Harey Zeh Meshubach, how much the better.

In our tradition, when someone fulfills a mitzvah, the appropriate accolade is “Tizke l’mitzvot.” May you have the privilege to do even more mitzvot. That is my prayer for all of us this year. May the New Year bring all of us the opportunity to fulfill many mitzvot, and may we be blessed by their merit.

Rosh HaShanah 5768

Day Two

Israeli politicians speaking in the US have a stock story they use to open their presentations. They say, “If I were asked to sum up the situation in Israel today in just one word, it would be “Good.” If I were told I could do it in two words, it would be “Not good.”

That opening is just perfect for me this morning. It characterizes so well the good news/bad news message I want to share with you. I want to tell you today what hurts me about Israel, but I also want you to understand why I love Israel so deeply.

Lisa and I spent a week in Israel this summer, a wonderful week, but we were chagrined to find spirits there so low. We spent time up at the Lebanese border, and it was hard to believe that just last summer that was a war zone. While tourism is up in general in Israel, in the far north, there were few tourists. Too many people feared another outbreak of hostilities. The war last summer was problematic in so many ways, and everyone is disgusted to realize that after so much suffering, nothing has changed. Hezbollah has rearmed and is as anxious as ever to destroy Israel, and Ehud Goldwasser and Eldad Regev are still in captivity. It is no wonder that the approval rating for the government is below 2%.

In the south the situation is even worse. Two years ago Israel unilaterally disengaged from Gaza. At that time, the country was very divided regarding the wisdom of disengagement. In fact, all the fears of what might happen materialized. Gaza became “Hamas-stan,” a hotbed of Islamist terror and a launching pad for hostilities. The families who were evacuated against their will are suffering tremendous privation. The government made extensive promises to them but those promises have not been kept. 50% of the evacuees are still living in temporary caravans. Many of them worked in agriculture. Only 10% have found work in that area. Small business owners received no compensation for their losses. Tremendous psychological problems were caused by the upheaval in people’s lives, and staggering statistics were recently released regarding that aspect of the suffering. We hear very little about this shameful situation, and very few organizations are doing anything to fill in where the government fell short. Two organizations that have been particularly helpful are JNF and JobKatif. We should all be supportive of these efforts.

While this situation is truly tragic, what is worse is that it appears to have been for naught. As predicted, pulling out of Gaza just moved the security problem several miles north.

Until the Intifada began in the summer of 2000, very few people had heard of Sederot, just a kilometer north of Gaza. That is when the pummeling by Kassam rockets began, but it grew far worse after the disengagement. It is truly only by the grace of God that very few Israelis have been killed by the daily attacks. Our Conservative Movement in Israel has organized several R&R days for Sederot residents, both children and adults, and those programs have been very well received. The citizens of Sederot are heroes for refusing to give up their homes and move north. They are insufficiently appreciated by world Jewry. If Sederot would crumble under the pressure of our enemies, Ashkelon would be next, and then Ashdod, and onward, until nothing of the Jewish State would remain.

As badly as these Israelis have been treated, I want to add another area of concern I have always had: discrimination against Israel’s Arab minority. This mistreatment has not only been politically inept, creating a fifth column within the county, but it runs contrary to important Torah values. “Torah achat u’mishpat echad ye’yeh lachem, v’lager hagar etchem.” “One law, one justice, shall apply to you and to the stranger who shall dwell in your midst.” Discrimination is forbidden, and yet it has happened, and that is literally a sin. We Jews have always been in the forefront of social justice wherever we have lived. Surely that value should apply when we live in our own land.

I will go on. Israel is the only country in the world in which Conservative Judaism is discriminated against. By virtue of the political system in Israel, the coalition form of democracy, the Orthodox rabbinate has a stranglehold on religious authority. Every community in Israel has government-supported synagogues, mikvaot, and rabbis, but they are all Orthodox. Conservative and Reform rabbis not recognized to officiate at weddings or funerals. There are fifty Masorti congregations in Israel, but only six have full time rabbis, because unlike the Orthodox synagogue, no government aid is provided. Numerous Conservative rabbis have had to leave the rabbinate, or leave Israel, in order to support their families. So often Israeli visitors here say how much they like Conservative Judaism. “If only we had something like this in Israel,” they complain. Of course it does exist, but under so much financial pressure, they just can’t get the word out.

And just one last area of grievance: the Israeli government just doesn’t know how to tell its story to the world. It excels in poor PR. Why is it that Jews, who are so accomplished in so many areas, utterly fail in this realm? Consider the incidents of anti-Zionism, often disguised Anti-Semitism, which have taken advantage of Israel’s terrible image. The academic boycott of Israeli scholars organized in England is just one awful example. The brouhaha regarding former president Jimmy Carter’s book, whose title I would not even say from the bima, is yet another. Did you know that since 1967, Israel has built 6 universities, 20 community colleges and 166 clinics for Palestinians? Almost no one knows it, and that is a shame. Could Carter’s despicable book have been acceptable to the American public if this were more widely known? Consider the recent CNN broadcast “God’s Warriors.” One segment dealt with the notion that the Israel lobby in outrageously powerful in Washington, and no mention was made of the oil lobby, which is primarily supported by the Saudi government. If Israel did a better job of Hazbarah, of public relations, such distortions would affect far fewer people.

There are so many wonderful things going on in Israel that should be loudly trumpeted in the world press and media, but it doesn’t happen. Consider just a few things that Israel should be publicizing more effectively.

Israel has strong human rights groups who devote themselves to working on behalf of minorities. I am proud that Israel is a democracy that promotes such efforts. Have you ever heard of a human rights group in any Arab country?

Israel has a strong court system that is most vigilant in protecting the rights of all citizens. The route of the security barrier that Israel is building to prevent terrorism has been reviewed countless times by the Israeli Supreme Court and in many instances the barrier was rerouted because it appeared to interfere with the rights of the Arab population. Just last week there was such a ruling that forced the government to tear down and reroute the security barrier because it split the village of Bilin separating the farmers from their fields. By the way, do you know how many Jewish farmers have fields in Arab lands?

Israel has always been the first among world nations to respond to natural disasters, and at great expense sends help to countries in need. Do you know that since 1958, Israel has extended humanitarian aid to more than 140 countries including Bosnia, Indonesia, Jordan, Morocco, Rwanda, South Africa, Uganda and Venezuela? These are not Israel’s best friends; some are her sworn enemies. But when it comes to humanitarian aid, Israel acts according to Jewish principles, and that makes me so proud.

Despite the catalog of complaints I have presented this morning, the truth is, I love Israel with all my heart and soul.

Israel has its flaws, but it is my only spiritual homeland. It is the land the God I pray to promised our people, and I cannot help but love it.

Since my first trip there with USY in 1964, I have not missed an opportunity to return. I have taken upon myself the personal mission, with the help of this wonderful congregation, of getting as many people as I can to visit Israel so that I can share my love. In the summer of 2006 we had our largest group ever, and it was a spectacular trip. We have one planned for next summer and I have high hopes that it will be even better.

My love for Israel comes down to two things: it’s ours and it’s a land of miracles.

Israel is ours. How great is it that there exists one little piece of real estate on this huge planet that can be called the Jewish state. The Italians have Italy and the Poles have Poland and the Irish have Ireland: isn’t it awe-inspiring that we too have a spiritual homeland we can call our own?

Every morning we say a beautiful prayer before the Sh’ma. We say “V’havienu l’shalom may-arbah kanfot ha-aretz” – Bring us safely from the four corners of the earth, “v’toleechenu kommimiut l’artzenu” and bring us to our land standing tall. This is a prayer that our ancestors have recited for nearly 2,000 years, and in my lifetime it was fulfilled. Jews have not only returned to the family of free nations, but we have done so ‘kommimiyut’ standing tall.

Rabbi Yitz Greenberg, one of America’s foremost Jewish leaders, wrote:

“What does it mean to be a generation that opens with an event of destruction greater than any other in Jewish history, followed by the greatest redemption in Jewish history? The years of this generation have been nothing less than the greatest period in Jewish history of all time. Two of the four greatest events in Jewish history have occurred during these eighty years: the Holocaust….and the rebirth of Israel.” He goes on to compare these events to the destruction of the Temple by the Romans, and the Exodus from Egypt. Then he says, “Whereas the biblical Exodus and the destruction of the Temple were millennia apart, the modern events happened in one generation.”

People ask why miracles such as those we read about in the Bible no longer happen in modern times. The State of Israel is the answer to that question.

Consider the miracle of Israel’s rebirth as an independent Jewish state and her continued existence these sixty years. Young Jews, never knew a world without Israel, and take it for granted. Yes, Israel was granted, by God’s promise to Abraham 3700 years ago, and we have seen the promise fulfilled. Isn’t that a miracle? Non-Jews cannot understand the reality of Israel. They read the newspapers and watch TV and assume that Israel is a superpower second only to the USA. They think Israel must be a very large country, and they cannot believe that Israel’s land mass is one-sixth of one percent the size of the Arab world; or, that there are only 5 1/2 million Jews in Israel while there are 300 million Middle Eastern Arabs and Muslims. Recognizing that the Arab world has never come to terms with the reality of Israel’s existence, isn’t it obvious that Israel’s survival is a miracle of Biblical proportions?

Consider the miracle of Kibbutz Galuyot, the ingathering of the exiles. We sing that prayer lustily in Musaph – V’karev pizurenu, ay-y-yaya” but now it is no longer just a Messianic dream. It has happened. They have come from the four corners of the earth, and more. Anyone who has been on an Israeli bus or walked the streets of any Israeli town or city is aware of this wonderful reality.

Think about the miracle of the resurrection of the dry bones, as the Prophet Ezekiel preached in the Bible. A young woman in our congregation came with her family on a Temple trip to Israel three years ago. This past summer, after finishing her freshman year in college, she traveled to Poland and then to Israel on a March of the Living/ birthright program. I asked her how her impressions of Israel changed from one trip to the next. She said that the remarkable difference was the joy of seeing the living, thriving Jewish State of Israel after visiting the decimated Jewish community of Poland. With her own eyes she saw what the Prophet Ezekiel meant when he spoke of the bones in the valley of death coming back to life. Elise will talk about her experience on Yom Kippur afternoon next week.

We Jews of this modern age have had an incredible privilege. How can we not but tremble in awe of it? Our Haftara this morning speaks of Rachel’s tears at the exile of her children. But God comforts her: “v’shavu vanim ligvulam – and your children shall return to their borders.” We have seen that promise fulfilled.

Just three weeks ago Rabbi Judah Nadich died. He was a great leader of the American Jewish community throughout the 20^th century. He told a wonderful story. He visited Palestine in 1937. He was looking out of the window of the seaplane preparing to take off from Haifa Bay, and the man next to him introduced himself as Rabbi Meir Berlin, who was a legendary Zionist leader. Rabbi Berlin asked: “ I see that you are having a last look at Eretz Yisrael. Do you plan to return?” Rabbi Nadich responded, as a traditional Jew would, ‘Im yirtze haShem,’ God willing, if God so desires. Rabbi Berlin retorted, “Of course God wants you to return. The rest is up to you.”

Friends, it is up to you, up to each and every one of us. May this year be the one in which we fulfill God’s promise, “V’shavu vanim ligvulam – and your children shall return to their borders.”

AMEN

Kol Nidrei Night 5768

I have flown to Israel many times, and every time I am amazed by certain things that I find just miraculous. Consider the size of the aircraft, the Boeing 747, the fact that it carries about 500 passengers, many of whom appear to have eaten far too many Yontif meals. Then add to that the luggage of these people, most of whom have loved ones in Israel and want to bring them the riches of this country, some 1000+ huge suitcases and corrugated boxes. That this humongous aircraft filled with humongous passengers and their luggage actually gets off the ground is surely a miracle.

The next miracle is that the pilot, often in the dark, and with no road signs along the way, can guide this aircraft to a particular place on the surface of this tremendous planet. I know many people who have problems going from Hartford to JFK, yet the journey from JFK to Tel Aviv seems to go effortlessly. Nissim v’niflaot. Will wonders never cease?

Of course, I know that modern pilots have many technological aids, just as drivers today have that gizmo, the GPS system, with its lovely young lady inside telling them what roads to follow and what turns to make.

On Rosh Hashanah our hero was Abraham. There was a man who could have used a GPS. God called out to him and said, “Lech lecha” “Go forth” and when he asked “Where to?” all he was told was “to the land that I will show you.” But he did find it. I suppose the truth is, Abraham had the very best GPS anyone could ever have.

Knowing that God has this tremendous sense of direction, we need to ask a question about a section much earlier in the Torah.

Martin Buber raised this question in a story he tells about the Hasidic master, Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Ladi. The opponents of Hasidism had betrayed the rabbi to the Tsarist police and he was put in jail. His jailer was a devout man who had a tremendous interest in the Bible. The jailer asked the rabbi, "How are we to understand that God, the all-knowing, said to Adam: ’Where are you?’" The rabbi answered the jailer, "Do you believe that the Scriptures are eternal and that every era, every generation, and every man is included in them?" "I believe this," answered the jailer. "Well then," said Rav Shneur Zalman, "in every era, God asks every person, ‘Ayeka” Where are you in your world? So many years and days of those allotted to you have passed, and how far have you gotten in your world?’ God says something like this, ’You have lived forty-six years. How far along are you?’" When the jailer heard his exact age mentioned by the rabbi, he was shaken to his core. He placed his hand on the rabbi’s shoulder, and cried.

The question raised by the jailer is a good one, and the rabbi’s explanation was insightful. God is not asking a geographic question; his query is spiritual. It is the same question we must ask ourselves this Yom Kippur, ‘Ayeka?” Where am I at this point in my life?

To skip far ahead in the Bible, our hero tomorrow will be the prophet Jonah. Jonah also has a few very direct questions addressed to him, and those questions too are important for us to consider on this Yom Kippur.

You know the story: he gets on a ship and attempts to go to the other end of the earth. The problem is, it’s the wrong end. God told him to go to Nineveh, which is off to the east of Israel in modern day Iraq, and instead Jonah goes off to the west. Clearly, he is running as fast as he can from responsibility. Before he ends up in the belly of the fish, his ship encounters a storm and as the ship founders. Jonah is asked a series of questions by the crew, now scared for their lives: “Tell us, you have who have brought this misfortune upon us, What is your business, where have you come from? may’ayin Bahtah? what is your country and of what people are you?”

The sailors asked four questions, and Jonah answers them all in two words: “Ivri Anochi, I am a Hebrew.” Jonah’s straightforward proclamation of his identity is eerily reminiscent of the statement made by the martyred journalist Daniel Pearl in 2002, “I am a Jew.” Jonah’s forthright answer to the sailors, and Daniel Pearl’s proud proclamation to the Muslim extremists is in many ways one in the same: to be a Jew means to come from a people with a certain mission, and that mission can be summed up in the words God used in speaking of Abraham’s descendants: “v’shamru derech hashem – to keep the way of the Lord – laasot tzedakah u’mishpat – by doing what is just and right.”

You know, of course, to whom that mission is addressed: to us, the descendants of Abraham. And it is a daunting challenge.

God’s question to Adam was Ayeka – where are you? But it cannot be answered without consideration of the sailors’ question to Jonah: May-ayin ba-tah – Where have you come from? We should consider both of these questions tonight.

Let me tell you about someone who I am sure spent a good deal of time thinking about “May-ayin ba-tah – From where have you come?” I refer to the Roman Catholic prelate Cardinal Aaron Jean-Marie Lustiger (pronounced li-sti-ZHAY) who died just last month. The Cardinal was the son of Jews in France. His mother died in Auschwitz, and he had converted as a teen during the war. After the war, his father tried in vain to have the conversion annulled, as a conversion undertaken for the sake of survival. But the younger Lustiger refused to give up his Catholicism, and yet to his dying day insisted that he had remained a Jew after his conversion.

Isn’t it interesting: so often we Jews we are eager to claim people of great stature as our own. Look at how we declare half Jews or quarter Jews as exemplars of Jewish excellence. And yet, Lustiger’s repeated assertion of his Jewish identity left me very irritated. In essence, he was claiming “Zechut Avot,” the merit of ancestors, yet he refused to recognize that to claim that one is a faithful member of another religion is to leave behind one’s Jewish connection. Jewish identity is not merely an ethnic identification. It is a significant religious statement as well.

So on this Yom Kippur, we must ask: where are we coming from? Lustiger had a grandfather who was a rabbi, But so what? His parents were secular and sadly provided no Jewish content to his life. Are we doing any better? How many people can claim a learned Jewish parent or grandparent or perhaps great-grandparent as part of one’s heritage? What does it mean to have this ancestral merit, this yichus, if your life is devoid of the content for which that rabbi or hazzan or whatever committed his life? Hair color or eye color may pass quite effortlessly from one generation to the next; Torah leaning does not.

We are going to be saying lots of prayers in the next 24 hours. I don’t want to take away your concentration on those prayers, but I do want to provide a focus for your soul-searching.

I have brought to your attention tonight two questions: Where have you come from, May-ayiin bah-ta, and where are you now, Ayeka. Think about these questions tomorrow when you say the prayer before the Sh’ma and plead with God “Haer aynenu b’toratecha – enlighten our eyes with Your Torah – v’dabek libebu b’mitzvotecha – and cause us to cleave to Your commandments.” How do you understand those words in light of where you have come from and where you are now? Is this a fair request we should be making of God, or is this clearly work in which we must be active participants?

Once you have thought about “Where have I come from?” and “Where am I now?” doesn’t it become obvious that the next question should be “Where am I going in this new year?”

As a matter of fact, in Pirke Avot, the Ethics of the Sages, Akavia ben Mahalalel makes that very point, and goes one further. He says, “Know from where you have come, to where you are going, and before Whom you will one day be required to give an accounting.” That certainly puts a fine point on it, but one we ought to consider on this Yom Kippur.

Sometimes the key issue is in which direction you are going. How many times have people told me about their righteous grandparents, or that when they were first married they kept kosher. Consistently, these people are not moving in the direction I would hope. On the other hand, I also often hear of Jews who came from very assimilated backgrounds and have discovered the joy of more intensive Jewish living. For some Jews, Shabbat for them is nothing more than lighting candles on Friday night, but for them this is a wonderful step in the right direction. In another case, all that remains of Shabbat is lighting candles on Friday night, and for them, this is a regrettable step in the wrong direction. Both of these families are in the same place, but the direction in which they are moving makes all the difference. As we face this new Jewish year, we would do well to ask ourselves – are we on the way up or on the way down? Are we moving forward, or are we in retreat?

These questions may seem overwhelming. But let me offer some comfort: This is not a multiple-choice test where you fill in the bubble with a number two pencil. There is no absolute right or wrong answer. Know too that God does not expect us to know the answers to these questions immediately. On this test, speed doesn’t count. The important thing is that in answering, we must dig deep, and we must be honest with ourselves and with God.

When God confronted Adam with the question “Ayeka,” where are you, Adam was more than a little flustered. Rather than answering truthfully, he passed the buck. He evaded the issue. “I heard your voice in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked; so I hid myself.” Adam admits no wrongdoing. He only says that he was naked, which he had been all along. After this pitiful evasion, God gives Adam another chance to confess and repent. “Who told you you were naked? Have you eaten of the fruit of which I commanded you not to eat?” Now it’s perfectly clear that the jig is up and God knows exactly what happened, but still Adam does not accept responsibility. “The woman whom you gave to be with me, she gave me of the tree and I ate.” This is even worse. Adam blames both God and the woman. Adam would have felt right at home in our society, always finding someone else to blame. The underlying message here should be clear: in answering God’s questions we must be honest and take personal responsibility.

Adam’s problem leads me to final thought: as penetrating as these questions may be; as formidable a challenge as they may present, know that you are not alone. Adam could not look back at a heritage of 3,500 years. He did not have ancestry that included spiritual giants. Adam could not claim Zechut Avot, ancestral merit. What may be even more significant: he had no Jewish community to which to turn for moral support. He could not even have found a minyan to say Kaddish if he had to. We have the blessing of a Jewish community. We can say Hazak, Hazak v’nitchazek – be strong, take courage, we will strength one another.

Now, each of us must courageously face these crucial questions: where have I been, where am I now, and where am I going. May our journey along this road be a fruitful one, and may we together arrive safely in a holy destination.

Yizkor Yom Kippur 2007

In a small shtetl in Poland, Shmerel was desperate. How was he going to feed his family? Shmerel was out of work and as hard as he tried, he could not get a job. So, he turned to the rabbi. Surely with his wisdom and compassion a solution could be found for Shemeril’s problem. Indeed, the rabbi offered him a job. Shemeril was to be the official lookout for the Messiah. He would sit in a small hut on the hill just outside the town and continually scan the horizon. As soon as he spotted the Messiah on the way, he was to rush to the synagogue and announce the good news. But what did this job pay? Would it be enough to feed his family? The rabbi told Shemeril what the wage would be and Shemeril was deeply upset. How could they live on so little? The rabbi admitted that it was a very modest salary, but look at the upside, he said. This job is going to last for long, long time.

We have been waiting for the Mashiach, the Messiah, for a long, long time, and I am getting the impression that it is going to be a while more. Our Siddur is filled with prayers expressing our yearning for redemption. Approximately 7:30 this evening, we will begin chanting a very familiar prayer. “Eliyahu ha Navi, Eliyahu ha Tishbi, Eliyahu Eliyahu, Elyayhu HaGiladi. – Elijah the Prophet, Elijah from Tish, Elijah from Gilad. Bimheray byamenu, yavo elaynu. Soon, in our days, come to us. Im Mashiah ben David, Im Mashiah ben David. He will come, he will bring the Messiah, the anointed one, the heir of King David.” We sing that with such passion, but I wonder how many Jews know what it is we are waiting for.

My colleague, Rabbi Robert Levine, who serves a Reform congregation in Manhattan, tells a wonderful story. Every year the congregation holds a Third Seder with the members of Memorial Baptist Church in Harlem. They recount stories of their respective bondage and liberation. They use the symbols of the Seder as the focus of their story telling. Prominent among these is the gleaming silver Kos Shel Eliyahu, the cup of Elijah that sits, brimming full of wine in the center of the Seder table. Chaminique, an African American ten-year-old girl with braided hair, approached the rabbi with a question. “Hey, Mr. Rabbi, who is drinking that wine?” The rabbi explained. “We leave that cup, Chaminique, hoping that Elijah the prophet will come down from heaven, visit our Seder, and drink the wine. In fact, during the Seder we open the door hoping that Elijah will arrive that very minute.” The little girl responded, “Well why do you want Elijah to come?” “Because we believe that if Elijah comes, he will announce the coming of the Messiah. You know how in your religion Jesus was sent by God to tell everyone how to live?” “Uh-huh.” “And you believe Jesus will come again to make the world a better place? Well, we don’t believe that Jesus was the messiah, but we are still hoping that the messiah will come into our world soon.” Chaminique took all this in and then had some questions. “And you do this every year – open the door for Elijah and hope the messiah will come right after?” “Yes, we do.” “And you hope the Messiah will make the world a better place?” “That’s right, we do.” Chaminique looked the rabbi right in the eyes and asked, “So why are you still waiting? Why don’t you do it yourself?”

From the mouths of babes can come such powerful challenges!

Jewish history can be charted according to the cycles of longing for the Messiah. The worse things got, the more desperate our yearning for messianic relief. In the 8^th century BCE, 2800 years ago, the powerful Assyrian empire was threatening Judah and Israel. The prophet Isaiah warned of exile, but gave comfort saying that God would not abandon His people forever but would ultimately redeem them. In his Messianic vision he says, “In that day, the wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and the calf with the young lion.” An Israeli army strategist once said that in that situation, you want to be the wolf not the lamb. Woody Allen cautioned that while the wolf and the lamb would lie down together, the lamb wouldn’t get any sleep. Maimonides, nearly 1,000 years ago, understood Isaiah’s vision as a metaphor. The wolf represents Israel’s enemies and when the Messianic age arrives, Israel, the lamb, will no longer be oppressed. Nachmonides, a Jewish theologian a century later, understood Isaiah quite literally. In the Messianic age even wild animals will become domesticated and sweet tempered. But that was not Isaiah’s vision. His promise was messianic. God would redeem His people.

Eight centuries after Isaiah, the Jewish people were again desperate. Now the enemy was the Roman Empire, and messianic fever raged. Some Jews in that period, although not many, saw a young man by the name of Jesus as a Messiah. But the expected relief was not forthcoming, and the Jews ultimately rejected the possibility that this man was in anyway divine. How could they have seen him as a Messiah? Isaiah had prophesied world peace and that surely was not the reality they saw.

Jesus was just the first in a series of false Messiahs who rose and fell over the course of the next 16 centuries. And that is when things got really interesting.

Many of you have visited the Ari Synagogue in Tzefat. I know you have because I took you there. The Holy Ari was Rabbi Isaac Luria. He only lived to the age of 38, but his thinking was the foundation of what is today known as Kabbalah. He taught that when God set out to create the world, he planned to pour a holy light into everything in order to make it real. For this purpose, God prepared kalim, vessels, to contain this holy light, but disaster struck and the vessels burst, shattering into millions of shards. Luria called this event Shvirat HaKalim, the breaking of the vessels and that account for the fact that our world is deeply flawed. When poverty persists while some people have too much to eat, these vessels remain shattered. When nations make war rather than apply their wealth to solving the world’s problems, the shards remain scattered. But God gave us the freedom of choice: we can allow the world to remain broken, or, as Luria urged, we can bring together the broken shards and repair the vessels.

This is a powerful image, and is very important in order to understand the Jewish concept of the Messiah. Our world is broken. The Ari explains that with the Shvirat HaKelim, the shattered vessels. However you explain this, no one can doubt that our world is in need of repair. Desperately in need. Some Jews believe that the perfection of the world will come only when all the shards are collected and the vessels are reconstructed. That will be what we call the Messianic Age. I like that image. But the question is: how do we collect the shards, how do we repair the world? Those who take the Ari’s teachings literally believe that each time a Jew does a mitzvah, be it visiting the sick or lighting Shabbat candles, shards are collected. That’s why these Jews will stand on street corners in New York asking Jewish passers-by to put on tephillin, or they outfit a flatbed truck with a Succah and call it a Succah-mobile and ask Jews to come in to bench Lulav. Each time they promote the fulfillment of a mitzvah, they are bringing closer the Mashiach, the messiah.

I see things in a less literal way. I also encourage the observance of mitzvot, and I do believe that performing mitzvot will help bring the redemption. But I think that doing ritual mitzvot will lead more directly to personal, spiritual renewal than it will to the repair of our broken world. To repair the world, we need to reach out to our fellow creatures and concentrate more on the mitzvot bein Adam l’chavero, the interpersonal commandments. Hopefully, the former will lead us to do the latter. Mitzvah goreret mitzvah. One mitzvah leads to another. The world is broken in that too many people are starving in poverty plagued cities and famine stricken nations. That is why we support Mazon, to feed the hungry in America, and support American Jewish World Service, to teach farming in third world countries. Nations are still lifting up swords against other nations, and that is why we have a responsibility to raise our voices in protest against the genocide in Darfur, and work toward understanding between people of different races, religious beliefs and economic strata.

There are religions that believe redemption is strictly in the hands of God. I believe we are God’s hands.

When the modern Zionist movement came to be at the end of the 19^th century, some very traditional Jews protested that these upstarts were forcing the hand of God. They believed that the Messiah would come in God’s good time and that until then we had to wait. The religious Zionist’s said otherwise. They saw the possibility of creating a modern Jewish State as a gift of God and that they had the absolute obligation to do what they could to help bring about the redemption.

Bottom line, Chaminique who wondered about the Cup of Elijah is on the very same wavelength as the Religious Zionists. Yes, the world is broken, we are in need of redemption, and what, in God’s name, are we waiting for? If we want the Messiah, it is up to us to make him welcome. That’s one way to say it. Another way would be, “There is no Messiah, and you are it.”

Maimonides 13 principles of faith have become well known in many ways. The Twelfth principle may be the most well known. “Ani maamin b’emunah shlaymah - I believe with a perfect faith – b’viat hamashiach – in the coming of the Messiah and even though he may tarry even so, I will wait daily for his coming.” It is reported that in the concentration camps, even in the concentrations camps, many Jews sang the “Ani Maamin” while walking to the gas chambers.

I do believe in the coming of the Messiah, I do believe we live in a broken world desperately in need of Tikun Olam, of repair, and above all, I believe that we cannot wait any longer. We must pick up the shards and bring them together. That is what we do every time we do a mitzvah, every time we reach out to someone in need, every time we act to make this a better world.

In this Yizkor hour, we reflect on the lives of loved ones no longer with us in this physical world. We know that they too yearned for a better world, a world less broken. As we consider the contribution each of them made toward fixing this world, we must consider as well what we can do.

When the Hasidic master, Reb Yaakov Yitchak, the “Seer of Lublin,” died, his disciples divided his worldly goods. One got his books, one his Kiddush cup, another his Tallis, and one humble Chasid was given the Rebbe’s clock. On his way home, the Chasid stopped at an inn. When he discovered he had no money to pay his bill, he offered the innkeeper the Rebbe’s clock as payment. A year later, another of the Rebbe’s Chasidim passed by and stayed at that inn. All night, he could not sleep. All night, the innkeeper heard the footsteps of the restless Chasid pacing the floor. In the morning, the worried innkeeper inquired of his guest, “Was there something wrong with the room?” The Chasid replied anxiously, “The clock, where did you get the clock?” The innkeeper related the story. “I knew it!” responded the Chasid. “This clock belonged to the Seer. It is a holy clock. All other clocks in the world measure time from the past – they measure us from where we have come. This clock ticks toward the future. Every time I lay down to rest, the clock reminded me how much more there is to do before redemption can be realized.”

May each of us realize how much there is yet to do, and may we do our share in bringing redemption to our broken world.