Wednesday, September 30, 2020

Finding Peace: Yom Kippur Yizkor 5781

 It has been 9 years since my father died – and there isn’t a day that I don’t think of him. His death came slowly. It was cruel.  Alzheimer’s Disease robbed him of his memories, his dignity and his ability to connect with those who loved him

Many people have said that the process of mourning is like a journey.  Each step takes us further away from the immediacy of loss  And yet, each day also reminds us of our loved one’s absence – as the moments we want to share with them become reminders of the fact that they are gone:

§  Milestones

§  Birthdays

§  Successes

§  Failures

§  The times when we crave their presence the most are also poignant moments of awareness of their absence

But I’ve learned something over these past 9 years – something important that is not unique or new – but it is vital nonetheless.  You see, as years pass and the immediacy of loss becomes more and more distant, it is replaced with a sense of Shalom

The time that has passed has allowed me – and my family – and everyone who knew and loved and was loved by my father – to focus, not on his illness and death, but rather, to reclaim him in his prime – to give thanks for the gifts he bequeathed to us – his laughter, his caring, his creativity and his goodness.

There is a saying that time heals all wounds.  That’s not true.  Time does not and cannot heal.  What time can do, however, is to provide us with us perspective. It helps us to see that grief and loss, while very real, are only one part of the totality of the reality of the relationships we shared with those who have been taken from us.  To only focus on their absence is to deny the power of their presence – and the gifts they have bequeathed to us

The Hebrew word, “shalom” does not only mean peace.  It also means completeness and fulfillment.

We find Shalom  - when the missing pieces in our lives are gathered together  - when we are given the gift of understanding how events, emotions, experiences and encounters combine to form a mosaic of meaning and incredible beauty.

Grief creates a hole in our soul – a deep wound that never fully heals – and is reopened with each subsequent loss we experience and the longing that accompanies them

And yet, there is a healing. The pain of the immediacy of loss can evolve into acceptance and gratitude. And this can lead us to Shalom – to wholeness

As we think about our loss, we can give thanks for the blessing of having known, of having loved and been loved by those who were taken from us.

Memory can be a gift when it allows us to realize that the pain and loss we equate with the death of our loved ones is just one part of the totality of a life that was fully lived.

I saw my father for the last time a few months before he died. He didn’t know who I was then – and that was hard. But the empty shell who barely occupied the bed in which he lay was not the sum of his existence.

The passage of time – the gift of these past 9 years – has given me the gift of retracing his life – and my own life as well. We are forever entwined – not only in memory – but in the values and the legacy that he bequeathed to me and I, in turn, have been able to pass on to my family.

I wrote the following poem shortly after that last visit:


My Father Has Hazel Eyes © Joe Black July 6, 2011

My Father has hazel eyes.

I’d like to think when he was younger

He could see a world of wonders

With an emerald sheen

In between

The hardship and the hope

The need to fight or cope

With a panoply of lies.

 

My father’s skin is smooth

Though easily bruised.

He stares into a distant

Seeing. Not seeing.

Being .  Not being.

Perhaps recalling for an instant

A time

When legs and lips and loins competing

Jingling pocket sounds completing

A trajectory of mine.

 

My father, always singing

(Telling me that he was there).

With ancient rhythms mingling

Through our home and in the air.

His laughter pierced the sadness

His anger deep below

His love was filled with gladness

And his heart did overflow

His hopes lay in his offspring

And his dreams were locked up tight

With every day an offering

Whistling praises in the night.


My father’s voice is gone now

Like a winter’s lawn now

Or a debt repaid

Or a bed unmade

Waiting to be stripped

A hand that’s lost its grip

On the world that spins around him

Or the people that surround him

Preparing their goodbyes.

 

My son has hazel eyes.

He sees with intuition,

A clarity of vision

Searching hard for things that matter

Amidst the riffraff and the chatter

In the greenish hues of spring

In the songs he loves to sing

And every day a new surprise.


 

Masks and Faces - Kol Nidre – 5781/2020

 

My Dear Friends,

Gut Yuntif – L’Shanah Tovah!

Were we sitting together in our Sanctuary tonight, I would begin my remarks asking you to raise your hands if you have worn a Mask at some point in the past week?

My guess is that most of your hands would be up. I hope we all understand that the wearing of masks can help us to fulfill the Mitzvah of pekuach Nefesh- preserving life. 

No matter how we feel about masks – and no one really likes them - they are an integral and inescapable part of the landscape of our daily lives in this pandemic-inspired period of social distancing and self-isolation. They pose all kinds of problems that no one anticipated.

For example - It's very frustrating when I try to use my iPhone, but I can’t because face recognition doesn’t work when I’m wearing a mask….

How many of us, in the grocery store produce section find it impossible to open up the plastic bags because we can’t lick out fingers?

And let’s not even talk about glasses fogging up…..

At our second day Rosh Hashanah “drive through” shofar sounding, it was wonderful to see some of you in person at Temple. But since everyone was masked and we maintained social distancing, it was difficult at first to recognize everyone - I couldn’t see your faces from far away.  It was only when I got close enough (within the appropriate 6 feet) that I could see who who had come.

Masks have become part and parcel of our lives - whether we like it or not.

Tonight, I want to talk about masks – and faces.

This sacred day has many names.  One of those names is Yom Kippurim.  We just heard Cantor Sacks’ hauntingly beautiful rendition of Kol Nidre in which she sang:  “Mi Yom Kippurim zeh, ad Yom Kippurim ha ba aleynu l’tovah – from this Yom Kippurim to the next – May it be it good for us…”

In previous years, I’ve shared with you how our rabbinic tradition takes the name, “Yom Kippurim” – which we translate as the “Day of Atonement” – and makes a pun:  Yom K’purim – “a day that is like Purim.”

How are Yom Kippurim and Purim connected?  One answer is that on Purim, we put on our masks – on Yom Kippur, we take them off. Another refers to the book of Esther. “Esther” is not a traditional Hebrew name. Some scholars believe that it is linked to the Babylonian goddess of fertility, Ishtar (which is also the name of a terrible movie…) – while Mordechai refers to the Babylonian god of war, Marduk.

But the name Esther is also connected to the Hebrew word, Hester, which means hidden.” The concept of Hester Panim refers to God’s hidden face. Esther is the only book in the Bible in which God’s name is never directly mentioned. God is hidden in the Purim story.  While Esther does not wear a mask, she was hiding something – as her name suggests. 

·         She hid her identity as a Jew.

·         She hid her dignity while dealing with the boorish King Achashverosh.

But eventually, she needed to show her true self – for her own sake and that of her people – and reveal who she really was. This became the heroic act that allowed justice to prevail and the Jews to defeat Haman.

During the next 24 hours – we, like Esther, will be removing our masks, standing before God and pleading our case for the New Year. We will show our true faces.

The Hebrew word for face is panim.  In Yiddish, it’s punim – same thing. An interesting thing about the word, “panim,” is that it is one of the few Hebrew words that is singular but written and pronounced in the plural. There are a few others – but not many. 

·         Mayim – water

·         Chayim – life.

But if you think about it – the plurality of panim makes sense. Our faces are constantly changing. And the truth is, we have many faces -   Some we show.  Some we mask.

In English – as well as in Hebrew, “face” is both a noun and a verb.  We can see a face, but we also face: 

  • our fears
  • the unknown
  • the future
  • the truth

We face one another, but we also face ourselves – and we don’t always like what we see. Sometimes we go through all kinds of efforts to fit a preconceived notion of who we think we are or want to be:

A story is told of a man who was to be married in three months.  He wanted to make sure that he would look his best at his upcoming wedding, so he went to a tailor and ordered a custom-made, bespoke suit.  The Tailor took his measurements, showed him the options for fabrics and told him to return in two months for a final fitting.  Two months later the man returned to the tailor shop - expecting to find his new suit.  He was greeted by a very apologetic tailor who told him that he was so busy, the suit wasn't finished yet, but if he come back in two weeks, his suit would be ready.  The groom had no choice and, two weeks later he returned.  Again, the tailor apologized and said that the suit was not ready - but it would be in a week.  A week later he came back and - you guessed it - no suit.  The groom was panicking.  His wedding was a few days away.  “Don't worry,” said the tailor – “come to my store on the morning of the wedding and I absolutely guarantee the suit will be ready.” 

The day of the wedding came.  The groom walked into the tailor shop and the tailor, with a broad smile on his face presented him with his new suit.  The groom was in such a hurry that he didn't even stop to try it on.  He got to the synagogue, put on his brand-new suit and to his dismay he discovered that it didn't fit at all!  One sleeve was too long, the other too short.  One leg was shorter than the other.  It was a mess!  There was no time to fix it - the wedding was scheduled to begin in just a few moments.  His best man looked at the groom  and at the suit and said:  "You know, if you twist your shoulder, and bend one of your legs when you're walking down the aisle, the suit looks like it just might fit."  And so, as the music began for the processional, the poor groom walked down the aisle with his shoulder high in the air and one leg bent.  And as he passed the guests who were seated on the aisle, he could hear them whispering to one another:  "That poor man! Look at him - all bent out of shape like that – but look at that suit…what a great tailor!!!”

How often do we twist and turn ourselves in order to fit some preconceived notion of who we wish we were, but deep down, we know we never will achieve?

On this Yom Kippurim, we stand, unfiltered before God and ourselves. All pretense gone. All masks discarded.

Tomorrow, we will read Moses’ stirring words: 

“Atem Nitzavim Hayom Kulchem Lifnei Adonai Eloheychem.

You stand -ALL of you – this day – facing Adonai Your God.”

Moses is both a troubled and, often and troubling figure in the Torah. In the last verses of the last chapter of Deuteronomy we find the words:

“And there has not risen another prophet like Moses who knew God Panim el Panim – face to face.”

The intimacy between God and Moses is remarkable.  When Moses returned from Mt. Sinai with the second set of Tablets his face was radiant, and the people could not look at him. Every subsequent time Moses encountered God in the Tent of Meeting, before speaking to the people he would cover his face with a Mask so that he could communicate with them. Some commentators posit that Moses always wore a mask when speaking to the Israelites.  Think about that for a moment. Moses could speak to God Panim el Panim – face to face – but he could not face his own people without a mask. Like so many of us, he hid his true self.

On this Kol Nidre night – we come together – but we are hidden from each other. This year we are separated by our computer screens.

There is a passage in the Zohar, the 11th century Kabbalistic text, that teaches that in the beginning of the Hebrew month of Elul each of us stands Achor el Achor – back to back. But, as Elul ends and we reach Rosh Hashanah, we begin to turn, and on Yom Kippur we stand Panim El Panim – face to face: With God // and with one another. That is the power of these days of awe. These words take on a significant and powerful meaning  - especially during this time of isolation.

We need to stand Panim El Panim.  We need to face God, ourselves and one another. That, I firmly believe, is one of the most important and central aspects of belonging to a congregation. These past 7 months have been so difficult, and yet so filled with creativity and a new comprehension of community. We have prayed together online. We have studied, celebrated simchas and found comfort in times of sorrow. One of the main questions that Jewish professionals and prognosticators are asking today revolves around the future of the Synagogue. Will our success in providing a virtual platform ultimately harm us? After all, as we said on Erev Rosh HaShanah: it’s nice attending services in your living room… You don’t have to get dressed up. You don’t need to rush to get a seat or a parking space. You can chat with those around you or online.  I’m actually quite fascinated with the discussions that take place on Facebook when our services are simulcast. The greetings, comments and heartfelt prayers that many of you post are quite beautiful. But not everybody agrees with me.  Some of my colleagues don’t like them at all.  They feel that they are a distraction from the service and are inappropriate. Not me.  Comment away!  (Right now…write a comment!!!! I’ll wait)

There’s a saying attributed to the 20th century Jewish humorist, Sam Levinson who was once asked why he went to synagogue since he wasn’t religious. Levinson responded: “There are many reasons one would go to the synagogue,” “Take Ginsburg. He goes to talk to God. Me? I go to talk to Ginsburg.”

So, in this age of virtual community, what will happen to the Synagogue?  There are two answers: 

The first is that those congregations that cannot or will not adapt to live streaming technology will suffer. I don’t mean just turning on a camera in the sanctuary and broadcasting the service. That will not be enough. We have learned a great deal over the past 7 months. A key lesson is that meaningful worship can and does take place online. But – it needs to be carefully crafted in such a way as to open a doorway of welcome and spirituality to all those participating. It can’t be a show – but it also should not be inaccessible. It must be a moving experience for all – designed to include those who are present and those who are unable to attend in person. We at Temple Emanuel are committed to providing engaging and powerful online worship: now and in the future. We are particularly grateful to the Reynolds Family Foundation for a grant that has enabled us to purchase and soon to install new, state of the art broadcasting technology in our sanctuary, chapel, social hall and throughout our building that will enable us – when we can return safely - to stream classes, worship services,  meetings and life-cycle events anywhere around the world.

The second answer to the future of the synagogue in a post-COVID-19 world lies in the concept of Panim El Panim – face to face. As important as virtual worship has become, it will never replace the power of real-time, face to face connection.  It is here in the synagogue where we foster and create sacred community - that we can take off our masks and find meaning. It is in the ancient rituals and their modern interpretations that God’s presence can be found with others. It is in moments of awe and spiritual awakening - in the laughter we share and the tears we shed.  It is in the power of Torah and the excitement of learning; it is in the beauty of the simchas and the depths of sorrows that take place within our walls.

When we stand Panim El Panim – face to face – with ourselves, our God and one another, we create a Kehilla Kedosha – a sacred community that no pandemic can possibly destroy.

And this brings me to one more aspect or community - the need to heal and ask one another for forgiveness: the process of teshuvah – of repentance that this night – that the next 24 hours - is all about. When we remove our masks, sometimes, we see painful things. We acknowledge how we have hurt one another. We know that we are not perfect and that we make mistakes. We see the path we need to take to make amends. This is our sacred task.

And so, once again on this holiest night of the year - as I do every year - I challenge you

  • Tell the people you love that you love them – whether you can do it in person, by phone or zoom.
  • Reach out to those who need you.    
  • Ask for help from those who want nothing more than to be there for you.

·         If you can – and sometimes we cannot - make amends with those who have hurt you – and to those whom you have hurt as well. 

My dear friends, on this Yom K’purim- this day that we remove our masks - we are fragile and fearful, but we are also renewed and reinvigorated.  May our striving for holiness allow us to face our fears and the future. May we be strong and May God’s choicest blessing be on us all.   

G’mar Chatimah Tovah – may we all be sealed for a blessing in the book of life. Amen

Saturday, September 19, 2020

Passing the Test - Rosh HaShanah Morning 5781

My Dear Friends,

Every year, when we read the story of the Akeda - the binding of Isaac, I am struck by the power of the narrative. No word is wasted, every nuance, every action, every moment is carefully choreographed to heighten the drama, the emotion, the energy and the terror of the events being described. Once again we listened to the story of God's asking Abraham to sacrifice his son, Isaac – read and chanted so beautifully for us this morning. In our text, father and son walk together to an unknown destination. Abraham leads Isaac to the altar, ties him up and prepares to slaughter him according to God's command. At the last minute, God stops Abraham and a ram which happened to be caught in a nearby thicket was offered up in Isaac's place.

On a literal level, the text teaches us that the binding of Isaac is a test of Abraham's faith. God needs to know if Abraham and his descendants will be able to fulfill their part of the Covenantal relationship.

And yet, we must ask: What kind of a God would ask a parent to sacrifice a child - as a test? And so, each year, I try to find another perspective to help me to come to grips with the Akedah.

This year, I had no trouble. This year, the answer came to me quite clearly - in the sounds of people marching through the streets of almost every city in our nation. These marches and protests took place following the deaths of several Black Americans:  George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmad Ahbrey and Elijah McClain – to name only a few.

I want to share with you a poem composed by the Israeli Poet, Chayim Gouri. It is called "Heritage"(Yerusha):

The Ram came last of all.
And Abraham did not know that it came to answer the boy's question -
First of his strength when his day was on the wane.

The old man raised his head.
Seeing that it was no dream and that the angel stood there -
The knife slipped from his hand.

The boy, released from his bonds,
Saw his father's back.

Isaac, as the story goes,
Was not sacrificed.
He lived for many years,
Saw what pleasure had to offer,
Until his eyesight dimmed.

But he bequeathed that hour to his offspring.

They are born with a knife in their hearts.

Gouri's final stanza: "They are born with a knife in their hearts" would suggest that Isaac's bequest to his offspring is the memory of the violence that shaped his childhood.

Gouri wrote this poem in the aftermath of the Shoah. The wound of which he speaks is etched into our consciousness as Jews. Indeed, many studies have demonstrated the intergenerational trauma experienced by children and even grandchildren of Holocaust survivors. 

Last year, at our Selichot services, Rabbi Tirtza Firestone shared her research and writing on the topic of intergenerational trauma and the holocaust. I must confess, I was deeply moved by her words. She shared how the descendants of survivors face many fears, trauma and even physiological issues even though they never directly experienced trauma. My mother escaped Nazi Germany when she was 12 years old and my sister and I grew up in a home where fear of the “other” and a perpetual sense of dread were constant companions. This had a profound impact on every aspect of our lives.

Intergenerational trauma, however, is not an exclusively Jewish phenomenon. There is ample evidence in American history of those who were victimized, brutalized and dehumanized and who bear scars to this very day. The legacies of Slavery, Jim Crow, racial segregation, and White privilege have been passed down from generation to generation. They live on in the many hidden and not so hidden barriers, policies, and daily practice of American life. As such, the murders of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Elijah McClain and so many others did not cause the protests of this past summer.  The slogan, “Black Lives Matter,” did not suddenly emerge as a provocative call to radical revolution. Rather, all these events and ideas were formed and forged in a crucible of history that reached a boiling point that had been set in motion for generations. Add to this the tensions created by the realization that the danger, infection and mortality rates of COVID-19 were highest in communities of color and those on the bottom of the economic ladder. It is clear that the explosion of anger, frustration and fear we witnessed was both understandable and inevitable.

Last year, I also spoke about racial justice during the High Holy Days. In the months that followed, we convened a series of conversations at Temple that resulted in a dedicated group of learners who gathered to explore issues of race and injustice. These were very difficult conversations. No one wants to acknowledge that they may somehow have contributed to or benefitted from a system that was built to promote White Supremacy and privilege. But the evidence is overwhelming.

The African American academic and author, Roxanne Gay, wrote the following this past May:

 “…Some white people…fret over the destruction of property and want everyone to just get along. They struggle to understand why Black people are rioting but offer no alternatives about what a people should do about a lifetime of rage, disempowerment and injustice…The rest of the world yearns to get back to normal. For black people, normal is the very thing from which we yearn to be free[i].”

As Jews, I believe that our response to these events– the marches, demonstrations, calls for radical reform and self-reflection – are as much a test as was the binding of Isaac.

·         If we ignore the clarion calls for understanding, for justice and equity that have emerged from the streets of our cities - then we / have failed / our test.

·         If we focus only on the destruction and chaos caused by extremists with vested interests in disrupting and obfuscating messages of pain and trauma - then we / have failed / our test.

·         At the same time, if we do not condemn the demonization and random violence directed against Law Enforcement - - then we / have failed / our test.

·         If we only hear the scattered voices of anti-Semitism and anti-Zionism that a small number of organizers of the Black Lives Matter movement have spoken – and do not hear the condemnation of these individuals and ideas within the movement – or, even worse, allow these few outliers to provide us a reason to disregard the entire movement, then we / have failed / our test.

·         If we allow ourselves to stand silently while our neighbors, family members, fellow congregants, friends and colleagues bleed – then not only have we failed our test, but we have forsaken the sacred, prophetic cry that our faith, our history and our Torah have bequeathed to us.

Elie Wiesel, in his 1986 acceptance speech for the Nobel Peace Prize said the following: 

Sometimes we must interfere. When human lives are endangered, when human dignity is in jeopardy, national borders and sensitivities become irrelevant. Whenever men or women are persecuted because of their race, religion, or political views, that place must – at that moment – become the center of the universe.

And if you feel that cries for racial equity do not apply to us as Jews, then you are cutting off members of our own congregation – our children, spouses, leaders and students. A recent study showed that 12% of American Jews are either “Jews of Color” or live in multi-racial households[ii] - and these numbers are growing.  While these statistics may vary in different parts of the country, the fact remains that our community is changing – for the better. If demographic trends continue, then the Jewish people will continue to grow increasingly diverse and the beauty of multi-ethnic and racial harmony could very well be part and parcel of the legacy of American Judaism.

Like Abraham, we are being tested, my friends. And the way that we, as a community, as people of faith and as a congregation of conscience rise to the challenge will determine, in no small way – our ethical core and consistency. We who have inherited a prophetic legacy of social justice cannot remain silent, passive or oblivious to the reality of racism in our community and our national history.

It is for this reason that I am incredibly proud of the following resolution drafted by members of our racial equity working group that was voted on and overwhelmingly passed by our Board of Trustees in August.  It reads, in part:

Temple Emanuel … strives to create a kehillah kedoshah – a holy community – for all past, present and future members. We believe that Black Lives Matter.  As such, we unequivocally condemn expressions of bigotry, intolerance, violence, and white supremacy.  We firmly stand alongside our friends and colleagues of color as we struggle together toward equity and righteousness. We believe that it is not enough to merely condemn these societal ills, but we must actively become anti-racist by addressing and working to change them. Temple Emanuel and the Reform Jewish community have a long and proud history of partnership, activism and solidarity with Movements for Social Justice and Civil rights in our country. But there is still a great deal of work to be done to achieve racial equality….

As a result, we are fully dedicated to becoming an anti-racist congregation.

To become an anti-racist congregation, we will initially look inward and focus on the following:

    • Providing ongoing educational content and opportunities for self-reflection on issues of racial justice - for our clergy, staff, lay leadership and membership.
    • Implementing an institutional assessment to measure where we are organizationally in terms of diversity, inclusivity, and equity. 

We pledge to work in solidarity with others as we live out the essential Jewish value of B'Tzelem Elohim - all Humanity is Created in God’s image. We are committed to dismantling systems of white privilege wherever they might be found as we celebrate the holiness in every human being.

At Temple Emanuel, the time is now for our voices to rise together so that we can live out the biblical injunction: 

“Justice, justice, shall you pursue.” (Deuteronomy 16:20)

Our Congregational leadership has stepped forward to proclaim our values as Jews, as concerned citizens and as children of Isaac who know all too well the pain of intergeneration trauma.

I am also very excited to announce that the Rose Community Foundation will be partnering with Temple Emanuel. They have provided us with a substantial grant that will support our enable us to begin the work of becoming an Anti-Racist agenda. We received the following letter this past week:

Rose Community Foundation is proud to provide seed funding to support Temple Emanuel’s commitment to becoming an anti-racist congregation…

In addition to ongoing funding to increase the strength and capacity of Jewish organizations and support programs that are reflective of diverse Jewish communities and offer meaningful and relevant ways to engage in Jewish life, Rose Community Foundation aims to support local Jewish efforts that seek to advance social justice by engaging Jewish people and using Jewish values and traditions to respond to key social issues of our time…We pledge to continue listening, learning and directing our philanthropy toward advancing equity, justice and inclusion, and we are honored to have Temple Emanuel as a partner in that work.

On Yom Kippur afternoon, at 2:00 PM, members of our Racial Justice Task Force will be joining with me to discuss the vitally important work that we will be continuing and expanding over the course of the next year. Our High School Youth Programs will be engaging in a similar discussion this afternoon at 3:00. Join us. Help make a change – in our community and most importantly, in ourselves.

My friends, there is a tremendous amount of work that needs to be done. Today, our tradition teaches, we stand before God. We are being tested. Like Abraham and Isaac, the way that we respond to the pain and suffering around us will determine whether or not we have passed the test.

I look forward to partnering together to make our world more complete.

AMEN L’Shanah Tovah