Dear Friends,
A few years ago, my wife, Sue and I did some remodeling on
our house. When we first moved in 2009, half of our basement was finished, and
the other half was a large, unfinished storage area into which we piled dozens
of boxes filled with all kinds of stuff: from Vinyl records to obsolete
electronics, baby clothes, yellowed letters, and kids’ artwork. There were
containers with old college notes and textbooks, knickknacks, and faded
photographs of relatives we didn’t recognize – with no markings on the back to
tell us who they were. There were even
sealed moving boxes with trash cans that had not been emptied – from when the
professional packers we had hired from one of our moves 27 year ago did their
thing – and we shlepped them with us for each subsequent move – from
Minneapolis to Albuquerque and finally, to Denver.
It was time for us to create a space where we could properly
store our stuff and, when the time was right, go through it and discard
anything we didn’t need, while properly caring for those items and heirlooms
that we wanted to ensure would be passed on to our children.
One of the main reasons we felt compelled to go through the
process of sorting and decluttering was directly related to our personal
experience. After our parents died, we found ourselves overwhelmed by the sheer
amount of stuff that had accumulated over the years. The task of combing
through their overflowing piles of records and mementoes was monumental, to say
the least. We have vowed that our children will have an easier time when they
go through our stuff.
Sue has become the family historian. Over the past few
years, she has painstakingly gone through these boxes, collated, documented,
and curated materials. She has researched family history and published several
beautiful books filled with photographs of ancestors and family stories that
will become precious heirlooms for future generations.
During the High Holy Days, we engage in a process of
spiritual de-cluttering. Our tradition teaches that the month of Elul that
precedes Rosh Hashanah is a time of Cheshbon Hanefesh – literally, taking an
“inventory of our souls.” We focus on the past and take a hard look at
ourselves. We engage in the process of Teshuva – of repentance and return - and
strive to make amends with those whom we have wronged over the course of the
year – and those who have hurt us as well. We sift through the relationships,
choices, missteps and other flotsam and jetsam of our lives and determine what
we want to keep, what needs to be repaired, and what should be discarded as we
move into a New Year. But in the process of looking back at the past, we also
are tasked with looking ahead to the future. We ask ourselves:
• Who do we want
to become in the New Year?
And
• What is the
legacy that we are bequeathing to those who will come after us?
I recently read a book by Roman Krznaric, [Kriz -Nar-Ick]
entitled The Good Ancestor. He posits that our essential task for today is
ensuring that we will be able to bequeath a sustainable future to the next
generation. He also sounds the alarm about how our current behaviors are in
direct opposition with where we need to be.
He writes:
We live in an age of pathological short-termism. Politicians
can barely see beyond the next election or the latest opinion poll or tweet.
Businesses are slaves to the next quarterly report and the constant demand to
ratchet up shareholder value. Markets spike then crash in speculative bubbles
driven by millisecond– speed algorithms. Nations bicker around international
conference tables, focused on their near-term interests, while the planet
burns, and species disappear. Our culture of instant gratification makes us
overdose on fast food, rapid-fire texting, and the “Buy Now” button.[i]
Krznaric [Kriz -Nar-Ick] writes about how we are imperiled
by what he calls the “Tyranny of the Now.” Our obsession with exploiting every
moment, every resource, and every opportunity to get ahead – all too often at
the expense of those around us – and those who will come after us – could very
well result in destroying the very foundations that sustain a healthy society.
Unless and until we change our bad habits, we run the risk of hurting future
generations and their ability to live meaningful lives. He posits that our most
important task today is to learn how to become good ancestors that will enable
us to bequeath a healthy future – l’dor vador – from generation to generation.
This morning I want to talk about what it means to be good Ancestors as we shift our focus from the “Tyranny of the Now” to a template for tomorrow.
For many of you here this morning, these High Holy Days will
be the first time that you have been in our sanctuary in over two years. For
others – this may be the first contact you have had with Temple Emanuel.
Welcome! Welcome Home!
As Rabbi Hyatt spoke about so beautifully last night, during the past two and half years, many of us have become isolated from one another. Holding the heaviness of separation is a lot. As we gradually move back into a new post-pandemic paradigm, it is important for us to acknowledge both what we have lost and what we have gained. We have witnessed both bountiful beauty and unsettling ugliness. We saw how we could support one another in difficult times. We learned to master new technology. We reached out to the most vulnerable among us. We cheered on the first responders and front-line workers who risked their own lives and safety to ensure that society could function in a time of trauma.
But we also witnessed intense loneliness, fear-mongering,
and self-absorption: In the beginning of
our isolation, we saw people hoarding everything from flour and yeast to toilet
paper. We people refusing to wear masks, get vaccinated or follow basic
guidelines for social distancing; disparaging medical personnel and researchers
by spreading lies and actively rejecting scientific advances – listening
instead to rumor-mongers, conspiracy theorists, propagandists, and hucksters
who hawked fake cures and profited from the ignorance of those who refused to
trust science. We saw respected researchers and scholars denigrated and
threatened with bodily harm. We saw truth usurped by opinion and conjecture.
The pandemic showed us both the best and worst of who we
were and who we could become. In addition, the firestorm of willful ignorance
that has been loosed on society has impacted other aspects of our lives – not
directly related to the pandemic. For many, the vision of a future that was
built on hope and the promise of an informed and enlightened nation has taken a
sharp turn towards the unknown. Uncertainty breeds demagoguery. As we have seen
time and time again throughout history, anti-Semitism, racism, misogyny, and
other forms of intolerance thrive in chaos and fear. Instead of addressing the
many problems that face us, too many are looking to find scapegoats that
distract and deflect our attention from finding meaningful solutions. Watching
the ascent of politicians who utilize the rhetoric of anti-immigrant
isolationism, Christian Nationalism, and manipulation is especially alarming
when coupled with the deafening silence of those leaders who, through inaction
and a lust for power, should know better, but do nothing to stop this potential
slide into authoritarianism. History has shown that willful ignorance almost
always leads to catastrophic consequences.
Kryznarik writes about legacy. He makes a differentiation
between those who focus on personal legacy by taking advantage of the fears of
today and using them to manipulate the masses or passing inherited wealth
exclusively to family members and loved ones - and those who understand the
importance of bequeathing their legacy to society as a whole: insuring that our
future descendants will be able to benefit from the good fortunes of the
present.
He quotes Jonas Salk, who discovered the polio vaccine and
refused to patent or profit from his formula – ensuring that it would be
available for free to every nation around the globe and forsaking the riches
that such an important scientific breakthrough might have given him and his family. Salk wrote:
“Will future generations speak of the wisdom of their
ancestors as we are inclined to speak of ours?
If we are to be good ancestors, we should show future generations how we
coped with an age of great change and great crises[ii].”
The Torah portion that we heard chanted so hauntingly
beautifully just a few moments ago - the Akedah¬ or binding of Isaac - in many
ways, echoes these themes of uncertainty and the desire to bequeath a healthy
legacy to our descendants. In our text, Abraham is confronted with an
existential dilemma. The same God who told him that his children would be as
numerous as the “…stars in the sky and the sands of the sea[iii]…” has now
commanded him to sacrifice his heir- his beloved son, Isaac, thereby negating his
promised hope for the future. There are two ways the story can play out. In
either case, the outcome is tragic: Either God was lying about his future
descendants, or God’s command to sacrifice his son, Isaac was a cruel joke.
Despite the many attempts by the commentators of old to rationalize God’s
behavior and show how Abraham was a righteous believer, in the end, I think
that Abraham failed his test by not challenging God- just as he did when God
told him about the plan to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah. Abraham could have stood
up to God and said, “NO! I will not abide by this insanity. This is wrong.” But he did not. His silence made him
complicit in the tragic story that unfolded on top of Mt. Moriah. His
willingness to sacrifice his son meant that he was also willing to sacrifice
his legacy – his ability to bequeath his values and vision to future
generations.
Perhaps the Akedah is a cautionary tale. Maybe it is trying
to teach us that when we are faced with an uncertain future, the most important
thing that we can do is not to emulate the Abraham of Mt. Moriah who
capitulated to madness, but rather to stand up for what we believe in and never
forget the basic values that strengthen ourselves, our souls, and our society.
In this way, we can become the stewards of both our history and our future.
Then, and only then, can we become the ancestors our descendants can emulate.
So what does it mean to be a good ancestor? How do we avoid
the pitfalls of Abraham? How do we strengthen our society- especially in times
of uncertainty and change?
I think we need to begin by defining exactly what a healthy
society should look like.
Margaret Mead once said that the first sign of civilization
in an ancient culture was archaeological evidence of femur - or thigh bone -
that had been broken and then healed. Mead explained that in the animal
kingdom, if you break your leg, you die. You cannot run from danger, get to the
river for a drink, or hunt for food. A broken femur that has healed is evidence
that someone has taken time to stay with the one who fell, has set the
fracture, has carried their wounded comrade to safety, and has tended to the
person through recovery. A healed femur indicates that someone has helped a
fellow human, rather than abandoning them to save their own life. A heathy
society begins with compassion and caring – with empathy and vision for the
future. It is strengthened by institutions and social norms that are designed
to enhance common values and provide opportunities to come together in
solidarity and service.
The Talmud relates a story out a man named Honi the
circle-maker. One day Honi was journeying on the road, and he saw a man
planting a carob tree. He asked, "How long does it take [for this tree] to
bear fruit?" The man replied: "Seventy years." Honi then further
asked him: "Are you certain that you will live another seventy
years?" The man replied: "I found [already grown] carob trees in the
world; as my forefathers planted those for me so I too plant these for my
children[iv]."
One of my favorite aspects of serving as your Rabbi is the opportunity it affords me to witness the magic and beauty that takes place at our Rabbi Steven Foster Early Learning Center. I love spending time singing, playing, and interacting with the youngest members of our community. In particular, I love the beautiful gardens that serve as outdoor classrooms where students learn about the beauty of nature. A couple of weeks ago, as I was walking past one of our gardens, a group of excited 3-year-olds came running up to me and cried out: “Rabbi Black! Look what we found!” Each of them had fistfuls of tiny seeds that they had harvested from the plants in the garden. They were so proud of what they had gathered!
What a powerful symbol of what we, as a congregation stand
for! Our children are gathering seeds that they will plant for the future. In
the same way, we, as a congregation, need to plant seeds to ensure our growth
and continued vibrancy.
Danny Foster has already spoken about the fact that next
Rosh Hashanah, Temple Emanuel will kick-off a year-long commemoration of our
150th anniversary. We will be celebrating
our legacy, our ancestors, and our future. In the next several months,
you will be hearing more and more about special events, programs, and a major
fundraising campaign geared towards building a significant endowment that will
help to ensure that our kehilla kedoshah – our sacred community - will live on
and thrive for the next 150 years. But
it is not enough to simply “live on.” We also must focus on strengthening our
values, adapting to change, and committing to teaching ourselves and our
children how to improve the world that we have inherited.
I believe with all my heart that a sacred community built on
a foundation of shared vision and spiritual seeking is an essential gift that
we can and must give to ourselves and those who will come after us. While
Temple Emanuel is, for the most part, strong and thriving, in many ways, we are
an outlier. Our strength is also tenuous. The synagogue has been the central
institution of Jewish life for almost 2,000 years. But it is increasingly
endangered. Many congregations are suffering. There are also many,
non-synagogue options available for those looking for alternative, custom
designed experiences for individuals and households.
But these fee-for-service, “one off” experiences come with a
price: the fraying of connection, community, continuity, and legacy.
You see, when we commit to being part of an ongoing, dynamic
sacred community; when we acknowledge the power of sharing our lives:
celebrating joy, comforting one another in times of loss, working to repair our
world, joining forces to educate the next generation – we are performing a
Mitzvah that not only makes our lives more fulfilling, but also is the best
bulwark I know in a rapidly changing world to ensure continuity and connection
for those who will come after us.
I also know that synagogues are not perfect. Sometimes
institutions and the individuals who lead them - lay and professional alike-
make mistakes. Sometimes we get locked into old paradigms that reflect more
upon what was, and not where we need to be today and tomorrow. Sometimes we miss the mark. But I also know
that, despite our flaws, we have the power to raise our consciousness and,
through the synergy created by long-term commitment - not one-off experience,
we are better as individuals, and as a people.
I believe strongly in the power of sacred community to
inspire us , enhance our lives, and uphold our values. My friends, our task, as we enter a New Year,
is to learn from our trials and tribulations and vow to become better
ancestors. Now is the time to focus on the legacy that we will pass on to those
who come after us – individually and communally.
And so I ask you:
Make an effort this year to get involved in one aspect of congregational
life that you haven’t yet experienced. Come to Shabbat services or Torah study.
Join a small group. Get involved in Sisterhood or brotherhood. Work with us on
a cause that you are passionate about – it doesn’t matter how- but find a way
to support and be supported by our community. Give generously to our endowment
campaign when asked.
On this first day of a new year, we ask ourselves: how will
our stories, values and actions impact our children and the next generation? We
must continue to strive to build a strong community based on faith, caring and
commit to thrive and leave a lasting legacy that the next generations will
cherish, celebrate and honor. Together, we will plant seeds of caring, concern
and hope that will grow and blossom well
into the future.
L'Shanah Tovah!
________________________________________
[i] Krznaric, Roman. The Good Ancestor: A Radical
Prescription for Long-Term Thinking -p.4.
My thanks to Rabbi
Asher Knight for sharing his Yom Kippur sermon on “Good Ancestors” with me and
exposing me to the work of Roman Krznaric.
[ii] Krznarik, p 57
[iii] Genesis 22:17
[iv] Talmud Ta’anit 23a
