L’shanah Tovah!
I recently read a story about a man named Robert Jones who relied on his GPS to navigate to a location in West Yorkshire, England. The "road" on which he was driving began to steepen and narrow, but still he plugged on. "It kept insisting the path was a road," he later explained, "so I just trusted it." Jones only realized how wrong he was when his car drove through a thin wire fence just inches from a 100-foot drop. He managed to get out safely, but the car remained balanced precariously – teetering over the edge. It took a recovery team nine hours to haul it away, and Jones was given a court citation for driving without care and attention.
If you google “GPS Horror Stories” (as I did preparing for this sermon), you can find hundreds of anecdotes about hapless drivers who blindingly followed their Satellite Navigation systems and found themselves stranded in precarious situations.
I’m pretty sure that many of us have had similar experiences. I certainly have:
• The first time Sue and I drove to Aspen for a late-summer wedding about 9 years ago, we found that our GPS had routed us through Independence Pass. We were in a convertible at the time and weren’t expecting to see snow .... While it was quite a beautiful drive, we could have done without the hairpin turns, freezing temperatures and heart-stopping drops on either side of the road.
• About 15 years ago, I was driving in Israel (which is in, and of itself, quite a harrowing experience) from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv and my rented GPS took me on a winding road with no exits or turn-offs that ended at a Military checkpoint outside of the Palestinian City of Ramallah. This was during an unusually tense time. When I stopped the car, I was greeted by several Israeli soldiers, in full military gear who were pointing their M-16 automatic rifles at me...... I quickly explained my predicament and after they checked out my story they shooed me away with a warning to get better directions next time.
One of the lessons we learn from these stories and experiences is that, even when we think we know where we are going; when we feel that we have the technology and the expertise to navigate uncharted territory - there are always aspects that are out of our control. Of course, this does not only apply to travelling from place to place. Any time we experience the unexpected and sometimes traumatic events that overwhelm and force us to accept our limitations, we come face to face with the realization of how uncertainty shapes our understanding.
This morning, I am going to talk about uncertainty.
Over the course of the past 18 months, our lives have been uprooted on multiple levels. The fact that last night we could not congregate in person and now this morning we are meeting both in a tent and online – when we were so looking forward to praying together in our beautiful and newly-renovated sanctuary - is but one of countless reminders of the uncertainties we face on a daily basis.
As we attempt to navigate the twists and turns of COVID-19 – as a congregation, a nation and as individuals, it feels as though we are navigating without clear guidance – there is no GPS, compass or even a map to show us the way. While we have relied on the best information we could obtain from our medical authorities and best practices of other congregations and institutions – all guided by our Jewish Values - the decision to cancel indoor services at Temple was incredibly difficult – especially since we made the painful decision to restrict unvaccinated children under 12 from participating in in-person services and programs in order to protect them, their families and the most vulnerable in our community from potential infection.
And the truth is, no one can say with perfect certainty that the risks associated with gathering are truly severe- all we can do is listen to educated, qualified experts and do our best. We are living in times of uncertainty.
While most of the feedback and responses we have received about this decision were very supportive, there were some who have shared their displeasure, anger and frustration in less “friendly” terms. I get it – I really do. We are all stressed. We all wish that this insidious pandemic would just disappear so that we can go on with our lives as before. As I shared with our Temple staff, professional and lay leadership in the aftermath of the announcement – we need to understand that any responses we receive need to be filtered through a pastoral, not a procedural lens. People’s responses reflect their pain and frustration. Our emotions are raw. We’re tired. We’re scared. Lashing out is a natural, if not necessarily productive response to uncertainty.
• I’m thinking about the mother who spent the entire year with her children at home – trying to make zoom school interesting - all the while worrying about the impact of the loss of normalcy: no playing with friends, going to birthday parties or sitting unmasked with their classmates in the classroom.
• I’m thinking about the elderly man who lives alone and feels isolated and disconnected from the world around him.
• I’m thinking about how many of us were unable to be with loved ones during the holidays, celebrate special occasions, travel, or attend concerts, plays and other cultural events.
• I’m thinking about the countless weddings (including my own daughter’s), B’nai Mitzvah services and celebrations, Funerals and so many other important life-cycle events that had to be cancelled, postponed, radically transformed and re-shaped into a virtual format because we could not all be in the same room together.
• I’m thinking about how much hope we had when we received our vaccinations – and how hard it was to deal with the fact that we may have been overly optimistic, due to a myriad of factors – including the fact that many chose not to receive their vaccines – resulting in new cases that have overburdened our hospitals and taxed our health care workers – with the overwhelming majority of serious cases involving the unvaccinated.
And I’m also angry about the partisans, prognosticators and pundits who spread propaganda and manipulate fear by creating conspiracy theories to rally their followers around the flag of individual rights and personal freedom – all the while ignoring the essential values of Kehillah – community and Pikuach Nefesh - the preservation of life – and I’m thinking about how many lives could have been saved had we listened to reason and science instead allowing this disease to mutate, evolve, disrupt and destroy so much.
And in addition to COVID-19, we have also witnessed a myriad of other crises that have had a profound impact on us and our world.
Our Climate is changing in front of our eyes. The damage inflicted by wildfires and the clouds of smoke that have darkened our skies; the hurricanes and floods that have overtaken our cities; the drought that is threatening both the livelihoods of farmers and the stability of our food chain are just a few examples. But Climate Change is not only impacting the United States. Every nation is touched by it: From Australia’s vanishing coral reefs, to wildfires in Greece and Turkey, to the melting of the polar ice caps, we are all interconnected in a Global eco-system that, if not protected, will transform and reshape every aspect of life on our planet.
And perhaps the most dangerous crises our nation and, indeed our world are facing are those of intolerance and autocracy. Americans are increasingly divided as a nation. The “slash and burn” tactics that have been implemented in every level of political, social and religious discourse have given way to absolutism in our politics, belief systems and moral positioning. This, in turn, has created an environment where intolerance is the norm - providing fertile ground for the promoters and creators of xenophobic, racist, misogynistic, and anti-Semitic propaganda – on all sides of the political spectrum – left and right. Those who are threatened by frank and painful discussions around sexuality, White Privilege, and tolerance often do all that they can to shut down healthy discourse in favor of partisan talking points. Similarly, intersectionality – the belief that all injustice is connected across racial, religious and cultural lines – while, in principle, a worthy ideal, has unfortunately, also given a few loud voices a platform upon which hatred and intolerance have been spread as well. In a world where absolutism is supreme there can be no compromise, there is no place for uncertainty. And as a result, we find ourselves feeling increasingly disoriented as we confront the unknown and the unexpected with no clear road map to help us address the multitude of problems that we are facing.
In the Torah portion that we just heard so beautifully chanted, we grapple with the difficult and disturbing story of the Akeydah – the binding of Isaac. As I was preparing for this sermon, I realized that the theme of uncertainty is woven throughout our narrative. In Genesis, Chapter 22, verses 1 and 2 we read:
Sometime afterward, God put Abraham to the test. God said to him, “Abraham,” and he answered, “Here I am.” And God said, “Take your son, your favored one, Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains that I will show you.”
Notice how God never tells Abraham where he is going with Isaac – God just says – “...offer him up on one of the mountains that I will show you.” Truth be told, this is not an unusual occurrence in the Torah. When we first meet Abraham, God calls out to him and says: “Lech Lecha” – go forth..to a land that I will show you. But it didn’t begin with Abraham and Sarah.
• In the first interaction between God and Humanity in the book of Genesis – God tells Adam and Eve not to eat of the tree of knowledge – but never tells them why.
• Noah builds an Ark at God’s command, but truly does not have any idea what will happen and how the flood will unfold.
• Sarah is told that she will bear a child in her old age, and then God almost takes him away from her.
• Moses and the Israelites wander for 40 years with no clear direction...I could go on, but the message is clear: Uncertainty is part and parcel of the human condition.
How many of us, over the course of this past year have felt lost, adrift, unsure of where we are going? How many of us have wished for a magical end to the uncertainty of this insidious disease that has disrupted every aspect of our lives? If only we could know for certain what the future would bring...at least we wouldn’t have to deal with the fear of the unknown.
It is for this reason that the Unetaneh Tokef prayer that Cantor Sacks chanted so beautifully this morning is so compelling - and so disturbing. On the surface, it’s message of “Who shall live and who shall die...” presents us with a radical, deterministic theology. It implies that- yes: there IS an answer to the question of uncertainty: everything is in God’s hands. Our lives are all part of a pre-ordained plan. “On Rosh Hashanah it is written, on Yom Kippur it is sealed...” The idea of a God up in heaven watching our every move- “...making a list and checking it twice- looking to see who’s naughty or nice...” seems to be teaching us that nothing really matters - God is judging us and once our fate is sealed, we cannot change it. But then, at the very end, we read:
ותשובה, ותפילה, וצדקה מעבירים את רוע הגזרה
And Repentance, prayer, and charity temper the divine decree.
In other words, even though it appears that God has already decided our fate, we still can have an impact on Divine will through righteous actions. We don’t know what the future may bring, but we can prepare for the unknown – if we direct our hearts, minds and resources towards the good. What we do- how we live- how we care for one another literally can change the course of history. We can never be sure – but we can also never stop trying.
The unetaneh tokef can easily be dismissed as medieval mumbo-jumbo, and yet there can be a deep and powerful truth hidden in its words. You see, one of the things I love most about Judaism is that fact that we don’t have answers for everything – but we have a lot of questions. When I meet with bar and bat Mitzvah students to help them write their Divrei-Torah (Speeches), we begin every meeting with what I call a “Big Jewish Question.” “Ask me anything about Judaism,” I tell them. “It doesn’t have to be about your torah portion or becoming bar or bat mitzvah.”
I love these big Jewish Questions. Sometimes, they are easy to answer:
• “Why do we wear a tallit?”
• “What do you have to do to become a Rabbi?”
• “How come services are so long?”
But eventually, without fail, many, if not most students will ask me this:
“What does Judaism teach about what happens after we die?”
“Great question,” I respond. “But you’re not going to like my answer. The truth is you can find just about any belief in the afterlife in some aspect of Judaism.”
• Heaven and Hell? – Check.
• Reincarnation – yup
• Purgatory – big time
• Nothing at all – you bet.
Our Rabbi emeritus, Rabbi Foster is fond of answering that question in the following way: “I don’t know where we go after we die because I have never been there and... I’m in no hurry to find out...!”
While some people might be frustrated by the lack of clarity in Judaism’s eschatology, I find it strangely comforting. You see, I believe that you learn more about a religion by the questions that it asks, than the answers that it gives. “What happens after we die” is AN important Jewish Question – but it is not THE Jewish Question. THE Jewish question is: “How do we make the most of the gift of life that God has given us while we are alive?” What happens next is in God’s hands, not ours.
Rabbi Menahum Nahum Twersky, the 18th century Chasidic Master and author of the book, Me’or Einayim, taught: “Once you study Torah [and absorb it,] you realize that you actually know nothing. The culmination of knowledge,” he wrote, “is the awareness that one does not know, that one cannot know, that some truths remain just as hidden as they were in the beginning.i”
I don’t necessarily want a religion that gives me answers, I want a religion that teaches me to ask questions... to embrace the mysteries that surround us on every side and live in the liminal state of the unknown. For
• Without mystery, there is no beauty
• Without mystery, there can be no growth or discovery
Maybe, instead of trying to defeat the unknown, we should embrace it. In truth – life’s uncertainties become a catalyst for our pursuit of purpose: for when we confront mystery we open a doorway to discovery, creativity, surprise, joy and wonder. Every work of art; every symphony, every painting, every song begins with an empty canvas or an empty page, and from that emptiness - beauty emerges as an act of faith that is guided by an unseen hand.
Those who claim to have the exclusive answers to life’s unanswerable questions make a mockery of humanity and our potential to discover holiness through the gifts that God gave us in the first place. We, who are limited in our understanding of the mystery and complexity of Creation must choose how to live based on a desire to make our lives – and the lives of those around us – consistently better. That, my friends, is Judaism in a nutshell.
The poet, Lynn Ungar wrote the following:
There isn’t a right answer.
There just isn’t. The game show where the bells ring and the points go up and the confetti falls
because you got the answer
is a lie.
The preacher who would assure you of how to attain salvation
is making it all up.
The doctor
who knows just how to fix
what ails you will be sure
of something else tomorrow.
Every choice will
wound someone, heal someone, build a wall and open a conversation. Things will always happen
that you can’t foresee.
But you have to choose.
It’s all we have—that little rudder that we employ in the midst
of all the eddies and rapids,
the current that pulls us
inexorably toward the sea.
The fact that you are swept along
by the river is no excuse.
Watch where you are going.
Lean in toward what you love.
When in doubt, tell the truth.
My friends, the best way to deal with uncertainty is to find ways that you can make a difference:
• Volunteer
• Mentor a student
• Find an issue about which you are passionate and work to repair the world.
Whether it be eradicating racism – as we at Temple Emanuel have worked to do, Protecting a Woman’s Right to choose in light of the disastrous law passed in Texas this past week, Protecting Voting Rights, Preserving our environment, Supporting the State of Israel – even when we disagree...
• Find your passion and work to promote it.
And another answer is to support, build and celebrate community. Be part of
something larger than yourself: Your synagogue, Your neighborhood, a cause or organization you care deeply about - we need each other – we need to support both our searching for meaning and our ability to rise above the instability of the unknown together.
On Rosh HaShanah we proclaim the New Year with the heralding cry of the Shofar. Someone pointed out to me recently that the shofar is shaped like a question mark. When we prepare to blow it, we don’t really know what sound will emerge - it’s a hard and unforgiving instrument to play. What a powerful metaphor for a New Year! Just as we have hopes and prayers for the future, we have questions, doubts and fears as well – we really can’t be sure of what will happen. And yet – we forge ahead – as our ancestors have done before us for thousands of years – with faith in God and in ourselves. We know that it is our questions that propel us to work to hear the Clarion Cry of hope for the New Year – and it is our search for meaning that makes change – real change in our world.
This is our sacred task. As we enter into 5782, let us do so with hope and prayer for new beginnings.
L’Shanah Tovah Tikateyvu – may we all be inscribed for a blessing in the new year. AMEN.
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i Meor Enayim, Bereshit, page ז"ט. Thank you to Rabbi Andrew Vogel who shared this with me.
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