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Click
on a title below to read it. September 30, 2008
Kol
Nidre 5769
September 29, 2008 Hayom Harat Olam: Conceiving
a New World in the New Year For
18 years, I have been reading a comic strip by Lynne Johnston called "For
Better or for Worse." It chronicles the life of an average family in a
small city in Canada. Unlike most cartoon strips whose characters remain
frozen in time, Johnston’s characters aged and grew up as the years went on.
About a month ago, in the Sunday edition of "For Better or For
Worse," Johnston shocked readers by drawing a final strip in which she
abruptly resolved all of the outstanding story lines. Then, even more
surprising, in the last box of the strip, she announced that she would start
a brand new strip on Monday. She wrote, "If I could do it all over again
… would I do some things differently? ... I’ve been given the chance to find
out!! Please join me on Monday as the story begins again …" And on
Monday, she went back and drew the very same family, as they were 30 years
before, and began to completely reinvent their lives for a new millennium. Since
our lives are not drawn in boxes like cartoon characters, we do not have the
ability to go back 30 years and rewrite our lives--but some days we sure wish
we could! During the course of our own lives, our priorities tend to become
misaligned. What is most important somehow gets shifted to the bottom of the
list of where we expend most of our time and energy. On some level we realize
it, but we feel trapped and find no motivation to change. As Jews, we are
fortunate that the New Year season gives us the impetus we need to reflect
upon our lives and reorient our priorities. Indeed, Rosh Hashanah can be an
opportunity to start all over again and create an entirely new world for our
selves. All
right, "an entirely new world" may be a bit of an exaggeration, but
on Rosh Hashanah, we actually recite the words "Hayom harat olam: Today
the world is conceived anew." The prayer implies that there is a chance
to start all over again--to rework our selves and our priorities from the
very beginning. Granted, we cannot go back and undo all of the choices we
have made. And many of the circumstances of our lives, though we might wish
it, cannot be changed. But, we can change in significant ways, and this first
day of the New Year is the time to make commitments to do so. Since our
tradition encourages us to think of today as a rebirth of sorts, we have an
opportunity, if we will it, to imagine a new reality for ourselves. Let us
seize the moment. Hayom
Harat Olam appears three times in the Shofar service. Tomorrow morning,
immediately after each of the three sets of shofar blasts are completed, we
find the text: Hayom harat olam, this is the
day of the world’s birth. This day all creatures stand before You, whether as
children or as slaves. Im k’vanim, as we are Your children, show us a
parent’s compassion; im ka’avadim, as we are slaves, we look to You for
mercy: shed the light of Your judgment
upon us, O holy and awesome God. In
that moment of awe after the sounding of the shofar; during the silence that
follows its tekiyah gedolah; inside that pause before we read or sing again,
is the instant of conception, when we can initiate the transformation we seek
in our lives. The text of Hayom Harat Olam, gives us two metaphors for
imagining our rebirth and our new priorities this Rosh Hashanah: As children
who have still have some growing to do and as slaves who need to free
ourselves from expectations placed on us by others. Let us envision changing
our lives using both of these metaphors. Thinking
of our selves as banim, children, brings to mind the story of an angry reader
who stormed into a newspaper office, waving his paper and insisting upon
seeing the editor. He was incensed that his own name had somehow appeared in
the obituary column. "I am very much alive," railed the reader:
"I demand a retraction." The editor responded: "I never retract a story. But I’ll
tell you what I’ll do; I’ll put you in the birth column tomorrow and give you
a fresh start." So,
let’s put ourselves in the birth column for a moment. What a wonderful
thought! But, in truth, it’s a nightmare when you actually have to do it.
Brad and I have a friend who suffered a stroke last year. Talk about going
back to childhood and starting again! We have watched from a distance as our
friend, in his early 50s, relearned how to talk; how to walk; how to use a
computer keyboard; how to pour coffee into a mug again. We have seen his
frustration in finding the right vocabulary word or expression. It has been a
painful thing to witness, yet also instructive and even — inspirational. Our
friend may have lost a career as an anesthesiologist, but it is exciting to
see him explore new directions in a life still very much worth living. He’s
finding out the hard way what is essential and what can be discarded — what
truly defines his personhood and what does not. From his example, we learn
that we can still grow and stretch our selves at any age. If
we are lucky, we find a way to reinvent our lives without a major medical
crisis. But, even then, it isn’t easy. For example, we may have once had
youthful goals that we have long since abandoned because "life" got
in the way. It may seem impossible to ever go back to them. And yet, a few
weeks ago there was a story in the paper about a UW-Parkside student who, in
her forties, was moving into the dorms to start college. It seems that if one
truly wills it, there is a way to return to a lost dream. Rosh Hashanah can
be a time to seriously ask ourselves:
With the wisdom and maturity gained along life’s path, what steps can
we take to restore long-lost goals? Let us take this day to develop a
realistic plan to return to our highest aspirations. Or,
perhaps there are certain skills we have longed to add to our repertoire, but
we have convinced our selves that we do not have the innate ability to
acquire them. We are like children who want to play an instrument or excel at
a sport but are not willing to put in the practice time to become truly
accomplished. Recently I learned about a local artist who, at age 80, paints
every single day. She sells her paintings so fast in a local gallery that she
can barely keep up. Here’s what’s most amazing: She only started to paint a few years ago,
after her husband died. Are we truly inadequate in the areas we would like to
develop or have we simply not made the space in our lives to put in the
necessary effort? Today is a day to look critically at our priorities and
find the space. Too
often petty concerns and day-to-day details crowd out our loftiest images of
self. Have you ever had a whole day free to yourself and then looked back on
it and marveled at how you wasted it? Last winter on one of those house-bound
snow days, I spent two hours — two hours! — on the phone with our long
distance carrier, trying to get rid of a sizeable charge that did not belong
to us. So, I saved a chunk of change. I guess it was satisfying, in a way.
But I think of all of the other meaningful calls I could have made in those
two hours — to build long-standing relationships or to relieve the boredom of
a lonely person--that would have been so much more worthwhile. Rosh Hashanah
gives us an opening to consider the deeper values of life, so that we can minimize
the energy we spend in trivial pursuits. In
the Hayom Harat Olam prayer, we ask God, like a parent, to show compassion on
us as we seek to leave behind our child-like selves and grow into people who
have the maturity, energy and depth to fill our days with actions that reveal
our best selves. We will need God’s compassion, considering how far we have
to go. The
shofar service prayer Hayom Harat Olam also compares us to avadim, slaves, on
this day. A different kind of re-birth is necessary to remove our slave
mentality—and we all have it. We are slaves to our jobs, to the marketplace,
to the competition and one-ups-man-ship that defines so many of our peer
relationships. In short, we are enslaved by the expectations and demands of
others, keeping us from our own best inclinations. We need to release our
selves from this bondage in order to better focus on priorities such as
family, learning, community and tikkun ha’olam, the repair of our world. Take
the story of a former high roller at the now defunct financial giant Bear
Stearns. When the initial shock of being unemployed after 25 successful years
on Wall Street wore off, here is what Andrew Neff learned from his sudden
freedom: He shares a passage from the
Talmud that states that "the world to come is inverted from this
world." Neff says, "It was a
hard passage for me to understand until I left the high-powered world. The
things I feared losing the most were small things: a secretary, car services. The things I
gave up most easily — time, especially with my family — had the most value.
In retrospect, I see how inverted my priorities were." Neff adds, "Wall Street is a great place to have
a career. It can bring great wealth, prestige, and power. But there is also a
cost." Neff has created a new world for himself in which his family and
Jewish communal life have taken center stage. Many
of us are enslaved by inverted values. For example, in his book Yearnings,
Rabbi Irwin Kula speaks of how, in the United States in particular,
"material and sensual pleasure has become a prescription for all that
ails us. Our other needs—our spiritual longings, our relational needs, our
yearning to serve or to contribute — have been trumped by our desire to experience
immediate happiness." (p.226) The trump card, of course, comes in the
form of consumption of one sort or another. From
a Jewish viewpoint, there is nothing wrong with consumption in and of itself.
In fact "material and sensual yearnings" can even become a path to
blessing. (after Kula) Judaism is a tradition that encourages us to take
pleasure in life, as long as the pleasure and the acquisition of things that
give us pleasure do not become ends in them selves. We even have blessings
called "berachot nehenin," "blessings of enjoyment." You
know many of them: The blessings over wine, bread and fruit; the
Shehecheyanu, which allows us to thank God for any new item that we use or
moment that we experience. The idea behind these berachot and many others is
that we can control overindulgence by recognizing that what we enjoy is
God-given. Still,
all the blessings in the world cannot help with unchecked overindulgence that
is so pervasive and mostly driven by competition. Whether it is the perceived
"need" to have a state-of-the-art cell phone when our old one works
perfectly well or the apparent insatiable desire for square footage in our
dwellings; whether it is the type of automobile we drive or the schools in
which we seek to enroll our children--we are all slaves to competition. The
current national financial crisis is a symptom of the problems that unbridled
competition can breed. How do we release our selves from the powerful grip of
one-ups-man-ship and greed that has the potential to cripple individuals and,
it seems, an entire nation? Jewish
tradition’s answer is really quite simple. We give. No matter how little we
have or how much, we give of our funds, of our material goods, and most
importantly of our time--the gift of self--to causes that help those who have
less than we have. Indeed, in these very troubling economic times, even those
who not so long ago had the ability to pursue a few luxuries, many sitting
right here in the congregation this evening, are struggling just to keep
their heads above water. Jews are commanded to help anyone who is struggling
more than we are on the ladder of financial well-being. We can control our
enslavement to things by giving of our time and resources to others. This is
the appropriate way to let the demands of others control us. At
this season of repentance, Rabbi Hayyim of Zans told a parable of two people
lost in the woods. After many days wandering the forest, the two are
overjoyed to finally find each other somewhere in the middle. Each one looks
to the other to show the way out. Alas, since both are lost, neither knows
the way out. One says to the other:
"Brother, this much I can tell you. Do not go the way that I have
gone, for I know that it is not the way. Now come, let us search for the way
out together." So
it is with us this eve of Rosh Hashanah. The way we have been going has
caused us to lose our way. We have acted like helpless children or
beaten-down slaves who need guidance to move forward. This day of Rosh
Hashanah allows us to rethink what we have been doing up to now, and to go
forward in totally new directions. Like the cartoonist 30 years into her
career, today we have the chance to redraw and rewrite our lives. Let us
search for the way together as the world is born anew this day: Hayom harat
olam. May God judge us kindly as we seek to reclaim our best selves this New
Year. September 30, 2008 Matters of the Spirit:
Opening the Conversation A couple of months ago, I attended my 35th high school
reunion. During the course of the evening, the two of us in the class who
went into the clergy naturally gravitated toward one another. Now an
Episcopal priest, Dave and I did have a great deal in common. But, I became
uncomfortable when Dave began to talk about his relationship with God and
assumed I would like to talk about that as well. Suddenly, I found myself
looking about for someone else to catch up with and quickly moved on to the
next mundane and much easier conversation. On the way home, I began to
question why I felt so uncomfortable in territory where Dave was so obviously
at ease. Maybe it was just the incongruity of discussing the topic while
standing at the bar at the Elk's Club in Janesville. Or was something else
going on? Why was I so ill-at-ease with this kind of discussion? A week later, I was driving to camp on Shabbat to visit
the Beth Hillel kids who were there during second session. To pass the time
and do something "shabbesdic" while I was driving, I listened to a
pod-cast about Judaism and spirituality featuring Rabbi Sandy Sasso. Her
comments about the spiritual lives of children informed my previous week's
discomfort about God-talk at the class reunion. In turn, this led me eventually
to the Rosh Hashanah Torah portion, the Akedah, which we have just heard. Rabbi Sasso's point was that we are all very good at
being consumers and competitors because our society nurtures those skills
within us very well. But, developing spiritual skills is something that
society does not impart to us at all. Most of us feel inept in any kind of
conversation dealing with matters of the spirit, whether it is something our
children ask about or with other adults. If conversation of that nature does arise,
especially outside of a religious institution, we often shut it down because
of our discomfort — just like I did with my high school
classmate-turned-priest. This is precisely how Abraham handles Isaac's questions
in the Akedah: Abraham shuts down Isaac's heartfelt and urgent questions.
That moment of the story haunts us: Abraham and Isaac are ascending Mt.
Moriah. They are on their way to perform a sacrifice up there, but no
offering is in sight. Abraham has placed the wood on Isaac's back, and is carrying
a very sharp knife. Naturally, Isaac is worried about what these actions mean
and questions his father, whom he trusts and looks to for guidance about how
the world works. Genesis 22 reads: Then Isaac broke
the silence and said to his father Abraham: "Father!" and he said:
"Here I am, my son." And he said: "I see the firestone and the
wood; but where is the lamb for the burnt offering?" Abraham replied:
"God will see to the lamb for the burnt offering, my son." And the
two walked on together. Here is Isaac, reaching out to his father to explain a
puzzling world, to comfort him in his fear. Under the circumstances, it is
easy to understand why Abraham hides the truth. How does he explain that God
has commanded him to sacrifice Isaac on the altar? Abraham's response:
"God will see to the lamb" is the equivalent of the facile parent
refrain we all know so well: "Don't worry, it will be all right"
when, in truth, we are not at all confident that it will be all right. After
this moment passes, as far as we can tell, Abraham and Isaac continue on in
complete silence until Abraham binds Isaac upon the altar and raises the
knife. This failure of Abraham to engage his son in
conversation on the subject of God and what God wants from us may be the
strongest personal connection we feel in the Akedah story. We identify with
Abraham here because we, too, often fail to engage when our children or
others seek conversation about the great and sometimes distressing questions
of life. Luckily, the questions we get are not nearly as troubling as Isaac's
implicit, but unasked, question: "Did God tell you to kill me,
Dad?" Still, we get some pretty tough ones. We see ourselves in Abraham
because we know the feeling of inadequacy in spiritual conversations. That feeling of inadequacy is what I felt at the class
reunion; it is what makes us squirm when hear co-workers engage in God-talk;
it's the response: "Ask the rabbi" when our kids ask us about God
and death and why bad things happen, to which we have no simple answers. Like
Abraham, we shut down the conversation. In so doing, we do ourselves, and others, a great
disservice. If we fail to ever ponder the questions: "Who am I?"
and "Why am I?" we are less than complete human beings. And when we
convey to our children that these matters are too hard to talk about, we
deprive them the opportunity to grow as spiritual beings. We need to accept that there are some questions that
have no answers. As we begin this New Year, we must let go of the compulsion
to have answers, and instead, open ourselves to the questions and
conversations, and the resulting journey. This approach has the potential to
make our inner lives and our relationships deeper and fuller. Let us begin with the questions. It is an appropriate
thing to do this Rosh Hashanah morning not only because of Isaac's unanswered
question, but because of the Un'taneh Tokef prayer which is unique to this
season. In essence, Un'taneh Tokef is a list of questions about the meaning
of life — and especially about … death. That's the prayer we read this
morning that asks "Kamah?," "How many?," and
"mi?," "who?" How many will pass on and how many will
come to be? Who will die which horrible death this coming year and who will
live a blessed life? Lingering over the entire passage is an unasked question
as well: Why? The Unetaneh Tokef passage asks many, many questions, but
offers no answers. Perhaps this is troubling to some. But, this is the
Jewish way. As Daniel Gordis put it in his book God was Not in the Fire: "While some Christian communities
urge their followers, 'Believe and you will be saved,' Judaism's rough
equivalent is 'Search and you will find meaning.'" From a Jewish point
of view, the goal of the religious quest is to find meaning, not answers. Asking questions and discussing possible
answers is essential to the search for meaning, but it seldom, if ever,
requires that we settle on an answer. Children are ideal partners to share in this
questioning. We all know their penchant for asking questions, sometimes so
much that it exasperates us. Precisely because of children's love of engaging
adults with questions, Rabbi Sandy Sasso ended each section of her children's
book, God's Paintbrush, with a
group of questions. Reflecting on the book, she tells the story of the
father who stood in for his wife one night doing the bedtime ritual with a
young child. Unfamiliar with the Sasso book, which had become a favorite part
of the ritual, the father decided to skip the questions, thinking them
non-essential, going on to the next page. But the child stopped the father
and said: "Daddy, ask the questions!" Interestingly, the child did
not want to answer the questions. He just wanted to hear them and reflect
upon them with his dad. If only Abraham had had this book. Perhaps then he would
have been more comfortable with Isaac's questions and more accustomed to
discussing big and even frightening issues with him. More than needing
answers, children need to know we are comfortable with questions. And as
adults, we need to become more comfortable not only with questions, but with
the conversation that follows. At the class reunion, I learned that even people like me
who are generally comfortable in the realm of the religion, can become tongue-tied
when it comes to the spiritual conversation. There can be many reasons for
it, such as the setting, wanting to avoid conversations that are too
personal, or wanting to be careful not to give offense to the other person
because our ideas are so divergent from theirs. But, for most of us, God-talk
is awkward because we have just not developed the language we need to engage
in it. Studies have shown that all children have a conception
of God by age 5 without adults ever talking about God with them.
(Tippet-Sasso interview, "The Spiritual Lives of Children" on Speaking of Faith.) The parent's job
is to nurture that innate spirituality by providing the language for talking
about God and matters of the spirit. Just as we teach our children to speak
by simply providing a language-rich environment, so too do we need to provide
a mother tongue of spiritual dialogue. In short, the adult's job is to
encourage the conversation about spiritual matters, to model being
comfortable with God-talk, so that our children will be as well. If we do not nurture that side of our children, their
innate spiritual abilities will atrophy, just as other skills do when they
are not used. For many of us, these skills are beyond the stage of atrophy.
They are moribund. How are we going to give the children in our lives the
mother tongue of spirituality if we do not speak the language ourselves? The good news is that the ability to converse about
faith can be revived within us. There are many ways to do this: We can do so
by reading, by participating in worship more often, or by watching movies or
plays that deal with spiritual questions. We may want to keep a journal of
our responses to such experiences or set aside time to discuss them with
willing partners. At Beth Hillel this fall, we will be offering a class
called "Faith and Doubt," which will involve learning about and
discussing Jewish beliefs. In each class session, we will reflect upon the
reactions of various theologians, thinkers and average people affected
directly by the tragedy of September 11. The class will feature clips from a
documentary film called Faith and Doubt
at Ground Zero that raise questions such as the role of God and religion
in the tragedy and the presence of evil in our world. Those who take the class
will have a chance to converse with others about challenging theological
issues. In so doing, we will have the opportunity to build our spiritual
skills. In a sense, by taking this class, I am inviting you to
go with me on a spiritual journey. I feel fortunate that my career allows me
regular opportunities to travel this road with students of various sorts. I
take the journey each year with the Confirmation class, conversion candidates
and others, and each time, I emerge changed by the process. But we need not take a class or add another book to our
bedside table in order to begin such a journey. Rabbi Sasso suggests that
every day occurrences can be way stations on a passage toward spiritual
growth. When we see a dead animal on the road, encounter a homeless person on
the street, or hear an upsetting story on the news, how do we handle it with
our children or our spouses or friends? Do we try to shield our children from
seeing or hearing it all together? With other adults, do we quickly change
the subject? Do we claim ignorance and suggest that this subject is only for
experts? Instead, when challenging questions arise, we can simply
indicate that we are willing to stop and talk about it. We can share our
sadness that a living thing has died; wonder aloud where that man sleeps at
night; muse about the what kind of life a person who committed a crime might
have had or discuss whether the world will always be like this. We can say,
"Let's think about this together" instead of, "Let's forget we
ever saw this." We can develop a willingness to think, imagine and talk
together about "taboo" subjects. What if Abraham had answered Isaac's question that way
when he asked: "Where is the lamb for the burnt offering?" Instead
of shutting down the conversation, Abraham could have said: "I have the
same question you do, and I am having trouble understanding what this all
means. I am worried. Let's discuss it together." Isaac would not have
had a comforting answer to his question, but he would have been reassured that
he had a father who was open to walking with him to search for meaning in his
life. And maybe, just maybe, by taking time out of the journey to discuss the
question openly, the ram in the thicket would have appeared just a little bit
sooner. Rabbi Sasso also recommends finding time for silence and
saying the deep words and reciting the thoughtful passages that our siddur
offers to us as helpful fuel to speed us on our spiritual excursions. There
is so much noise in our lives that we seldom experience silence until we are
drifting off to sleep, and some people do not even do that — they need the TV
or radio on in order to fall asleep! Setting aside time for silent,
contemplative moments every single day is crucial to becoming more
thoughtful, spiritual people who are able to consider the greater questions
of life and the universe. In addition, coming to the synagogue to drink in the
venerated prose and poetry that is found in our siddur, for which the
imaginative skills and soul-searching effort of many great thinkers has been
marshaled, can deepen our journey as well. Surely, some of these prayers and
readings will highlight theological problems, such as the U'n'taneh Tokef
prayer of this Rosh Hashanah morning. But this becomes, again, a challenging
portage on a journey of the spirit and soul that makes us feel stronger and
more able once we have traversed it. In the Akedah, after Isaac's challenging question and
Abraham's failure to respond, Abraham and Isaac continued up the mountain.
Although their trip lacked spiritual depth, at least they continued on
together and, ultimately, avoided tragedy. That is undoubtedly the best that
can be said about their life together after Mt. Moriah. But most of us want more than that. We want more than a
life in which we merely co-exist with others in our immediate orbit and, at
the bare minimum, avoid tragedy. In an article about Kabbalah, Jewish
mysticism, and its role in popular culture, journalist Daphne Merkin speaks
of the "existentially orphaned state that is the general condition of
many people today." (NYT Magazine,
April 13, 2008) At the class reunion, I learned that even people like me, who
deal with questions of faith on a regular basis, can, at times, be that
spiritual orphan. We need to constantly allow ourselves to ask the questions,
push ourselves to join in the conversation, and not be afraid to pursue the
journey. Let us take tentative steps to begin that journey this
first day of the New Year, and may God bless us as we do. October 8, 2008 God, Lincoln, and
Generosity of Spirit Last March the highlighted speaker at the Central
Conference of American Rabbis annual convention was the well-known
presidential historian Doris Kearns Goodwin, and her subject was Abraham
Lincoln. Lincoln buffs and the Illinois natives among us undoubtedly already
know that the year 2009 is Lincoln’s bicentennial, and many special programs
are being planned to commemorate it. The bicentennial was the inspiration for
a talk on Lincoln at the convention, but some were puzzled, as some of you
might be right now, about why Lincoln would be the focus of a gathering of
Jews. But, when Goodwin finished speaking, the entire room erupted in a
sustained standing ovation. It turns out that Lincoln’s life offers
tremendous enlightenment about Jewish values. After the convention, I knew I had to read Goodwin’s
biography about Lincoln called Team of Rivals. Lincoln is a remarkable figure
in so many ways and, needless to say, he lived in extraordinary times. What
struck me most from Goodwin’s account of Lincoln was his extraordinary
generosity of spirit. More than any other person I have ever met or read
about, Lincoln impresses me as an ideal model for how we ought to treat other
people. Lincoln had an amazing ability to show respect and honor and to
sustain relationships--even with those who had wronged him. His choice to
assemble a team of his own personal rivals as his cabinet is proof of this
ability. The decision to keep that team together and to work with and even
develop friendships with a variety people who had derided him, questioned his
decision making, and tried to undermine him, shows how extraordinarily
generous he was. One of the many special pieces of liturgy we read on the
High Holy Days is an exposition on this trait of generosity of spirit. The
text, from Exodus 34, is the passage “Adonai , Adonai,” which is sung in the
morning service as we remove the Torah from the ark. The words assure us
about how generous God will be as we seek atonement: Adonai, Adonai, El rachum v’hanun, The Eternal One, the
Eternal God is merciful and gracious, erech apayim, v’ rav chesed, v’emet, endlessly patient,
loving and true; notzeir chesed la’alafim, showing mercy to thousands, nosei avon vapesha, v’chata’ah v’nakeh, forgiving
iniquity, transgression, and sin and granting atonement. (Exodus 34:6-7, as
translated in Gates of Repentance) According to classical interpretation, this verse is
held to contain the “thirteen attributes” of God—the thirteen essential characteristics
that make God who God is. Jewish tradition teaches us that human beings
should try to imitate or emulate God in our own behavior. Thus, this verse
can be taken as prescriptive of essential qualities that we ought to
cultivate throughout our lives. On this Day of Atonement, as we look to God
to act with generosity toward us, we might also look to Abraham Lincoln as an
outstanding example of a human being who tried to imitate God and live by
these same thirteen attributes of generosity of spirit. At this juncture, I imagine that some of you are worried
that I am now going to explicate each of the thirteen attributes, and you are
calculating how long that will take. Relax!
Although Torah commentators find thirteen different characteristics in
this one verse, the attributes can be gathered into three broad qualities.
These are the qualities of mercy, kindness when provoked to anger, and
forgiveness. Let us look carefully at these three aspects of a generous
spirit, with Lincoln as our model. The first five attributes, represented by the Hebrew
words Adonai, Adonai, El rahum v’hanun, are all related to the concept of
mercy. What exactly is mercy or the Hebrew rachamim? Mercy or compassion is the act of being
kind to someone, even when one is not, out of basic decency, required to do
so. It is going out on a limb to help or lift up or encourage someone who is
in need. It is compassion without any expectation of something in return. In
fact, oftentimes the person is not in any position to return the act. It is
this type of generosity that we hope to receive from God by the end of this
day of fasting. In the Avinu Malkeynu prayer, we ask for it, even admitting
that we are undeserving. We say:
“Choneinu va’aneinu, ki ein banu ma’asim.” “Be gracious to us and answer us, even
though we are without merit.” It is said that Abraham Lincoln had abhorrence for
hurting another. (Goodwin, p. 104) Therefore, he often went out of his way to
be compassionate and gracious in his dealings with people. For example, when
Lincoln unexpectedly won his party’s nomination for President, his rivals
were nursing terribly bruised egos. The way Lincoln handled this with Salmon
P. Chase is a good example of Lincolns’ mercy. Goodwin tells us that Lincoln
“(i)gnor(ed) newspaper reports that Chase was ‘much chagrined and much
dissatisfied with so obscure a man as …Lincoln.’” Instead, he wrote to Chase: “Holding myself the humblest of all whose
names were placed before the convention, I feel in especial need of the
assistance of all.” Lincoln’s
compassionate words soothed Chase’s ego and prompted him to hit the campaign
trail for Lincoln. (Goodwin, p, 261) We rarely see this kind of humility in the winner and
mercy toward the loser among political victors today. Later, Lincoln invited Chase to join his cabinet as
Secretary of the Treasury. Unfortunately, Chase was difficult and contentious
as a cabinet member. He repeatedly sought to undermine Lincoln, even running
against Lincoln for his second term. Yet, all the while, Lincoln kept him on
in his cabinet. Finally, Chase created so many problems in the second term
that Lincoln felt compelled to accept Chase’s fourth resignation. (He had
refused to accept the first three resignations and responded only with
gracious replies, insisting Chase stay on.)
Instead of chastising Chase for being disloyal and reminding Chase of
how generous Lincoln had been with him up to that point, Lincoln was merciful
in his dismissal, enabling Chase to save face: He expressed his “esteem” for Chase and his
sincere “regret” that their relationship had become so “awkward” and
“constrained.” In this way, Lincoln
made their relationship the issue, instead of Chase being the issue. Chase
was moved by Lincoln’s kind words, and his pain of leaving the position was
somewhat assuaged. (Goodwin, p. 635) An example of Lincoln’s mercy from outside of the world
of politics is found in a condolence letter Lincoln wrote. With the death of
his own son Willie a year past and the vicissitudes of war before him as
Commander in Chief, it surprises us that Lincoln took time to write to a girl
who lost her father in battle: He
wrote: “I am anxious to afford some alleviation to your present
distress. ... You cannot now realize that you will ever feel better. Is this
not so? And yet it is a mistake. You are sure to be happy again. To know
this, which is certainly true, will make you some less miserable now. I have
had experience enough to know what I say….” (Lincoln, Speeches and Writings,
1859-1865, The Library of America, “Letter to Fanny McCullough,” p. 420) As we reflect upon God’s graciousness toward us in these
final hours of the season of repentance, let us consider the example set by
Lincoln to imagine ways in which we can act with rahum v’hanun, mercy and
graciousness, toward others. Let as be as loathe to cause others pain as
Lincoln was. When we work with difficult people, we must strive to find ways
to let them know we appreciate what they do. When someone is not working out
in a given position, we ought to let that person know s/he is valued and find
another role for him/her. In relieving someone of a long-held position, we
can take part of the responsibility for the failure, and let that person know
that we harbor no ill will. We can go out of our way to help someone who is
going though a crisis, even if we do not know the person well. The second broad category of generosity of spirit in the
Exodus list of God’s attributes is that of showing kindness, even when
provoked to anger. Attributes 6-9 are all in this category: They all are rooted in responding with
chesed, lovingkindness, when provoked or hurt or in a situation when feeling
no kindness would certainly be understandable. Our tradition teaches that God
deals with us in this way on Yom Kippur. We are told that for transgressions
against God, the Day of Atonement itself atones. Even though God could be
angry with each one of us for failing in many ways to be good Jews over this
past year, out of love and kindness, God grants us a new chance through the
vehicle of Yom Kippur. This is how Lincoln, almost without exception, dealt
with other people. He was erech apayim, slow to anger, rav chesed v’emet,
great in kindness and truth, and notzeir chesed la’alafim: It is not an exaggeration to say that he
actually did show kindness to thousands. Being slow to anger can be very difficult when we are
terribly hurt or when we feel we have been done an injustice. Lincoln shows
this characteristic in his dealings with General George B. McClellan of the
Union Army. McClellan was particularly rude and disrespectful to Lincoln,
referring to him as the “Gorilla,” and often keeping the President waiting
while he tended to matters he deemed more worthy. One time, Lincoln arrived
with Secretary of State Seward and his personal secretary, John Hay, and
waited in McClellan’s parlor for an hour. When McClellan returned, he walked
right past them and went up to his room. After another half hour, Lincoln was
told McClellan had gone to bed. Hay was incredulous and enraged by this, but
he wrote of President Lincoln in his diary:
“He seemed not to have noticed it specially, saying it was better at
this time not to be making points of etiquette and personal
dignity.”(Goodwin, p. 383) Erech
apayim, “slow to anger,” seems almost too mild a description of Lincoln’s
response. The characteristic of “showing kindness to thousands”
can be seen in Lincoln’s treatment of those who fought for the Confederacy
after the war ended. Lincoln’s objective was to bring “not merely peace but reconciliation.” In a meeting with the military leaders
from both sides he offered the most generous terms possible—just let the
rebel soldiers go home. He said: “Let
them all go, officers and all…. I want no one punished; treat them liberally
all round….” (Lincoln by David Herbert
Donald, p.574) The nation would have understood and even respected the choice
to imprison and try those who sought to tear the nation asunder. This was a
true act of chesed toward the entire Confederate army, and this stance is
what enabled the United States to become united again after the war. God is erech apayim, slow to anger, when we human beings
act defiantly. Abraham Lincoln shows us how far a human being can go in
striving to emulate this divine characteristic. As we repent for past sins of
short temper and overblown anger this Yom Kippur, we must promise to
cultivate this quality in ourselves, practicing on small matters that we can
let go of more easily first, but gradually working our way up to withholding
the angry response even when we have been wronged in a significant way.
Surely, we will be hurt or wronged or disappointed again in the coming year.
When we are, let us go as far as we can to be kind and generous to the one
who wrongs us. The last set of attributes found in the Exodus passage
deal with generosity of spirit in the form of forgiveness. Forgiveness is
different than kindness or mercy. The dictionary’s definition of forgiveness
is “to pass over an offence and free the offender from the consequences of
it;” or “to grant pardon without harboring resentment.” This is what we so fervently ask of God
this day. We recite our sins, we acknowledge our shortcomings, and we beg God
to grant us pardon, to give us another chance: V’al kulam elo’ah selichot,
s’lach lanu, m’chal lanu, kapeir lanu, The most dramatic example of Abraham Lincoln’s
forgiveness is in relationship with Edwin Stanton. Before his run for the
Presidency, Lincoln had been called upon to work in Illinois with
out-of-state lawyers on a case of national significance. When the venue of
the trial was moved from Illinois to Ohio, Lincoln made the trip to
Cincinnati. But when he arrived and approached the lawyers involved with the
case, Edwin Stanton drew the other lawyer aside and asked: “Why did you bring that..... long armed Ape
here ..... he does not know anything and can do you no good." Stanton then turned with the other lawyer
and went to the courthouse, leaving Lincoln behind. (Goodwin, p. 174) Lincoln stayed in Cincinnati, but Stanton continued to
be very rude and dismissive toward him. After this treatment, it is hard to
imagine that Lincoln could continue to even speak with Stanton. But,
incredibly, six years later, Lincoln asked Stanton to be his Secretary of
War! Lincoln's ability to forgive here
is almost beyond comprehension. Goodwin described it as “a singular ability
to transcend personal vendetta, humiliation or bitterness.” The proof that Lincoln forgave
Stanton? They became such close
friends that their families vacationed together. This could never have
happened if Lincoln had not, as the dictionary put it: “passed over the offence and freed the
offender from the consequences of it;” had he not “granted pardon without
harboring resentment.” (Goodwin, p. 175) Can we develop within ourselves anything approaching
this level of forgiveness? According
to Exodus 34, God is nosei avon vapesha, v’chata’ah v’nakeh, forgiving
iniquity, transgression, and sin and granting atonement. The Hebrew words
avon, pesha and cheyt represent different levels of sin that God forgives.
Perhaps only God can forgive all of the levels of sin. And, indeed, between
human beings, there may be some offences that are simply unforgivable. But
let’s be honest with ourselves. Many of us have a very hard time letting go
of resentment and anger even when we have been wronged in small ways. If we
use Abraham Lincoln as our exemplar, we can be inspired to be much more
forgiving than we have been in the past. Just think about the possibilities
for renewed relationships that such efforts might bring. As this Day of Atonement wears on and we fervently pray
for God to pardon and forgive us, to treat us kindly and generously, let us consider how we can cause generosity
of spirit to grow and flourish within our own souls. Part of what made
Abraham Lincoln such a great leader was his extraordinary mercy, his slowness
to anger and unusual acts of forgiveness. Let us take this example of someone
whose ability to emulate God was truly great and allow it to inspire us to
become not great, but just good, decent human beings. October 9, 2008 Fasting, Eating, And Ethics It is Yom Kippur morning, and we have been fasting for
about, what, 16 hours now? So, it may
surprise you that I want to spend the next few minutes speaking about ... eating. Yes, you heard me right: Eating. I want us to spend some time during
our fast today, as we cleanse ourselves of pollutants both physical and
metaphysical, to think about what goes into our souls, rather than our
stomachs, on all the other days of the year when we consume our normal diets.
The rest of the year, we have plenty of time to worry about “carbs” and
cholesterol and sodium and sugar and on and on. Today, let us concern
ourselves with the values we ingest, unwittingly, when we eat. Jews have always made a connection between what goes in
our mouths and what God wants from us. Be it fasting on Yom Kippur, keeping
kosher, saying a blessing before and after we eat, or eating matzah, our
religious values are strongly connected to eating. The laws of kashrut
themselves have an ethical component. For example, kosher slaughter is to be
carried out in such a way that it causes the animal no pain, and the
commandment not to mix meat and dairy originally came from compassion toward
animals: “Do not boil a kid in its mother’s
milk.” (Ex 23:19) Given the ethical basis of kashrut, it came as quite a
shock this past summer when a kosher meat plant in Iowa was raided by Federal
authorities for its poor treatment of workers. Here we have a business
created by Orthodox Jews solely for the purpose of helping Jews observe
mitzvot, and while the laws of kashrut were being stringently followed,
Jewish and secular laws about how to treat workers were being violated. Or at
least that is what the indictment states. To be fair, the case has not yet
been tried and it is possible that some of the allegations may not hold up in
court. However, some of the plant managers have already pleaded guilty to
illegal labor practices and the evidence against the plant and its owners is
quite compelling. There may only be a handful of us here this morning who
keep a strict enough level of kashrut to be concerned about these particular
kosher products (which, by the way, now represent 70% of the kosher meat
market in the U.S.). Still, the issues raised by this story can serve as
incentive for all of us to learn more about the people who produce our food
and how they are treated, letting our ethics determine our diets as much as
our health concerns do. If the Yom Kippur fast can encourage us to become
more conscious of the values we express through our food choices, it is
indeed a holy endeavor. In considering this topic, the words of the prophet
Isaiah leap out at us from this morning’s Haftarah, as if they were written
with just this subject in mind: …On your fast day you think only of your business, and
oppress all of your workers! …Your
fasting leads only to strife and discord, and hitting out with cruel
fist! Such a way of fasting on this
day will not help you to be heard on high. Is not this the fast I look
for: to unlock the shackles of
injustice, to undo the fetters of bondage, to let the oppressed go free, and
to break every cruel chain? (Isaiah
58) The accusations stated in the indictment against
Agriprocessors are a litany of abusive practices that fly in the face of
Isaiah’s exhortation not to oppress workers and of Judaism’s long standing
recognition of the right of workers to be treated with dignity. We read it in
afternoon’s Torah portion, Leviticus 19 which speaks of paying the worker on
time. (Lev 19: 13) We read it in
Deuteronomy 24 which speaks of not abusing a needy or destitute laborer,
whether a stranger or home-born. (Deut 24: 14-15) We read it in the medieval text “Sefer Hasidim”
which states that an employer must “not burden the worker too much or give
him more than he can do,” even if he seeks “more than he can handle.” (URJ
Board of Trustees Sep 15, 2008 resolution)
The list of Jewish laws allegedly violated at the Iowa plant is
embarrassingly long. It embarrasses every Jew, whether we work there or not,
keep kosher or not, or have ever eaten a product with the label Aaron’s Best,
Rubashkin’s, Shor Habor, Iowa’s Best Beef or Supreme Kosher. Some four hundred employees were arrested on over 9,000
counts of labor abuses at the plant. When we read the allegations--that
minors were employed and allowed to use highly dangerous machinery; that
employees worked overtime without extra pay; that known illegal immigrants
were hired and were helped to falsify their documents by Agriprocessor
officials, and more--it is hard to conceive that Jews in a strict Orthodox
community own and run this plant. No, it is hard to believe that Jews of any
sort do. Remember the ad campaign of that other kosher meat company, Hebrew
National? The one that encourages us
to buy their products because: “We
answer to a Higher Authority?” Well,
as Jews, we are supposed to answer to a higher authority in our business
dealings—God’s authority. (Shmuel Herzfeld “Dark Meat,” NYT op-ed, August 6,
2008) How could this have happened? But, it is not just one company that happens to be run
by Jews and serves a Jewish clientele that is at issue here. Our concern is
about consumer ethics in general, and it reaches far beyond Agriprocessors to
a whole range of products we buy because they cost less or are more
convenient or more readily available. Let’s be honest: We close our eyes to abuses in the
manufacture of products every day. We are all culpable in this regard. Indifference about worker rights is endemic in our
society, and it stands in stark contrast to Jewish teaching. In the High
Holiday prayer Unetaneh Tokef, we are assured that every human being and
indeed every creature counts in God’s eyes:
As the shepherd seeks out his flock, and makes the sheep pass under his staff, so do You muster and number and consider every soul, setting the bounds of every creatures’ life, and decreeing its destiny. Through this prayer, we are reminded on these Days of
Awe that God pays attention to each and every creature on earth. We are
simultaneously shamed into admitting that we pay pitifully little attention,
if any, to the masses of humanity. (Credit to Rabbi Zoe Klein, CCAR HHD
Conference call Sep. 3, 2008)) As consumers, we seldom think about the people who make
what we purchase and what kind of working conditions they endure. Every so
often, activists prick our consciences, informing us that a certain brand
name uses slave labor or is produced in sweat shops by young children. We
hear about the agricultural workers, here and abroad, whose wages are not
enough to support themselves and their families and who are exposed to
pesticides and toxins that can harm their health as well as ours. Or perhaps
we learn that animals are used to test a product or that a certain production
process harms the environment. This information may stop us from buying a
certain product. But, in general, we are blind to the injustices endured by
our fellow human beings and insensitive to the abuses of other creatures and
the environment. Have you ever thought about how our buying habits would
change if, instead of listing ingredients or materials on a given product,
that the label were to state the names and ages of the people who made it,
what kind of hours they worked, what they were paid and whether they were
immigrants with legitimate papers? (after Zoe Klein, ibid.) Actually, I found
something like that in my kitchen cupboard, thanks to the Beth Hillel’s Fair
Trade sale last year. My box of Chai Tea Bags says: “Equo teas are grown by farmers of the Pashok
Cooperative on lush, green mountain slopes in the Darjeeling region of India.
Pahsok’s farmers receive a guaranteed fair price for their tea, and benefit
from direct, long-term trading and development of relationships that help
them work their way out of poverty.” But that’s the exception and not the rule. Surely there
are numerous products that we buy every week whose manufacturing sites
contain worker rights violations just as bad as the supposed abuses at
Agriprocessors, if not worse. And we remain blissfully unaware. So, once we are aware, what do we do? I know that I, for one, do not have the
stomach to buy an Agriprocessors product any more, and I hope our synagogue
will take a stand against buying those brands for temple events as well.
Rabbi Zoe Klein put it this way: “When we allow people to be nameless and
faceless, we allow ourselves to be heartless.” (ibid) As we imagine God
carefully and lovingly numbering every soul in the universe on this day, the
least we can do is to make a commitment to recognizing that there are real,
hardworking people who do back-breaking and unpleasant work to get us the
food we eat. If we have any heart at all, we ought to care about the conditions
in which they labor. To forget them is to lose some of our own humanity. In the wake of the kosher meat scandal, Jews especially
should seek to become more concerned about worker rights. Beyond refusing to
buy products that we know are made by offenders and choosing fair trade
products, there is more that we can do. One idea that has come to the fore is
an effort by the Conservative movement to create a new kosher label for
foods. This label would be not a regular hekhsher or kosher certification, but,
rather a Hekhsher Tzedek, a certification that kosher ethics are observed
where any given product is manufactured. This would be a Jewish equivalent of
the Fair Trade certification. Hekhsher Tzedek would not take the place of
kosher certification, but would rather add another level to it. “The
certification will let consumers know that the kosher food they purchase has
not only met traditional ritual requirements, but also has been made by
companies that utilize ethical business practices regarding treatment of
workers, health and safety, animal welfare, and environmental impact.” (URJ
Resolution, ibid.) When we begin this process of thinking about who makes
the food we consume and what their lives are like, we can then extrapolate to
other issues that touch on ethics and eating. For example, we can educate
ourselves about ecological concerns relating to how food is grown and
processed and how much environmental impact we are having when we shop. I am
so impressed that our youth group chose this theme for the NFTY Kallah we
will be hosting here next week. Our own education can begin with the
information inside the reusable grocery bags that our Social Action Committee
is giving out this Yom Kippur. In addition to learning, we can make a
commitment to eating more food that is locally grown and manufactured. In
this way, we do not add to the amount of fuel that is used to ship food from
one part of the country to the other, especially when we can easily acquire
the same foods in our own region. An example: Right
in the middle of writing this sermon, I took a break to get groceries. At
this season in Wisconsin when tomatoes are in abundant supply, I was dismayed
to find when I got home and unpacked my groceries that the tomatoes I bought
had a sticker on them that said:
“Cal-fuit.” That’s right—they
were shipped from California, when plenty of tomatoes are growing in gardens
and sold in markets right here in Southeastern Wisconsin. Even while
hyper-attuned to this issue, out of habit and the desire for convenience and
efficiency, I purchased food that does not help us step forward in awareness
of ethics and ecology. In fact there is a whole farming/greenhouse business
called Growing Power that was actually developed in Milwaukee and has now
gone national. Growing Power calls upon us to support local growers and does
so in a number of ways. At the organization’s website, one can learn about
the many ways that this organization helps people, inner-city neighborhoods,
the environment, and more. Since not many of us keep kosher, becoming more aware of
the broader issues relating to eating and ethics is essential to upholding
basic Jewish values. This is not an easy transition to make by any means.
But, we must try--so that we can begin to “muster and number and consider
every soul” through our consumer choices. It might be argued that there are much more urgent
societal causes and more compelling ethical crises to discuss on this holiest
day of the year than what we are eating. But, because we are fasting, and
because eating is an every day practice over which we have real control, this
seems an especially germane issue for Yom Tzom Kippur, the fast day of Yom
Kippur. Much as we might decry the waging of war, the absence of affordable
health care for millions, the genocide in Darfur, and a host of other ethical
issues that plague our world, what can we really do, as individuals, about
those things? Changing what we choose
to eat, on the other hand, is something over which each of us has control and
which makes a meaningful statement about our personal ethics. With the words of the prophet Isaiah ringing in our
ears, telling us to make our fast the kind that “unlocks the shackles of
injustice,” let us indeed “answer to a Higher Authority” in the coming year.
Today, let us repent of our indifference to the people who work in
unsatisfactory conditions for our enjoyment and benefit. One of our great
sages of old exhorted us to live by the maxim: “Lo alecha hamlacha ligmor v’lo atah
ben-horin l’hibateil mimena.” “It is
not up to you to complete the work, but neither are you free to desist from
it.” (Pirke Avot 2:16) Although we cannot stop others from carrying out
unfair employment practices in their businesses nor can we, by ourselves,
change the environmental impact made by large corporations that manufacture
and distribute food, we can concern ourselves with the plight of the
invisible worker and other ethical issues by choosing to change what we eat
and what we serve to others in our homes. As we break the fast this evening, let us strengthen our
resolve to ingest essential Jewish values as we eat--from this day forward. | ||||||||||||