THIS NIGHT WILL LAST FOREVER

 

Towards the end of this week, we observe the great spring holiday.

Then, a night later, we observe Pesach.

Seriously, it’s great to have baseball back.

So, in honor of that great spring holiday of opening day, let me begin with a baseball quotation.

When the Boston Red Sox won the World Series in 2007, three years after having won for the first time in 86 years, the chairman of the team, Tom Werner, was asked whether this World Series championship felt different than the one before. And, Tom Werner said these beautiful words: “2004 was for our parents and our grandparents…this one is for us and our children.”

Those words touched me deeply and made me think about my own life.

As many of you know, I recently published a book which I had been working on for 15 years. It was a book of personal stories and sermons but it really focused on looking back and was, in fact, my way of honoring the memory of my parents and my grandparents. In many ways, I felt that my late parents were pushing me to finish that project. It really was for them.

I am now thinking about writing another book, while I’m not sure what it will be. One thing I know is that it will be for me and the future.

One idea I have is to write a book about Pesach. There are, of course, a seemingly infinite number of books about this most wonderful and most important of all our holidays and I have to find the niche. But, I think it’s there somewhere.

If I do write about Pesach, there is an idea that I thought of a while ago that I know will find its way into a prominent place into the book and I want to share that idea with you this morning. I taught it before from the bima, many years ago, but I want to teach it again because to me, it represents the great meaning of the Seder night, a meaning which we don’t always consider or are even aware of.

I’ll begin with a question: what are the most important words of the haggadah? I am sure that there are at least as many answers to that question as there are people in this room: avadim hayinu, dayenu, ha lachma anya and so many others. But, I want to share my answer with you and you may be surprised because the words I think are the most important seem so incidental.

We say these words 6 times during the ritual sections of the Seder. They sound so simple. The words are: halaila hazeh, this night.

We say these words during the introduction to the 4 questions and during each of the questions themselves. Mah nishtana halaila hazeh which I like to translate as: Wow! This night, halaila hazeh, is different from all other nights and in each question, we compare halaila hazeh, this night, to all other nights.

And then in the blessing immediately before the 2^nd cup of wine, we say that God brought us out of Egypt and brought us halaila zeh, brought us together on this night to eat matza and maror, unleavened bread and bitter herbs.

Why do I think these two words are so important?

Here is why. In Exodus, chapter 12, we read the instructions from God to Moses and Aaron preparing the people for the night of the Exodus. In verse 12, we read v’avarti bieretz mitrayim balaila hazeh. I will pass through Egypt on this night, the night of the Exodus. These words were said, according to the text 2 weeks before the Exodus and so God should have said: “that night” rather than “this night” and that’s what the English says. But, the Hebrew says: “this night”.

That is strange. And, what is very strange is that the phrase Halaila hazeh, this night, is only used in the Torah to describe one particular night, the night of the Exodus.

The night of the Exodus is the only “this night” in the Torah. And those words are so important that the Torah tells us that God calls the night of the Exodus halaila hazeh. In verse 42 of the same chapter, the English says: “that same night is the lord’s one of vigil for all the children of Israel throughout the age”. But, look at the Hebrew. Hu Halayah Hazeh L’ado–nai, which I will translate as: “the night of the Exodus for God is “this night”. For God, and therefore for us, the night of the Exodus has a special name: “this night”.

So, I believe that when we say these words at the Seder, we are not talking about this night of Passover 5778, we are talking about the “this night”, the night of the Exodus. When we sit at the Seder table, we are not supposed to just think of ourselves or, as some read, display ourselves as freed slaves, we are to think of the Exodus as still happening and we are part of it.

This night is unique in that it is an eternal night, one which we step back into each year, one which stands apart from time as we always experience it. The word eternal does not only mean everlasting, it also means “outside of time” and this is an eternal night not subject to the natural flow of time.

The Seder night is when we take our place with our ancestors in the first experience of closeness with God, the first time we were together, as it were. As we begin to count the Omer, we count towards the holiday of Shavuot which celebrates the moment when we entered into a covenant with God at Mt. Sinai. But this night, before the counting of the omer begins, halayla hazeh, this very special night, is the night of beginning the relationship. It is night of “falling in love” and we are all part of the glorious, miraculous beginning of the relationship.

That is why some people have the tradition at the Seder of reading from Song of Songs: the great love song which the rabbis interpret as a love song between the people of Israel and God.

And that is why, whenever I think of this idea, I think of a beautiful love song written by Billy Joel called: This Night. Part of the melody of that song was based on a Beethoven Sonata and Billy Joel did give Beethoven credit as one of the writers, but the lyrics were his and contain the words: “This Night is ours, it’s only you and I… this night will Last Forever”.

That part of the song could have been written about the Seder night.

So, halaila hazeh, this night, this special night of family, friends, food, song, wine, study, ritual and joy is even more than that. It is a night which lasts forever. It is a night when past, present and future all come together in one glorious moment.

For many things in Judaism, we can say: “That one was for our ancestors and this one is for us”.

Not the Seder night.

God redeemed us and our ancestors from Egypt says the Haggada.

This one is for all of us, we and our ancestors and our descendants are all sitting together at the table at the same time.

And what a glorious night it is.

 

 

A NEW BOOK

And so, we begin the book of Vayikra, the book of Leviticus.

The first half of the book, contains, in so many ways, too much information about a tradition whose time passed centuries ago. One might ask: why do we need so much detail about the sacrificial tradition?

It is a legitimate question. Even though so many of our traditions have their roots in the sacrificial system: the Ner Tamid -the Eternal light- the Musaf service, the shankbone on the Seder plate just to name a few, we still don’t seem to need to read all these details.

And yet, we read them because they are part of our Torah and, in fact, despite the archaic details, the book holds a unique place in our tradition. It is well known that from Talmudic times right through to today in some circles that young children began the study of Torah with the book of Leviticus. They didn’t start from Bereshit, from creation, but from Vayikra, from Leviticus.

Why?

One Talmudic rabbi offers an answer. Rav Assi said: “Surely children begin with Vayikra because children are pure and the sacrifices are pure, therefore let the young children come in purity to study purity.”

On a simplest level, I understand Rav Assi as saying that there is a childlike element to the sacrificial system which children can best understand: “I will give you something if you will be my friend”.

But, many understand him as saying something deeper. I read a quotation online attributed to Rabbi Ari Israel who wrote: “Youth, who represent our past, present and future are first taught the book of purity and spirituality. Children, filled with optimism, can readily look at the world with hope. They start out sans any preconceived biases. God is pure. Children are pure. Leviticus is pure. Let them all find each other and holiness can spring forth.”

And so, according to this intepretation, the children understand more than the adults because, in their naïve optimism, they can see further or more deeply.

This is a beautiful thought. It is truly beautiful.

I don’t know when Rabbi Israel wrote this but I assume it was not recently.

I say that because our children today are not filled with optimism. They have seen too much in their young lives. They have read too many stories. They have seen too many news reports. They are not naïve. They know quite a bit and they don’t have confidence that theirs parents and grandparents, no matter how good our intentions, no matter how much we love them, have done enough to stem the horrible tide that has taken the lives of so many of their contemporaries.

And so, they closed their books and took to the street to say to us that their time of innocence and hope has been threatened and that they must be the ones to move our nation to open a new book. We must open a book which is not filled with violence, one which tells us to open our eyes to suffering and make wise decisions now, a book which seeks holiness and wholeness in a nation by doing all we can to putting an end to the horrendous plague of gun violence.

And, they have something to say to all of us.

Far from being naïve, these young people are saying to each and every one of us, that we are the naïve ones. We have sacrificed our moral compass to political expediency. We are guilty of allowing endless political squabbles focusing on technicalities to drag on interminably while more die.

I know the problem is too big to solve with good will alone. I know the epidemic won’t be stopped with catchy slogans or symbolic actions.

But, the young people know that too.

They know that walking out of school won’t solve the problem. But, they are telling us all loudly and clearly that, for their sakes, in memory of the victims and in the name of everyone whose future lies ahead: Dayenu. It’s enough. It’s time to act.

It is long since time to open that new book. And, far from telling our children to get out the way, it is time to let our children lead us to do what we, the “responsible” ones, need to do.

I’d like to ask all the young people here who walked out of class this past Wednesday and those who couldn’t do so but supported those who did to stand up so that we can recognize you and thank you. (A spontaneous burst of applause from the congregation as many middle school and high school students stood up.)

Thank God, you’ll be voting in a few short years.

More than saying thank you, we promise you to your face that we respect you, we hear you and we will act.

May you go from strength to strength and teach us what we must learn.

 

 

One of the teachers at Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida asked teachers around the country to write letters in long hand to the students of the school following the horrible attack last week. Earlier this week, I sent this letter to the students.

To the Students of Stoneman Douglas High School:

First and foremost, my deepest condolences to you on the senseless and tragic loss of your friends and your teachers. My prayers and those of my community go out to all of you and your families for comfort and healing. 

Our nation needs strong voices to bring about change. Many of us, myself included, have fought for years for changes in gun laws and have so often been met with resistance. 

But, your voices- your beautiful, strong, loud voices- are being heard and are empowering people throughout the nation. I am so encouraged that in the face of unspeakable tragedy, you are gathering strength and bringing us all with you. 

Do not give up the fight. We need your passion and your voices of hope.

May we all see a new day soon. 

Wish wishes for comfort and with great admiration and respect. And, with a promise to shout alongside you,  

Love, 

Rabbi Robert Dobrusin

 

And I extend to these words of encouragement and respect to all of our young people who are standing up for changes in gun laws and for a better path for our nation.

 

 

There has been so much talk about the latest news regarding Jerusalem and, I have to admit, I am still conflicted by so many different thoughts and perspectives. All of them seem to swirl around the pragmatic and political issues surrounding the city. But, I want to approach this here from a different perspective.

The other night at services, I shared the words of Abraham Joshua Heschel which he wrote following his visit to Jerusalem in July, 1967, immediately after the six day war. Regardless of where anyone stands regarding this past week’s announcement, for me, these words capture better than any others I have ever read, the spirit of the city and what Jerusalem demands of us. I think it is worthwhile to take a moment to step back from the political discussion and think about what Heschel’s words mean to all of us, to everyone, who loves the city.

“The mystery that is Jerusalem, the challenge that is Jerusalem! How to unite the human and the holy? How to echo the divine in the shape of words, in the form of deeds?

Now that we are at home in the city of David, what is required of us? What message does this new chapter in Jewish history hold in store?

How shall we live in Jerusalem? She is a queen demanding high standards. What does she expect of us, living in an age of spiritual obtuseness, near exhaustion? What sort of light should glow in Zion? What words, what thoughts, what vision should come of out Zion?

The challenge is staggering. Let us pray that we may not fail. Let us prepare the minds and the hearts for the vision of Isaiah concerning Judaism and Jerusalem: “For our of Zion shall go forth the law, and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem. He shall judge between the nations and shall decide for many peoples; and they shall beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks, nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more. “Isaiah 2:3-4

We must be aware lest the place of David become a commonplace.

One is terribly apprehensive. How do you live in the city of God? How do you match the infinitely holy with justice and compassion, with song and prayer? How do you live in a sanctuary day and night?… What should come out  of Zion? Renunciation of lies, compassion, disgust with violence, help to overcome the infirmity of the spirit.

Jerusalem is more than a place in space or a memorial to glories of the past. Jerusalem is a prelude, anticipation of days to come. 

How to prepare the city for such destiny? How to qualify for such calling?

It is one of the great marvels of history that Jerusalem is sacred not only to the Jews but also the Christians and to Moslems all over the world…Who will fan and force the fire of truth to spread across the world, insisting that we are all one, that mankind is not an animal species but a fellowship of care, a covenant of brotherhood?

None shall fear. None shall hurt.

There is cursing in the world, scheming and very little praying. Let Jerusalem inspire praying: an end to rage, an end to violence. 

Let Jerusalem be a seat of mercy for all men. Wherever a sigh is uttered, it will evoke active compassion in Jerusalem.

Let there be no waste of history. This must be instilled in those who might be walking in the streets of Jerusalem like God’s butlers in the sacred palace. Here no one is more than a guest. 

Jerusalem must not be lost to pride or to vanity.

All of Jerusalem is a gate, but the key is lost in the darkness of God’s silence. Let us light all the lights,let us call all the names to find the key…

From Israel: An Echo of Eternity.

 

I believe without question that Jerusalem should be the capital of Israel. But, I am not a political analyst.  I am a rabbi and Heschel’s words speak to me. This is the Jerusalem that I long for and the one our tradition inspires us to work towards.

Seek the peace of Jerusalem.

EREV ROSH HASHANA 2017

ASHER YATZAR: LESSONS FROM A HOSPITAL STAY

On this night two years ago, as we began the Congregation’s 100^th year, I asked you to commit yourselves to choosing something new to learn, something new to experience, something new to celebrate as a Jew in the year just beginning.

The purpose of that effort was to recognize that we should all seek to revitalize our Jewish lives by doing something new and breaking out of whatever well-rehearsed pattern we had developed over the years.

I asked you to share your ideas with me and many of you did. I hope you all have continued that spirit of discovery and innovation in your spiritual lives since then.

I never told you, though, what I chose to do, which new ritual I took on, and I want to tell you this evening.

I committed myself to adding a particular bracha to my davening each morning. The blessing I added is one that we often teach with a bit of a smile because it is the blessing traditionally said after one uses the bathroom. But that smile is misleading. It is so very serious.

The blessing, asher yatzar is translated in our siddur in this way:

Praised are you Adonai our God who rules the universe, fashioning the human body in wisdom, creating openings, arteries, glands and organs, marvelous in structure, intricate in design. Should but one of them fail to function by being blocked or opened, it would be impossible to exist. Praised are You Adonai, healer of all flesh, sustaining our bodies in wondrous ways.

The blessing may have its traditional setting but it has a broader context and that is why it is given a fixed place in our siddur as part of the morning blessings. The bracha recognizes the wonder of our bodies, the intricate way in which they function and the fact that we are always, in one sense, living on the edge, living with uncertainty, never knowing what each day might bring.

At the time I made the decision to say the blessing each day, I did so for a philosophical reason which I will explain in a few minutes. But I didn’t expect at the time was that the bracha would hold great personal meaning for me two years later.

Over the last 10 or 12 years, I have been suffering with occasional bouts of severe stomach pain and some related symptoms. After a long process of diagnosis, the cause was identified and, given it had been going on for so long and was not going away, my physicians suggested that I should consider surgery instead of merely tolerating the occasional painful episodes. I hesitated. But, this past summer, for a number of reasons, I finally decided to undergo the surgery which was completely successful.

But, having GI surgery puts the blessing about organs and bodily processes into a much different context. I have always remembered one of my teachers at the Seminary talking extensively about saying the asher yatzar blessing a few days after he had GI surgery and how it brought him to tears. I will spare you the details of his discussion and of the occasion on which I spontaneously said the blessing in the middle of the night a few days after the surgery- you don’t need to hear those details, believe me, – but I promise you saying that blessing was one of the deepest spiritual experiences of my life and I say that seriously.

In fact, the entire process of the surgery and recovery was in many ways a spiritual experience for me which I am still processing. When I thought about the operation and especially later when I received the detailed report of the surgery and read was done to the patient, namely me, I was deeply moved. I realized that I had placed my life in the hands of professionals and when it was over, I felt that they had worked to make God’s creation more efficient. While I did become grumpy and impatient when I thought I wasn’t going to be home for Shabbat, most of the few days I was in the hospital, I had a much different attitude.

Far from feeling violated or intruded upon in any way as the physicians and nurses did whatever they needed to do to help me heal and to be comfortable, I felt, in fact like they were re-creating me in some deeply, meaningful way. It was a tremendously moving experience to walk out of the hospital feeling whole.

Let me quickly add that I fully realize not all hospital stays yield such positive results and I am humbly grateful and I am deeply cognizant of and sensitive to all of those for whom physical healing does not come.

And, let me also add that I realize that I am privileged to have access to the health care I received and to be able to afford it. Every single person in this nation, in this world, should have the ability to access such medical treatment and the fact that our leaders are still squabbling over this issue while people suffer is a disgrace in our nation.

In the end, while I would greatly prefer other ways to have a spiritual experience, it truly has been a profound moment in my life.

But, as I mentioned, that was not the reason why I chose to say this blessing each day. It was for a much more philosophical reason. I chose to say the blessing as a celebration of God, our creator.

Tomorrow morning, I will refer briefly to discussion groups I have been involved with for many years which bring together life scientists and faith leaders to talk about issues of science and religious faith.

The more I learn about scientific fields, whether medicine, astronomy or biology or genetics or physics, which I never really understand, my belief in God as creator deepens. The intricacy of the world, and as I now know more intimately, the intricacy of our human bodies are evidence to me of what I cautiously but with stubborn determination refer to as “intelligent design”. I know the implications of such a phrase politically. You can be sure that I don’t intend it to be an excuse for creationism. Intelligent design simply means to me that the big bang and the appearance of human beings on this earth were not colossal and cosmic accidents.

I believe in a creator. I believe in the God of creation who gave this universe and therefore human beings a start.

But, as I have often said from this bima, it doesn’t matter to me whether or not anyone believes in God as long as they act like they do.

And we as a nation must act like we believe in God.

Believing in God as creator is a commitment to equality. All of us are equal parts of creation. As the Mishna teaches, believing in God as creator means no one can say: Abba Gadol Mayavecha, “My father is greater than your father”. That simple message has been forgotten by so many.

Believing in God as creator is an encouragement to live a life of purpose to reflect the purposeful way in which we have been created.

Believing in God as creator is a recognition and affirmation that everything we see, everything we build and everything we are, are gifts which need to be protected because they can so easily go wrong.

Equality, purpose and determination to protect that which has been given to us…In this nation, in this world, we need to act like we believe in those principles.

The rancor, the anger, the divisiveness, the pettiness and the arrogance that we see so often and particularly in the past year in this nation scares us all deeply. While I don’t believe that accepting God as creator will solve our problems, it will help us all to be appropriately humble and yet raise our vision higher.

And so, tonight I say a blessing.

Blessed be God who created us with such intricacy that we can function fully. Blessed be God who provides wisdom to many different people of many different disciplines that help us continue to thrive as human beings.

And on this day when we celebrate the anniversary of creation, blessed be God who has given us the dawn of a new year to try to make things right in our lives, in our community, in our nation and in our world.

 

 

There can, of course, be only one “best of all time” and whatever the subject, the choice is clearly subjective. Each individual is entitled to  his or her own choice for “best of all time”.

When the subject turns to movies, I have my vote for “best of all time” and this film is celebrating its 40th anniversary this week.

So, happy birthday to the best movie of all time, at least, of course, among those I have seen. Happy birthday to Steven Spielberg’s classic Close Encounters of the Third Kind.

I have seen the movie so many times and each time I find myself completely mesmerized by the experience. All that I have to hear are those 5 tones and I can’t resist watching the entire movie even though I know the story and most of the dialogue by heart.

There are so many reasons why I love the movie. The subject matter is one that has fascinated me for years and other movies which have dealt with the theme also are among my favorites including Contact and E.T. But, Close Encounters is in a class by itself. The entire culminating scene is so full of wonder and awe that it brings me to tears each time, no matter how many times I have seen it.

I find the acting compelling, particularly that of my two favorite characters played by Francois Truffaut and Bob Balaban. The scientist and the mapmaker who work together to make the encounter possible are brilliantly understated in their acting.

Finally, individual scenes which stand out in my mind make the entire movie so memorable. Besides the final scene, the scenes which I love include the short scene at the beginning with the old man in Mexico who says over and over in Spanish: The sun came out last night and sang to me”; the scene in India in which the leader asks those gathered where they heard the tones they are chanting and all you see are hundreds of fingers pointing excitedly to the heavens; and, finally, the scenes with the little boy smiling at his new friends.

What a movie!

I stayed up most of the night with a good friend after seeing Close Encounters of the Third Kind for the first time during the fall of 1977. We talked through the night about the symbolism, the spiritual hints in the movie (watch for two of the characters reaching for each other and touching each other’s fingers mimicking the “Creation of Adam” from the Sistine Chapel ceiling) and  the foreshadowing which you only catch when watching the movie for the second, third or 100th time.

But, as the years have gone along, I have become more fascinated with the spiritual message of the movie as I understand it. The message is contained in the final scene. Here is the way I explained it in my book: “The Long Way Around: Stories and Sermons from a Life’s Journey”:

There is a memorable scene from the end of Close Encounters in which human scientists, standing in the presence of aliens who are clearly superior to them in intelligence, take a moment to teach a simple musical scale using hand motions. The alien leader, on the second try, mimics the simple hand motions and smiles a knowing, loving, proud, smile.

This is the paradigm. In the presence of immense power and creative ability, there is still something which is needed and appreciated by the one who is clearly superior. Simply put, we can be teachers.

I believe that as God has retreated from active involvement in the day to day life of human beings, leaving us to exercise free will with the guidance of Torah, God continues to watch us closely.  When we take even the smallest step to bring the world to a better place or use our wisdom to improve the world, I believe that God smiles that same knowing, loving and proud smile at what God’s creations have taught him.

If you’ve never seen the movie, make it a point to do so soon.

It is simply the best.

 

 

We began by singing Mi HaIsh from Psalm 34: 13-15.

The song is taken directly from Psalm 34. Mi HaIsh…in essence means: Who is the person who desires a good life? One of the answers is sur mayra v’asay tov, turn from the bad and do the good.

This past week, we observed Rosh Hodesh Elul, the beginning of the month of Elul, the last month of the Jewish year. It is an inescapable fact now, the High Holy Days are on the horizon.

Elul is a month which is dedicated to the process of teshuva: repentance, literally returning. It is a time in which we begin to seriously consider how we may “turn from the bad and do the good”.

One way to “do teshuva” is to ask ourselves serious questions. We can find general questions in the siddur: Mah anachnu, mah hayenu. What are we? What is our life?

The Talmud offers in a different context some more specific questions we might ask: Did we take time for Torah study? Were we honest in our business dealings? And, finally, my favorite question which actually doesn’t appear in the Talmud but is implied by one Talmudic teaching: did we take advantage of permitted pleasures in this beautiful world?

I love that question.

Mi HaIsh: Who is the person who desires a good life?

Mi HaIsh: Who is the person?

In today’s Torah portion we see the same words Mi HaIsh, repeated four times in a very interesting section of text in which the Torah identifies four groups of men who were granted exemption from battle. We read that the officers would stand in front of the people on the eve of battle and they say: Mi HaIsh.

Mi HaIsh? Who is the man who has built a house and not dedicated it yet?

Mi HaIsh? Who is the man who has planted a vineyard but didn’t drink its wine?

Mi HaIsh? Who is the man who has betrothed a woman but has not married her as of yet?

And, finally, Mi HaIsh? Who is the man who is of soft heart and who is afraid? Let them all return to their homes.

A person who had begun a process of building, planting or marrying and had not yet finished was allowed to return home to finish the process he had begun. A person who was afraid, and the commentators discuss the meaning of this with widely varied interpretations which we can go into another time, is allowed to return home lest his fear become contagious.

It’s a fascinating text. It begs us to consider the implication if all of the soldiers, on both sides of a conflict, found a reason to turn and go home. It reminds me of that old bumper sticker from my youth: “Suppose they gave a war and nobody came?”

But, that is also a topic for another day.

My interest is in the three categories: Why building, planting and marrying? What is the connection between these three?

Perhaps what they have in common is that building, planting and forming an emotional bond are three actions which bring tremendous meaning to our lives by responding to our need as human beings to leave a mark on the world. We build. We plant. We form meaningful, productive bonds with a partner.

Because these actions are so basic to human beings, they give us the opportunity to consider some very basic questions which could guide our teshuva this year:

Building: What have we built this year? Have we built a life of meaning and of usefulness? Have we made proper use of the raw materials we have been given to fashion a life of purpose? Have we built creatively and with wisdom?

Planting: What have we planted this year? Have we sown seeds which will produce nourishing fruit for our future and for those that come after us? Have we planted with forethought and concern for the time to come? Have we planted things of beauty and of meaning that will leave the world a better place?

Marrying: Have we shown concern, compassion, and love to our partners? Have we been the partner we promised to be? And, to extend the thought: What have we “wedded ourselves” to this year? What have we chosen to commit ourselves to emotionally? Have we found time to dedicate passion to something of lasting significance?

Referring back to the story of the military exemptions, I will add one more set of questions. What are we afraid of in our lives? Have we taken steps to allay those fears and live a full life taking reasonable precautions?

Some of the commentators say that all of the military exemptions were called out at the same time so that when men did leave, no one would know if they were going home to dedicate their home, drink wine, and marry their partner or if they were afraid. Sensing that no one would want to admit to being afraid, everyone left together so that no one would know who actually was afraid. The fearful man could hide among the others.

But, with our lives, there is no hiding. We stand alone before God in teshuva, in repentance. We stand before our creator and ask the questions we must ask.

Building, planting, developing deep relationships and admitting to our fears are all basic aspects of who we are.

May we consider each of them as we begin the process of teshuva.

The horrible events which took place in Charlottesville yesterday are still so difficult to comprehend- and yet, in some ways, they should not be surprising.

The rhetoric of division, suspicion and hatred has always been present in this nation and, sadly,  in many ways it gradually became more “acceptable” during a presidential campaign which exploited the divisiveness and suspicion and seemed to turn a blind eye towards hatred. I, and so many others, have written so many words about the threat that such rhetoric from the White House posed to our nation and to see it boil over so dramatically in Charlottesville was a reminder that words do matter and that actions or proposed actions which endanger Americans of any kind- Muslims, the LGBT community, people of color, immigrants, Jews, whomever- will have ramifications on the streets of our nation.

And, the response of President Trump to yesterday’s events  displayed not only an alarming and blatant lack of sensitivity and compassion but a lack of any sense of moral leadership in his unwillingness, if for no other reason than to upset a significant part of his political base, to call out the white supremacists whose rhetoric and violence ignited the horrendous events that took place yesterday.

We need to hear from our president the kinds of words the local governmental officials in Charlottesville and Virginia expressed: those of complete and unequivocal rejection of those individuals and groups who advocate racism and express hatred. Anything less is insufficient and only adds to the division in this nation.

It is Sunday morning and I have a week to write a sermon for next week. I had planned to speak this coming Shabbat morning about the Solar Eclipse taking place a week from Monday and I will do all I can to make that part of my words because this is such a “once in a lifetime” event in so many ways and my fascination with astronomy and how it reflects my belief in God as creator makes it an event I can not ignore.

But, it will not be the whole story of that sermon. Somehow, I will have to connect this event to what is happening here on earth. Perhaps it might be appropriate for us to consider how easy it is for us the light that this nation has always provided can be covered by the shadow of racism and violence. We’ll see what thoughts come to mind over the week.

This week’s parasha begins with the words: See I have placed before you blessing and curse.

As long as the curse of violence and hatred is expressed in this nation- and as  long as our leaders do not do all in their power to condemn it and stop it, our light as a nation will not shine as brightly as it should, if it shines at all.

I will post the sermon when it is written.

Until then, may our nation know peace and calm.

 

Today, May 29, marks the 100th birthday of the late President John F. Kennedy. In my book, I wrote about my clear and fond memory of seeing President Kennedy as his motorcade drove by a block from our house in 1963 and of my memories of the weekend of the assassination in November of that year. While he was not perfect as a president, he inspired my generation and others before and after with hope and vision for our nation.

President Kennedy concluded his inaugural address with my favorite quotation of his: “Let us go forth to lead the land we love, asking His blessing and His help but knowing that here on earth, God’s work must truly be our own”. I love that quotation and have referred to it often during sermons and classes.

But, the sentence that preceded it is also instructive and fascinating.

President Kennedy preceded his statement about God’s work being our own by saying; “With a good conscience our only sure reward, with history the final judge of our deeds, let us go forth…”

That sentence is fascinating to me because as he took the oath of office, he was still facing the bigotry and suspicion of many citizens because he was a Roman Catholic. His statement therefore is critical. He doesn’t speak of the reward offered by “heaven” or an afterlife. He doesn’t speak of God’s judging of the people, he rather focuses on “good being its own reward” by insuring a good conscience and that our acts will be judged by how we affect this world.

I can’t comment on President Kennedy’s personal theology but his statement, if it was heard clearly, was a way of saying that though we need belief in God to guide us, our reward as human beings will be understood in very human terms in this world.

I personally believe that a religious faith can be a great asset for any human being and politicians are no exception. But, what a religious belief brings to any person is best reflected in how they live their lives not in any theological beliefs concerning ultimate redemption or judgment. In the end, personal conscience and the way the world is affected by what we believe are the most important products of any belief we hold.

May the memory of President Kennedy be for a blessing and may his words continue to inspire.

My book, The Long Away Around: Stories and Sermons from a Life’s Journey sat in my computer for years. It went through many revisions. In fact, truthfully, the final text bore only a faint resemblance to my first text written several years ago. I removed some sermons and added some others. I shortened some stories and lengthened others. The book read much differently after I made changes and took the suggestions of my editor, Sarah Wood.

But, through it all, some things remained constant. One of the stories that absolutely did not change and never was in danger of being cut was the story I tell of my father and the spare tire. From the first time I dared to share a first draft of what was to become the book to the finished copy, that story stayed in. And, from the first time I shared the draft, that was the story that almost every reader, including my brother who was there through the whole episode, told me was priceless and unforgettable.

To just summarize for those who haven’t read the book itself, our trip to Washington DC and Williamsburg, Virginia when I was 11 was memorable for me in many ways. But, the most memorable single occurrence was my father’s frustration with the luggage arrangements he had worked so hard to plan. The luggage started out on the roof rack and my brother and I started the vacation in the place we had been promised: the “way back” seat of the rented station wagon where we sat happily facing the back window by ourselves.

But, after one day, Dad decided he couldn’t go through the process of getting the luggage onto the roof each day and decided to put it instead in the back of the station wagon and move my brother and me to the middle seats, front and back where we sat somewhat miserably for the trip.

Then, concerned that he might need the spare tire and would have to take all the luggage out of the back, my father came up with the brilliant decision to put the spare tire on the luggage rack and even was able to convince some fellow travelers in the motel parking lot that this was a brilliant stroke of genius. They took his advice and scarred their children for life too.

I’m only kidding with the last sentence but the truth is that we were somewhat embarrassed to say the least by driving a beautiful new rented station wagon with a spare tire tied down on the roof. The Beverly Hillbillies’ was a popular show at the time. Need I say more?

If you read the story as it appears in the book, you’ll see the context. But, for now, I just want to speculate on why that the story seemed to have touched a nerve with so many.

I’m not sure if it’s because it is an example of how parents always manage to embarrass their children (anytime my kids complain that I embarrassed them, I told them: “You have no idea…”) or if it just reminds people of the joys of family travel or if everyone’s parents were on some level idiosyncratic and impossible to figure out or if, as I wrote in the book, from a kid’s perspective there is always one moment when you feel like you are living in an absolutely perfect world only to have it shattered by a parental decision. But, one way or the other, this story seemed to resonate with people more than any other I told.

I am fascinated with memory. Why do we remember certain stories and not others? Why are certain things so indelibly etched in our minds that we feel we will never forget them? And why, in some situations are the stories we remember the ones that touch others so deeply. Maybe it’s the way we tell them, with enthusiasm that comes through clearly. Or, maybe, the stories we remember are the ones which link all of us together as human beings. As I said, there isn’t a child in the world who hasn’t at one point been embarrassed by a well-meaning parent. Whether the story of that moment involved a spare tire or not, we never forget that moment of embarrassment.

And, as the years go on, we wish so deeply that we could feel it one more time.