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The Benefits of Forgiveness
Yom Kippur Morning
October 9, 2019 – 10 Tishrei 5780
Or Chadash
Rabbi Joseph M. Forman

Shana Tova. Happy New Year and Gut Yuntif.

On Yom Kippur there is a particular poignancy to the communal nature of our prayers.  Last night, in the introductory reading just before Kol Nidre, we sang the following:  Beshiva shel malah, uveshivah shel matah.  Al da’at hamakom v’al da’at hakahal. Anu matirin lhitpalel im ha’avaryanim. The translation in our Machzor alters the English words slightly, but the meaning of them is this: By the authority of the heavenly court, and by the authority of the earthly court, with the consent of God, and with the consent of this congregation, we hereby declare it permissible to pray with those who have transgressed….

“Those who have transgressed” refers to all of us. We are here today as one, each a transgressor of major or minor failings, or perhaps, both, but as a community, nonetheless.

Today is Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement; a time for seeking forgiveness; a day to repair our relationships. And indeed Yom Kippur is a time when we hope that our appeals to one another for forgiveness these past days will be met with forgiveness for our wrongs.

But the Hebrew, Yom Kippur, tells us so much more than the English translation. Allow me a bit of Hebrew language instruction.

The word KIPPUR (or Kopher, a cognate of Kippur), is the very same word as the material that the Biblical Noah used to seal the cracks in the Ark that he constructed. Kopher is the substance that repairs the flaws and mistakes that inevitably occur in wooden boat construction. And Kippur is the ACT of repairing the flaws and mistakes that inevitably occur in human relationships. And so Yom Kippur, is, quite literally, the day – Yom – of repair – Kippur.

Not a one of us lives in perfect harmony with others. We all could benefit from a day like Yom Kippur. We are all imperfectly managing our way through life. It is part of being human. But it is those flaws, those mistakes that we make, that enable us…that give us an opportunity to discover ourselves — and to learn how we handle repairing our failings.

On Rosh Hashanah I mentioned the concept of Chesbon haNefesh. Cheshbon haNefesh is taking an inventory of our souls, taking stock of our life. On Yom Kippur, many Jews dress in white — symbolic of burial shrouds — as a reminder of the reality that one day we will all die. These High Holy Days are to focus our attention on what is most important in life.

The Roman emperor and philosopher Marcus Aurelius said: The true worth of a man is measured by the object he pursues. So what, then, do we pursue? At the end of our life, he prods us to consider, what do we want said of us and what is our life’s purpose? What is our measure of success? What do we want to have accomplished? How do we truly wish to live? How do we want to love? How do we hope to repair our relationships?

The Days between Rosh HaShana and Yom Kippur are called the Days of Awe. But these days of awe are, perhaps, misnamed, if we were to consider them as the only time we might seek forgiveness. In one of the oldest works of commentary on the Book of Lamentations — Eicha Rabbah — the rabbis wrote that “like the ocean which in never closed, so too are the gates of repentance always open” (Lamentations Rabbah 3:43).

These Days of Awe, these High Holy Days, give us, however, what our tradition calls a Pitchon Peh, an opening, an opportunity to turn to our friends and neighbors and loved ones and ask for forgiveness. And that is all well and good. Being asked to be forgiven is not easy. But today, on Yom Kippur, I want to speak about what is likely far more difficult than asking for forgivness — forgiving others.

Our tradition has some clear guidelines on how to do this.

Maimonides, the 12^th century Jewish philosopher, taught that:

“When a person who wrongs another asks for forgiveness, that person should forgive the other with a complete heart and a willing spirit. Even if the individual was aggravated and was wronged severely, he or she should not seek revenge nor bear a grudge.” (Mishne Torah 2:10)

Great advice. And it is. If only it were that simple. But forgiving someone who has hurt us deeply is far from simple. In all likelihood, we are still angry, still aggrieved, still not ready to forgive.

The Book of Ecclesiastes might seem to support our simmering rage. It teaches that there is an occasion for every purpose under heaven.

A time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing. A time to tear and a time to mend. A time for silence and a time to speak. A time to love and a time to hate. (Eccl. 3:1-8)

But Ecclesiastes also teaches (7:9) that anger dwells in the hearts of fools.

And so, while we may fume and stew over being wronged, and feel justified in our anger, there is wisdom that suggests we would be wise to let go of it.

And in as much as Ecclesiastes has a lot to say that is worth heeding, the words of the Stanford Forgiveness Project (which has conducted extensive research,) bears out the truth of our Biblical poet.

In a New York Times article published last summer by Tim Herrera called: “Let Go Of Your Grudges, They’re Doing You No Good,” Herrera writes: May 19, 2019:

“A study, published in the Journal of Clinical Psychology as part of the Stanford Forgiveness Project, suggested that “… forgiveness training may prove effective in reducing anger as a coping style, reducing perceived stress and physical health symptoms, and thereby may help reduce” the stress we put on our immune and cardiovascular systems.

“Further, a study … found that carrying anger into old age is associated with higher levels of inflammation and chronic illness. Another study … found that anger reduces our ability to see things from other people’s perspective.”

“Holding onto a grudge really is an ineffective strategy for dealing with a life situation that you haven’t been able to master. That’s the reality of it,” said Dr. Frederic Luskin, founder of the Stanford Forgiveness Project.

“Whenever you can’t grieve and assimilate what has happened, you hold it in a certain way,” he said. “If it’s bitterness, you hold it with anger. If it’s hopeless, you hold it with despair. But both of those . . . do mental and physical damage.”

At the same time, he said, the converse is true: Full forgiveness can more or less reverse these negative repercussions of holding onto anger and grudges.

Perhaps most crucially, Dr. Luskin stressed, forgiveness is a learnable skill. It just takes a little practice.

A little practice. Perhaps that what Yom Kippur is here to teach us — that we need to practice forgiveness — and not just once a year, but regularly.

Hanan Harchol, an Israeli educator and animator, teaches that the act of forgiving has emotional consequences. Often we think that when the heat of our emotions has cooled, we will be able to forgive. Contrary to what most of us might think, he teaches that our actions can affect our emotions, effectively turning that dynamic on its head. Rather than expect that our emotions will move us to forgive, he suggests that the act of forgiveness will enable our emotions to cool. Through the act of forgiving we are unburdened from our resentment. Hanan advises: forgive first, and then you will free your emotions from anger.

It places a new order on which is first, the cart or the horse.

At the beginning of my words I mentioned the poignancy of the communal nature of our prayers. On this sacred day of Yom Kippur, we collectively begin our work to repair our relationships with one another. The hope is that the words of our prayers will help us to move beyond mere words to see the shared human experiences and challenges that lie at the core of those prayers. Yom Kippur asks us to deal with the hurt we have caused others.

It calls upon us to respond to those failures. But is also strengthens us by reminding us that we are not alone in that work.

May this Yom Kippur, this day of repair, help us to carry our insights from this holy day beyond the confines of our synagogue and beyond the pages of our Machzor, our prayerbook, and may we be strengthened to live them every day.

AMEN

The Sacred Community of Or Chadash
Kol Nidrei
October 8, 2019 – 10 Tishrei 5780
Or Chadash
Rabbi Joseph M. Forman

Shana Tova, Happy New Year.

Tonight  – Kol Nidrei – is one of the most beautiful and spiritually moving of all the services throughout the year.  But Kol Nidrei has had a bumpy history for more than a thousand years.  Historically, this has been a difficult night for the Jewish community.  Over the centuries, Jews have been accused of using Kol Nidrei to renege on promises made — not only by those expressing anti-Jewish sentiments, but by rabbis, as well.

As early as the 10th and 12th centuries, several prominent rabbinic leaders tried to remove Kol Nidrei from the Yom Kippur liturgy.  They stated that “the custom of reciting the Kol Nidre was unjustifiable and misleading, since many ignorant persons believe that all their vows and oaths are annulled through this formula, and consequently they take such obligations on themselves carelessly.” (Jewish Encyclopedia)

The early rabbis of our Reform Movement were so disturbed by the words of Kol Nidrei that in the Newly Revised edition of the Union Prayerbook, the editors decided to remove the reading of Kol Nidrei altogether.  It wasn’t until 1961 that the full Aramaic text was restored.  And it wasn’t until 2015 that an accurate English translation was included in the Reform Machzor.  Our book offers only a creative interpretation.

Kol Nidrei, however, has endured.  Why?  Not because of the words, but because of the music.  Throughout much of the Jewish world, the same haunting melody was chanted.  The appeal of that melody united the Jewish community.  With all the different sects within Judaism, with all the different movements and the indecipherable alphabets of Jewish organizations we have today, we all share this attachment to Kol Nidrei.  And in nearly every synagogue around the world, Jews will all hear that melody.

And so tonight, as millions of Jews of every stripe gather to ask that our misspoken words be forgiven, I have a question for us.  It is one I that I have been wrestling with lately.  On these High Holy Days, a time to ask the great questions of life, I have been asking the question of WHY? And I want to ask you: Why? Why do we exist?  No, not why do human beings exist, but why does Or Chadash exist?

Those of us who live in Hunterdon County and the surrounding area know that our Jewish community is small.  Yet we are not the only Jewish community here.  But why Or Chadash?

Before we get to an answer, a brief look at our Torah reading for tomorrow morning.

The Torah portion for Yom Kippur is taken from Parshat Nitzavim in the Book of Deuteronomy.  Nitzavim is translated as standing.  “Atem Nitzavim hayom kulchem” — You stand this day, all of you, before the Eternal Your God.

Nitzavim, however, is much more than standing around.  Nitzavim is to stand proudly for something; it is to bear witness to an idea.  Our Torah reading makes mention that the covenant that is being made between God and the Israelites is a covenant not only with those who are standing together that day, but a covenant with the community of Israel who are not there — the generations yet to come.

We  — each one of us — are part of that sacred covenant.  We are the descendants of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob and those generations who for 3500 years bore witness to the truths of our people.

And now, we, too, make that declaration as we will read again the ancient words of Deuteronomy.  Atem Nitzavim hayom kulchem — You stand this day, all of you, before the Eternal Your God.  We are part of this sacred community!

But what does it actually mean to be a part of a sacred community?

On Rosh Hashana eve, and again in the morning, I shared with you words from Pirkei Avot, words of Hillel, the 1st century rabbi who is one of the great voices from our tradition.  Hillel wrote: Do not separate yourself from the community.  Al tifrosh min ha tzibbur.  (Pirkei Avot 2:4)

Over the centuries, many rabbinic commentators had a lot to say about Hillel’s admonition.  They asked a lot of questions.

What is meant by “the community”, they asked?

Who is part of it? Who is not?

Who determines these boundaries? ​

Is it all Jews? A subset of Jews?

What defines the Jewish people? Nationality? Ethnicity? Ethical behavior? Religious commitments?

Is there even such a thing as “the” Jewish community?, some asked.

What are the benefits of belonging to a community?

Hillel’s words remind us that being a part of our community is not something we should abandon.  But how a community behaves, how it stays relevant and an effective center of Jewish living — that is a question worth asking.

This past year the Reform Movement has been asking the same question I posed a bit ago.  Why?  Why does our synagogue exist?  They asked that question to congregations all over the country — and the research is ongoing.  What is our mission, our purpose?  How do we see our sacred community, and who is part of it?

One simple answer is to look to our mission statement.  It is found on our website and is based on the words from Pirkei Avot and Rabbi Shimon the Righteous.

He said: The world is sustained by three things: The Torah, Worship and deeds of loving-kindness.  And our mission statement reflects this and says:

Or Chadash, the Reform Temple of Hunterdon County, offers a caring and inclusive congregation that prays together, builds Jewish community through acts of Tikkun Olam, shares life’s events and provides education for all ages.

It is succinct.  In a few words it attempts to capture all we are and all we do.

But there is a much deeper truth to the Why of Or Chadash that a mission statement cannot fully express.  For those truths, one must ask the actual members of a congregation for their Whys?

And so, this past year, our congregation participated in a national survey called the Congregational Benchmarking and Assessment Project.  Over 100 of you participated, including every member of our Board of Trustees.  We learned a lot about ourselves and about how you see our sacred community.  We learned your answers to “Why does Or Chadash exist?”  We learned you would recommend Or Chadash to a friend.  We learned you love the rabbi – thanks!  We learned you love the programming we offer here.

We learned that you support Or Chadash through legacy giving. (We kind of knew that!) And we learned that ‘members getting to know one another’ is a place where we need to improve.

Centuries ago the rabbis of the Talmud conceived of the synagogue with three primary functions:

A Beit Kenesset –  a place of Assembly – for socializing and meeting with friends.

A Beit Tefillah – a place of Prayer  – where we can express our faith.

And a Beit Midrash – a place of Discussion and Learning.

And today we come to Or Chadash for those purposes and for many other reasons, as well.

Some of us do come here to be with friends, walking, talking, sharing ideas on books or hanging out in the kitchen or on the benches in the hallway that came from the old sanctuary at the UAHC, the Reform Movement’s headquarters in New York City.

Some come to attend beautiful worship services and meaningful life-cycle events or sing during them.  And they sit in chairs they themselves dedicated, and they remember loved ones, many now gone.

And some come because Or Chadash is a place where we—children and adults— can study our traditions and fill our minds with the words that belong to us, the words of Torah.  We come to learn new and creative ways to think about and express our Judaism.  And those expressions can come in the form of learning for the first time how to make bagels or how bake challah, or using power tools to build a Sukkah; or cutting weeds and spreading mulch, or dropping off a meal for someone who needs it.

Some come to Or Chadash to be reminded of the timeless values that teach us about how Jews create a sacred community.  And some come because Or Chadash is not only a sacred space, but a bold space to express our Jewish values and a safe space to just be Jewish.

Amy Asin is the The Union for Reform Judaism’s Vice-President and Director of Strengthening Congregations.  She offers synagogues guidance and assistance to help them become better versions of themselves.

As the Jewish community evolves, she suggests a bit of guidance  — to remind our members — YOU — that at a time when people are searching for meaning and synagogues are searching for those who seek it, our synagogue — Or Chadash — is a place to be.  She offers an alternative to the terse language of the mission statement.  She suggests the following for consideration  — and it, too, is based on that same verse from Shimon the Righteous in Pirkei Avot.

Or Chadash offers a community in which to aspire to tikkun ha-nefesh (repair of the self) and tikkun ha-olam (repair of the world).

In the rapidly changing, dizzying world here in Hunterdon County, sometimes it’s hard to find an anchor or know where to invest ourselves. At Or Chadash, we seek to help you find meaning in this world so you can be the best version of yourself possible, using the wisdom of our past to help you make sense of your present and prepare you and your family for the future. We offer you a place to bring your mourning and pain, and a community in which to celebrate your greatest joys. We work with you to find a meaningful role in the ongoing project to repair the world, ensuring that more people can live lives of wholeness, justice, and compassion. How do we do this? We help you find your place – the part of Jewish life that resonates most for you.

We believe that Torah, avodah (prayer), and g’milut chasadim (deeds of lovingkindness) offer effective pathways to the solace and support you seek for yourself and the agency you hope to have to make the world a better place. Please join us on this journey, enriching our lives as we seek to enrich yours.

I read that and immediately thought that it captured Or Chadash perfectly.  That is who we are.  And THAT is why we exist.

On this night of Kol Nidrei, during this season of reflection and renewal, may we all know that our synagogue is not just a holy place to be together to hear the melodies of our tradition, it is really a place to become holy ourselves.

I wish each of you a year of journeying together as we find meaning, better our world and enrich our lives.

AMEN

The Study Of Torah Is Equal to Them All – Talmud Torah K’neged Kulam
Rosh Hashanah Morning
September 30, 2019 5780
Rabbi Joseph M. Forman
Or Chadash

Shana Tova. Happy New Year. Its great to see all of you.

This morning Or Chadash is doing a few things that likely are not taking place at other synagogues.

We pride ourselves in our uniqueness.

And today and again on Yom Kippur, I will be speaking on subjects that likely are not being spoken of across North America and even around the world. In many synagogues, rabbis will be speaking on the new threats of anti-Semitism. They will be preaching on the recent elections in Israel and the fate of Benjamin Netanyahu and his Likud party. Rabbis will be speaking about the latest developments with our President, and they will call upon Congress to enact legislation regarding immigration and guns, opioids and vaping, healthcare and the environment and on many, many, other pressing issues facing our nation.

And each of those sermons will remind its listeners that Jewish values are not for philosophical discussions or personal living alone.

Rather, Jewish values teach that they carry social aspects, as well. They are incumbent upon the community to act on them, and must be carried into every realm of living. Social Justice is a collective concern.

And I applaud those messages. Tikkun Olam, repairing our world in the myriad ways it needs healing, especially in these uncharted days of dis-ease,… Tikkun Olam is a religious obligation worthy of being reminded of on these holy days. Here at Or Chadash I want to remind you what our rabbinic sages said 2000 years ago. Rabbi Tarfon used to say: It is not your duty to finish the work, but neither are you at liberty to neglect it. And there is much work to be done. And the work of Tikkun Olam, repairing our world, will go on long after the final shofar blast of Yom Kippur has faded.

This morning I welcome you to a High Holy Day celebration that — for a few sacred hours in our sanctuary — turns away from the din of politics and public policy.

I invite you instead to join me in a look inward, a time to reflect and consider how we might repair and heal not our nation nor Israel, but how we might renew and strengthen ourselves for the year ahead.

Last night I introduced Rabbi Hillel from the Talmud to those who were with us. As a reminder to them, and as an introduction to those who were not with us last night, a brief bio of Hillel.

Hillel the Elder, was born in the 1^st Century before the Common Era, in Babylon, and became one of the most important Jewish sages.

Hillel is known as the author of many other popular sayings from the Talmud: (1) “If I am not for myself, who will be for me? But if I am only for myself, who am I? If not now, when?” and (2) the “Golden Rule”: “That which is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow. That is the whole Torah; the rest is the explanation; go and learn.

Last night I shared Hillel’s aphorism on being a decent human being – a mentch:

B’makom she’ayn anashim, hishtadel lihi’ot ish.

In a place where there are no menschen, no decent people, you should try to be a mentch.

But there is yet another saying from Hillel that I want to speak to you about today.

In Pirkei Avot, the Sayings of the Fathers, Hillel advises:

Lo Tomar li’k’sheh-eefaneh eshneh; she-ma lo teefaneh.

Do not say: “When I will have leisure, I shall study;” perhaps you will never have leisure.

And Hillel’s contemporary, Shammai, who often argued with him, agreed. He advised: Set a fixed time for learning.

Hillel and Shammai’s cautionary words from 2000 years ago on the importance of setting aside a time to learn are apparently still much needed because, as it turns out, for the majority of us, leisure is an elusive liberty.

One year ago today, on September 30, 2018, a New York Times OpEd by Columbia University law professor Tim Wu was published. Entitled: In Praise of Mediocrity, it was a short essay on the importance of leisure and its disappearance.

“I’m a little surprised by how many people tell me they have no hobbies. It may seem a small thing, but — at the risk of sounding grandiose — I see it as a sign of a civilization in decline. The idea of leisure, after all, is a hard-won achievement; it presupposes that we have overcome the exigencies of brute survival.

Yet here in the United States, the wealthiest country in history, we seem to have forgotten the importance of doing things solely because we enjoy them.

Yes, I know: We are all so very busy. Between work and family and social obligations, where are we supposed to find the time?”….

“Lest this sound suspiciously like an elaborate plea for people to take more time off from work — well, yes. Though I’d like to put the suggestion more grandly: The promise of our civilization, the point of all our labor and technological progress, is to free us from the struggle for survival and to make room for higher pursuits. “

Professor Wu rightly encourages us to make time for important activities. Judaism concurs. These High Holy Days are a time for contemplating higher pursuits, a time when, as a community, we collectively express our highest ideals. This is also a time for us to reflect on our lives and the year that has passed and the year that has yet to be.

Between today and Yom Kippur we are asked to make what our tradition calls a Cheshbon HaNefesh – literally an accounting of our souls — to seek forgiveness for the wrongs we have done. But no less important to these days of awe, is their power to remind us that setting aside time to grow is an essential part of being Jewish and an essential part of being a fully realized human being.

Part of our Teshuvah, our turning toward the good, should be centered on our own growth.

The Talmud enumerates thousands of laws. One passage in particular from the Babylonian Talmud Shabbat 127a lists ten that have no limit to their fulfillment. They are each so important that we include them in our prayers — they are even in our High Holy Day Machzor. (Page 90)

These are the obligations without measure; their fruit we eat now, their essence remains for us in the life to come:

To honor one’s father and mother

To perform acts of love and kindness

To attend the house of study daily

To welcome the stranger

To visit the sick

To rejoice with bride and groom

To console the bereaved

To pray with sincerity

To make peace when there is strife.

But the study of Torah is equal to all of them.

Talmud torah k’neged culam. 
The study of Torah is equal to them all. (Mishneh Peah 1:1, Babylonian Talmud Shabbat 127a)

And, traditionally, it was text study (Talmud Torah) that was central to Jewish religious life.

But through the centuries, rabbis recognized that the survival of Judaism depended upon study and learning not just of Torah texts, but of ever manner of Jewish living — music, dance, theater, film, art, literature, cuisine — every manner of living is part of the rich tapestry of Jewish life and therefore of Jewish learning.

There is no doubt that honoring parents, performing acts of kindness, celebrating joys and providing comfort in times of sorrow…all of these are important religious obligations.

But, learning, growing as a person is no less essential. It is our greatest obligation.

Yes, rabbi, we know — you say — that’s why our children attend Religious School.

That’s wonderful. But let me share a brief story.

A man once asked Rabbi Menahem Mendel of Kotzk, the great 18^th and 19^th century Hassid from Poland to pray for him, in order that his children might study the Torah diligently. The Rabbi replied:

“If your children see that you are a diligent student, they will imitate you. But if you neglect your own studies, and instead merely wish your children to study, the result will be that they will do likewise when they grow up. They will neglect the Torah themselves and desire that their children do the studying.”

Sadly, that has become a reality for far too many Jewish adults. Our school days over, our fixed times for study passed, we wait until we find leisure to enrich our Jewish selves. And even sadder still, is that it is not study alone that is put aside until so many of us find time.

How many of us are waiting for a magic moment to be given us in order to complete a task, reach a goal, master a skill, explore an adventure, deepen a relationship, express appreciation, improve the lives of our loved ones or the life of a stranger or, perhaps most important, our own lives? Leisure does not appear. No. Leisure is made. We schedule it. We make it happen the same way we make each appointment that is important to us happen.

Professor Wu reminds us that …”Liberty and equality are supposed to make possible the pursuit of happiness. It would be unfortunate if we were to protect the means only to neglect the end. A democracy, when it is working correctly, allows men and women to develop into free people; but it falls to us as individuals to use that opportunity to find purpose, joy and contentment.”

This morning I invite you to fix a time for leisure and to set a time for learning — to increase your opportunities to find purpose, joy and contenment. But I’m here to help. Allow me to explain.

There are two different kinds of learning that our tradition encourages. The first is learning in order to gain a skill set or master a profession or language or know how to do something we need to get done. But the other kind of learning is quite different.

Judaism has a special phrase to describe learning that, ironically, has no purpose other than the enrichment of our very being. If you’ve ever opened an encyclopedia and began reading a random article on a topic you’ve never heard of, or, if while reading online, found yourself clicking endlessly on one new topic after another, or sat and listened to a podcast, soaking in facts and stories that have little to no bearing on your life, then you will know what Torah L’shma is. Learning for the sake of learning.
You know, you might think that rabbis set aside time each day or each week to study and learn something new. But the reality is that our lives are busy, too. We need help from one another to set aside time for learning. Each fall when the High Holy Days end, and Simchat Torah is past, the Reform rabbis of New Jersey gather for a few days to enrich ourselves with Torah L’shma — learning for the sake of learning.

We have studied various translations of well-known Psalms, looking at the nuance of language. We have explored the changing image of the modern Israeli in contemporary film. We have poured over esoteric texts to see what topics the Medieval Jews of Italy thought about. What do we do with that knowledge? We enrich ourselves. We become a bit wiser. We have fun. But making it happen, as Hillel knew, is not easy. It takes more than dedication — it takes a community to support that commitment. Like getting a friend to go to the gym with you.

Let me tell you about Sarah Hurwitz who began her journey back to discovering the sweetness of Torah L’shma, learning for its own sake — and surprising herself by re-discovering the richness of Judaism. From a teenaged Post Bat Mitzvah religious school drop who gave up the pediatric Judaism she learned as a child, to a rebellious college student fascinated by the religious traditions of other faiths, to the guilty or perhaps curious young adult traveller making occasional visits to Jewish historical sites in Europe, Sarah Hurwitz eventually worked her way to rediscovering a meaningful engagement with Jewish life. She focused her career on becoming a speech writer in the White House where she wrote for the President and then the First Lady for more than six years. She was busy. Very busy. But one day, at the age of 36, she decided to carve out some leisure time, and she signed up for a class on Judaism at a local Jewish Community Center in Washington, D.C.

In the introduction to her new book, Here All Along, Hurwitz writes:

“… what I discovered in that class utterly floored me.

I had always thought of myself as a good person, but the Jewish ethics we studied set a much higher bar for honesty, generosity, and basic human decency than I had ever thought to set for myself. Once I actually understood the purposes of the holidays and lifecycle rituals, they struck me as beautiful and profound, honoring the lessons of the past, sanctifying moments in the present, and conveying deep moral wisdom….

…It’s hard to overstate how surprised I was by these discoveries. None of this was evident to me during the two [High Holy Day] services I grudgingly sat through each year.

And with those occasions as my main points of contact with Judaism, it had never occurred to me to look to it for answers to my big life questions or as a source of meaning and spirituality. I had thought I didn’t need religion and that serious engagement with Judaism might be valuable for others, but not for me. It turned out that I was wrong.”

The full title of Sarah Hurwitz’s book is Here All Along: Finding Meaning, Spirituality, and a Deeper Connection to Life–in Judaism (After Finally Choosing to Look There). And that is what I am encouraging you to do. To choose to look there. You too, might be floored by what you discover.

And do not say: “When I will have leisure, I shall learn;” because perhaps you will never have leisure.

Look…, Columbia Law Professors know that making leisure time is a challenge. Rabbis — who are encouraging Jewish living — know that carving out that time is a challenge. I know it’s a challenge. So I am offering you this:

I am inviting you to join me on our shared journey of leisure learning.

This year, read a Jewish book; or take a class on a Jewish topic, maybe bake challah with us on Challah-ween next month;

watch an Israeli film or Netflix series; visit NYC and stop in a Jewish museum or exhibit or see a show or play on a Jewish theme – Fiddler on the Roof is on Broadway! There are so many possible ways for you to fix a time for Jewish learning.

Our congregation will be reading Sarah Hurwitz’s book this year. We will have programs dedicated to some of the ideas it explores. We will be taking trips to Jewish theater in NY and Israeli restaurants in Philly and engaging in the flavors and sights and sounds of our tradition.  We will be sending you podcasts to listen to and suggested books to read. There are myriad new ways that Talmud Torah — the study of Jewish living can bring joy.

And why should you join in all of this? How can you possibly fit more into your schedule?

Do not say: “When I will have leisure, I shall learn;” perhaps you will never have leisure. Set a time.

I look forward to a year of Jewish learning with all of you.

Shana Tovah.

AMEN

Be A Mentch – Hillel Didn’t Wait
Erev Rosh Hashanah
September 29, 2019 – 5780
Rabbi Joseph M. Forman
Or Chadash

Shana Tova — Happy new year.
It’s wonderful to see all of you tonight.

I hope that this new year will be one of blessing and fulfillment, rich with moments of meaningful connection with friends and family and filled opportunities to discover how wonderful it is to be a part not only of the Jewish community, but more personally, how joyous it is to be a member of Or Chadash, our Jewish community and home.

I don’t know about you, but I’m often asked questions about Judaism. Maybe its because I’m a rabbi, or maybe its because I’m the only Jewish person some of my non-Jewish friends know.

A lot of those questions come from other clergy members. We often attend the same meetings…but some of those questions come from folks on a bike ride or in yoga class who were curious about Jewish beliefs. And now that the High Holy Days are upon us, I’ve been asked a few more questions. More on that later.

One of the most dramatic moments in the liturgy of our service is the reading on Yom Kippur of the words of Rabbi Amnon of Mayance. His Une Tana Tokef prayer. It begins with the statement: On Rosh Hashanah it is written, on Yom Kippur it is sealed: who shall live and who shall die who shall see ripe old age and who shall not.

These words are powerful, telling us that our fate is sealed. But are they words of truth or words of poetry? Are the words in our prayerbook expressions of our Jewish beliefs — our theology — or are they words of metaphor, poetry written to inspire us?

It’s an old question — but is fundamentally the one asked by my friends:
What do you have to believe to be Jewish? It’s a great question – especially for the high holy days.

Fortunately, as a rabbi and a Jewish professional, I know the correct reply:
Let me tell you a story!
I actually do have a story….
One day I was sitting in the library at the Flemington Jewish Community Center at a meeting of the Flemington Area Faith Leaders Association, our local clergy group.
Around the room were two rabbis, an Imam, and Christian clergy including Lutheran, Protestant, Episcopalian, Church of Christ and Unitarian denominations. We were discussing what our congregants believe. Someone turn to me and asked me what the members of my faith community believed.
My response was two-fold.

First, I responded to the characterization of our community as a “faith community.” I explained to the room that that was language that we in the Jewish community never use, because Jews are not a community united by common faith. Rather, what unites the Jewish community are sacred texts, shared traditions, common rituals and, most importantly, Jewish values.

And then I responded to the question about belief. Did I think that the members of Or Chadash believed in God? I answered that I doubted that many of them — many of you — believed in the God of the Old Testament. And, I added, in Judaism we have many different ideas of God.
One well-known Jewish book on God lists more than a dozen traditional theologies. And so, for every individual Jew, there can be a private, personal theology.

Jewish beliefs are so varied, that it’s impossible to claim that a Jewish community could be united by a common faith. Moreover, one didn’t have to believe in God at all to be Jewish.

This was a difficult concept for most of the room to grasp. Only the other rabbi and the Unitarian Universalist minister shared that the same was very much true for their communities. And so, turning away from Judaism for a moment, we began a discussion of what it meant to be a Christian or a Muslim.

In order to be a Christian, they explained, one had to believe in Jesus. And for Islam, one had to believe in Allah and his prophet Mohammed.
And when Christians attended church or Muslims attended a Mosque, they were all united as a community with a common faith.

How different it is for the Jewish community. But surely, there are ideas that we share. There is, perhaps, something we believe that unites the Jewish community.

Our values. Our belief that our deeds, our actions matter most.

Many of you are aware that I am a music lover. I have a collection of vinyl albums and CDs, and now that I’ve become a subscriber to a streaming music service, I feel like I own a record store with the ability to listen to nearly everything.

One genre that I actually own but two CDs of is Christian rock. That’s rock music for which the lyrics are about Christian themes. On an album by the Celtic group Ceili Rain is a song called: That’s All The Lumber. The song is a story about a man who dies and meets Saint Peter up in heaven. Here are a few of the lyrics:

Said a friend to a friend one day:
Was a man who passed away
St. Peter met him at the gate
Pete said: “Walk with me if you will
I’ll take you to the house you built”
Man said: “I can’t wait!”

Passed a mansion made of stone
But with each new house he’s shown
They get smaller by degrees
Stopped in front of a two room shack
Pete said: “Hope you’re happy with that”
Man said: “How can this be?”
Pete said:
“That’s all the lumber you sent
Looks like the builder man, he’s got your number
That’s all the lumber you sent”

Man didn’t know what to say
Poor guy was blown away
Said: “You mean this is what I deserve?”
Pete said: “I’m afraid it’s so
It’s too late, but now you know
Shoulda done better work”

The song reminds us that our deeds matter.
It says that what we do in this life has meaning.
This is true not only for Christianity, but for Islam and Judaism, as well.

Ceili Rain might not know the Une Tane Tokef prayer, that On Rosh Hashana it is written and on Yom Kipppur it is sealed, but they knew that what we contribute to the betterment of the world has lasting and perhaps eternal consequences.

20 years ago in 1999, a book called Pay It Forward by Catherine Ryan Hyde told the true-life story of a young 12 year-old boy who started a movement to get people to help each other. The movie followed a year later, and since then there have been numerous projects based on the idea of Pay It Forward. It’s a concept that most of us are familiar with: When a kindness is done to you, you should, in turn, Pay It Forward by doing a kindness for someone else. Its become somewhat of an ethics for the secular world.

It’s hard to find fault with such an idea. But the rabbis of our tradition didn’t see the world that way. Remarkably, Pay It Forward is not a Jewish value. And today, when the need for acts of kindness and generosity of spirit is so in demand, I want to remind you of the wisdom of our sages. Its not that the rabbis didn’t think you should be kind to others. Far from it. They just didn’t think you should wait for another person to be kind first.

In the 1st Century before the Common Era, in Babylon, one of the most important Jewish sages, Hillel the Elder, was born.
Remarkably, it would be 40 years before he became a scholar of Torah and one of the greatest thinkers in Rabbinic Judaism. And tomorrow you will hear more from him.

Much of what Hillel is best known for comes from a small collection of sayings only six chapters long known as Pirke Avot. Pirkei Avot is often translated as the Chapters or Sayings of the Fathers, but a more precise translation would be Chapters – not of Avot, our patriarchs – but Avot, fundamental Jewish ideas. Pirkei Avot, however, is not a book on what Jews must believe.

Rather, Pirke Avot is a distillation of the most essential ideas and ideals that our sages wished to convey to future generations. A “How To” book whose subject is, quite simply: How to behave, how to live.

In one of the verses in Pirkei Avot, Hillel teaches:
B’makom she’ayn anashim, hishtadel lihi’ot ish.
In a place where there are no menschen – no decent people – you should try to be a mentch.

Rather than state that in a place where you were treated well you should pass on that goodness, Hillel says something quite different. In a place where no one is behaving decently, you should, nevertheless, try to be decent, try to be a mentch.

Today, it seems that conflict is to be found nearly everywhere. And it doesn’t matter if you’re engaged in a discussion about deeply held beliefs or a petty slight. When not a single person around you is doing anything that speaks of kindness, rather than wait for someone else to be kind, Judaism teaches us to rise above the pettiness and be a mentch. And even if no one follows your lead, keep doing those kindnesses.

Our modern sages carried forward this emphasis on action over faith. They wrote: Honoring one another, doing acts of kindness and making peace. These are our highest duties.

And they are. Not after someone does them for us. But first and always.

Rabbi Amnon of Mayance wrote:

On Rosh Hashanah it is written, on Yom Kippur it is sealed. Who shall live and who shall die. Who shall see ripe old age, and who shall not.

And he concluded with this:
Oo-Teshuvah, Oo-Tefilah, Oo-Tzeddaka, Ma’avireen Et Roah Ha Gezerah…

But Repentance (changing our behavior for the good)
Prayer (finding words that can inspire us),
And Tzeddaka (performing acts of righteous living and giving)…

…these transform us and redeem our world.

On this Rosh Hashana may we all strive to be a mentch.
So may it be for us in the New Year.

Shana Tova.

Amen.

Tikkun Olam: Making Our Voices Heard

Rosh Hashanah Morning 5779

September 10, 2018

Or Chadash

Rabbi Joseph M. Forman

Shana Tova — Happy New Year. It’s wonderful to be with all of you this morning. Last night I shared with you a story about Abraham Lincoln and our need to be called upon to do something great. Today I have just such a task for you, but first I’d like to share with you a true story.

In 1861, in Baltimore – a city that was then in a slave state – Rabbi David Einhorn delivered a sermon in which he called slavery a “deplorable farce” and argued that the institution of slavery in the South was inconsistent with Jewish values.

He went on to criticize those who used the Bible to justify slavery, raising the ire of his congregants who were sympathetic to it. Remarkably, in the synagogue itself, a riot broke out in response to his sermon, and many tried to tar and feather him.

Under the cover of darkness that night, Rabbi Einhorn fled for his life to Philadelphia where he subsequently became the spiritual leader of Keneseth Israel, a synagogue at which I served for nearly a decade. For the record, there were no riots in the synagogue when I was there, and no one was ever tarred and feathered.

Rabbi Einhorn’s son-in-law, Rabbi Kaufmann Kohler, shared this passion for social reform. Rabbi Kohler helped write the first statement of principles of the Reform Movement adopted in 1885 by the Central Conference of American Rabbis, and they declared:

“…[W]e deem it our duty to participate in the great task of modern times, to solve, on the basis of justice and righteousness, the problems presented by the contrasts and evils of the present organization of society.” It is our duty, the Reform Movement declared, to solve the problems in our society.

It is now 150 years later. We continue to encounter innumerable problems presented by the contrasts and evils of the present organization of society. Reducing gun violence, managing the challenges of immigration, confronting the persistence of racism and its consequences, responding to our impact on the environment — the list is endless. And on matters of religious concern or economic inequalities or the incendiary political activities in Israel, it’s clear that there is still so much work to be done. What is also clear is that Jews don’t all agree with one another on how to resolve these matters. What a surprise! Two Jews, three opinions.

But despite our diversity, there have been trends within the historic Jewish community that speak to shared values which have defined us as a group.

Last month, the New York Times ran an Op-Ed by Steven Weisman (August 19, 2018) offering his explanation for why America’s Jews have traditionally “stood up for the underdog and voted for liberal[s]….”

He credits the influence of mainstream Protestantism of the 19th century that substituted human agency for God’s work. Jews, as part of a pattern of assimilation, Weisman wrote, turned away from ritual and religious practice and instead embraced Judaism as a “devotion of core beliefs.”

Until the 19 th century, Jews had left redemption to God and only busied themselves with ritual and prayer. But then, he asserts, American Jews replaced a reliance on redemption from on high with a self-reliance to fix the ills of society. I’m not so sure he’s correct. Either are some other knowledgeable scholars.

Rabbi Rick Jacobs, the president of the Union for Reform Judaism, has stated that:

“Our Jewish tradition has ALWAYS taught that WE are responsible for the survival of the least fit: the orphan, the poor, the lonely, and the stranger, to name just a few. …In Genesis… we are told that every single human being is divinely gifted and deserving of dignity.”

From Abraham and Joseph to Isaiah and Jeremiah our people have seen themselves as responsible for fixing whatever ills our world endures. We have not relied on heaven to solve the problems of earth. In fact, we have a tradition of speaking truth to power and demanding justice.

So, since when did Jewish leaders challenge public leaders and public policy? Actually, it goes back pretty far. At least as far as back as the time of King David.

Most of you are probably familiar with images of King David playing his harp, or you recognize the phrase: “a Psalm of David”, as he is linked to the composition of the book of Psalms. But you might be less familiar with the story of David and the prophet Nathan.

Nathan was a friend of David’s, but also a leader within the Jewish community. And Nathan was not pleased with David‘s actions.

When King David was out on his balcony, he spotted the woman Bathsheba, the wife of another man who was away in battle. David had her brought to his palace, impregnated her, tried to cover it up and ultimately had the husband sent to the front lines to meet certain death.

And we thought we had problems with our political leaders.

Nathan knew all of this, and he challenged the king, reminding him of his moral responsibility to own up to his behavior. Ultimately, David did, and he expressed regret, remorse and ultimately sought forgiveness. Nathan took it upon himself to fix what was wrong – beginning with the highest seat of power. This morning, as we welcome the New Year, our task is nothing less. Judaism calls upon us to repair the brokenness all around us. Our tradition calls this Tikkun Olam, the repair of the world.

Perhaps not coincidentally, if there were any day most suited to learning about Tikkun Olam, it is Rosh Hashanah. Because the story of Tikkun Olam is a Rosh Hashanah story.

This now well-known phrase first appears in Jewish literature about 2000 years ago in the Mishna, the first collection of rabbinic teachings. The phrase in the Mishna is:

Mipnei Tikkun Olam – which really translates as: for the sake of social policy.

But Tikkun Olam was to encounter several radical transformation’s over the next 2000 years. The first of these occurred in the 16th century. Rabbi Isaacs Luria was challenged by the problems of his day: evil and sorrow and the exile of Jews from their homeland. “Why?” he was asked. And he gave his answer in the form of a story, a myth that is repeated even to this day

According to the Talmud, in Rosh Hashanah 27a, Rosh Hashanah is not only the new year, but also the birthday of the world, creation if you will allow.

Rabbi Luria wrote that on the first Rosh Hashanah, on the eve of creation, God withdrew from the expanse of the universe to make room for the existence of our world. God then filled ten vessels with light, but the fragile nature of the vessels and the magnitude of the divine light led to them shattering. The shards of those shattered vessels along with the holy sparks they contained were scattered all over the world like grains of sand.

In order for the world to reach the perfection God had intended, the shattered fragments and the sparks of holiness had to be gathered up. And so God created human beings and scattered the descendants of Jacob all over the world to engage in the process of Tikkun Olam — repairing the brokenness of those shattered fragments. When enough of those sparks are gathered, Rabbi Luria taught, the vessels will be repaired, and the world will return to a state of perfection.

Rabbi Luria’s story addressed several concerns of his day. It offered an explanation for the imperfections of God’s creation. It explained the reason that Jews were exiled from their homeland and dispersed around the world. And his story explained why it was our responsibility to fix the brokenness of our world.

Over the centuries, the mystical notion of Rabbi Luria’s version of Tikkun Olam was secreted away in esoteric Kabbalistic writings. But in the 1950s, buoyed by the rise of the Civil Rights Movement, Tikkun Olam returned to the consciousness of the American Jewish community — this time reappearing in its original form as acts of social justice and philanthropy.

Today, Tikkun Olam is considered one of the defining ideas within Jewish life. And raising our voices to speak truth to power, like the Prophet Nathan did to King David, has become a hallmark of Reform Judaism. Consider the existence of the Reform Movement’s Religious Action Center in Washington, D.C., which lobbies Congress in pursuit of legislation that reflects Jewish values, or the presence of Jewish involvement in so many of the agencies that defend those who cannot defend themselves.

Raising our voices to those in power does not mean, however, that Jews speak with one voice.

Rabbi David Einhorn, the abolitionist from the 19 th century, was not the only famous rabbi to speak out against government policies he disagreed with.

You might be surprised to learn that another 19 th century rabbi, Rabbi Isaac Mayer Wise, the founder of the Reform Movement in America, the Union of American Hebrew Congregations and the Central Conference of American Rabbis — no slouch, Rabbi Wise — also spoke out against political leaders with whom he disagreed. Rabbi Wise took to his pulpit in Cincinnati, Ohio, to publicly criticize President Lincoln and then presidential candidate Ulysses S. Grant. Over what issues?

Rabbi Wise was no friend of the newly founded Republican party. In fact, he sympathized with the institution of slavery! Imagine, disagreement over profound issues of social justice within the Jewish community!!

Where Wise and Einhorn did agree was in the Prophetic tradition of raising their voices like a shofar. They both saw a responsibility within the Jewish community to speak out to the government and add their voices to the cries for righteousness — however differently they saw it. They both believed their course was the way to gather the sparks, to repair the shattered vessels; they both fought to make whole what was to them the brokenness of their day.

On this morning of Rosh Hashanah, we come together in celebration of the New Year, marking with our ancestors the birth of our world and taking note that we are responsible for its eternal repair. It is a great task.

On this sacred day, may we find the strength to lift up our voices and take our places among the repairers of the world.

Tikkun Olam. It is also an eternal task. And today we begin the work …again.

AMEN

Truth: Even Unto Its Innermost Parts

Yom Kippur Morning 5779

September 19, 2018

Rabbi Joseph M. Forman

Shana Tova.

The story is told of the first Shabbat a rabbi spends at the rabbi’s new congregation. When it comes time for the Shema, half the congregation rises, half sits. After the service ends, each side comes running to the rabbi to explain that they are doing it right. The confused rabbi turns to the past president, a wise and trusted source in the community, and asks: “So what is the custom?” “We always sit for the Shema,” one side yells. “No, that’s not true,” the elder says, “that is not our tradition.”

“No, we always stand,” the other side retorts. “No, that’s not true, either. That is not our tradition.”

As each side is arguing why their position is true, the now even more confused rabbi turns to the past-president, looks at the arguing factions and says, “Some are arguing we stand, some are arguing we sit.” And at that moment the respected leader interjects: “That is our tradition!”

Argumentation and disagreement are hallmarks of our Jewish tradition. The Talmud has turned this into an art form. What is at issue is nothing less than getting at the truth of the matter.

Some truths, like the paradox of Schrodinger’s Cat beset by the challenges of quantum indeterminacy, cannot easily be known. These days, however, sadly, in ordinary, real life situations, truth is becoming even harder to come by.

Stephen Crane, an American writing during the Civil War, best known for his Red Badge of Courage, was a formidable poet, as well. Of truth, he penned the following:

“Truth,” said a traveller, “Is a rock, a mighty fortress; “Often have I been to it, “Even to its highest tower, “From whence the world looks black.”

“Truth,” said a traveller, “Is a breath, a wind, “A shadow, a phantom; “Long have I pursued it, “But never have I touched “The hem of its garment.”

And I believed the second traveller; For truth was to me A breath, a wind, A shadow, a phantom, And never had I touched The hem of its garment.

Truth, these days, is no longer a mighty fortress. It has come under attack and is looking more and more like a shadow.

The Rand Corporation, a non-partisan, global policy think-tank, recently published a study they have entitled: “Truth Decay.”

In this study, the scholars at Rand set out to explore what they are calling “our country’s current fraught relationship with objective truths.” One of the most interesting aspects of this study is the historical precedent for what today we know by the term “fake news.”

While he didn’t use the term, John Adams, who served as our nation’s 2nd president, was not pleased with the way he was depicted in The Philadelphia Aurora.

In response to the assertion that a free press advances knowledge by creating an informed public, scoffing, Adams pushed back, declaring: “There has been more new error propagated by the press in the last ten years than in the 100 years before.”

The year was 1798, yet the charge feels shockingly modern. So much so, that one can readily surmise that if President Adams were to have issued this same statement in 2018, “it’s easy to imagine, that, at just 112 characters, he might have tweeted [his message] instead.”

Its 220 years later, and truth in the media is still being challenged.

This problem is especially acute in this day and age when so much of what is purported to be fact is suspect, and what is patently false is embraced as true by those who so desire its veracity.

People are claiming, with a straight face and remarkable steadfastness, that objectively true information is but “alternative facts” – a term coined to lend credibility to a firmly held conviction, in spite of it being a glaring falsehood — and outright fiction passes for “news” because to someone’s ears it possesses “truthiness” – something felt to be true, even if the matter in question has no accuracy or truth whatsoever. Fake news, indeed!

The scholars at the Rand Corporation got it right when they titled their study “Truth Decay!”, as it was just a month ago when the President’s personal attorney, in defense of his client, told a national television audience that “truth isn’t [even] truth.”

To make matters worse, now we have learned of the all-too-real proliferation of fake Facebook accounts designed and promulgated by nefarious entities, solely for the purpose of muddling and exploiting political differences between us.

And thanks to Photoshop and on-line content created by bots, we are no longer able to distinguish between the real-time visual presentation of actual events and doctored images.

This past March, a doctored computer image of high school student Emma González had her tearing in half a piece of paper that was made to look like the U.S. Constitution. It went viral. In the real image, this young activist, a survivor of the tragic school shooting in Parkland, Florida, is shredding a paper target from a gun range.

Given the multiple instances in which truth is distorted, language no longer means what it says, and the myriad ways by which we are all so easily deceived, we may well ask: what CAN we know for certain? What, anymore, is TRUTH?

I graduated from Brandeis University with a degree in philosophy. The motto of Brandeis is “Truth – even unto its innermost parts.” And the logo even has the Hebrew word for truth, EMET, in its center.

While open inquiry and the pursuit of truth were hallmarks of Justice Brandeis, for whom the school was named, we learned there that Truth is not easily found.

Establishing truth, Brandeis believed, was an essential component in any Democracy. And establishing truth is essential in any historical recollection, in any scientific research, in any philosophical argument. Even in the realm of religious thought, truth is fundamental! That’s what those rabbis in the Talmud were so concerned with.

For us, Judaism possesses truth, not because other faiths do not, and not because every word in our sacred texts is historically accurate or the words we have uttered today are all absolute truths about the nature of God or our world or the events depicted in our Torah reading for this morning are historically accurate. In the words of Rabbi Lawrence Kushner: “Some things are true, not because they happened once, but because they happen again and again and again.”

Judaism possesses truth because it gives expression to the values that we hold to be true. And when our traditions no longer ring true, we move them to the shelves of history — as we have done with gender inequality in our liturgy, prayers for revenge against heathens, and with expressions of thankfulness that we were not born women. And when words and ideas we inherit from earlier generations ring false, we often ascribe to them that they are expressions of the hopes and aspirations of their authors. We have done this with words from our Grace After Meals — which states that righteous people have never gone hungry — and with countless other reforms and new understandings we have brought to our ever-evolving faith. Judaism possesses truth, like all religions, when it successfully engages us in finding meaning and purpose in our lives.

Admittedly, the idea that something can be of value to us, yet not possess absolute truth, is a difficult idea to grasp.

There is a Midrash, (Midrash Rabba Genesis 8:5) a Rabbinic parable, that tells the story about the creation of human beings.

Rabbi Shimon said, “At the moment the Holy One chose to create the first human being, the ministering angels broke up into factions.

Some of them said, “Create him,” while others said, “Don’t do it.”

Lovingkindness said: Create him, for he will do acts of lovingkindness.

Truth said: Don’t create him, for he is drenched in lies.

Righteousness said: Create her, for she will do much Tzedakah.

Peace said: Don’t do it, for she is essentially quarrelsome.

What did the Holy One do? God cast Truth down to the earth. (Daniel 8:12) The ministering angels said: Sovereign of the Universe, why do You shame truth which is the leader of Your court? But, the Midrash concludes with a verse from Psalms: “Truth will arise from the earth.” (Psalms 85:11-12) So what can it mean that “God cast truth down to the earth” and that “truth thereafter should arise from the earth? “ The rabbis are trying to teach us that truth has been placed in our hands. It is we who are responsible for ascertaining truth not by looking to the heavens to reveal it to us, but through our thoughtful and intelligent debate, by struggling honestly to uncover it.

When we are able to distinguish between real facts and the falsehoods of wishful thinking, truth will not eludes us.

And when we come to understand that debate, honest debate, demands that we are honest with ourselves about what is actually true, then indeed, for the betterment of all of us, truth will arise from the earth.

May our impassioned debates be in the service of truth — even unto its innermost parts — that we might all find blessing in the New Year.

AMEN

Somewhere Towards the End

Kol Nidrei 5779

September 18, 2018

Or Chadash

Rabbi Joseph M. Forman

Shana Tova, Good Yontif.

Tonight begins Yom Kippur. Our tradition tells us it is the holiest night of the year. And to jar us into imagining what that can mean for us — we who are a generation which largely does not entertain notions of holiness — to jar us unto understanding, our service opens with words reminding us that we “…stand on holy ground, between the day that was and the one that must be.”

Tonight, we stand between what we have been and what or who we might become.

Yom Kippur is called Yom Ha Din, the Day of Judgment. And in keeping with the theme of Judgment, we are asked to prepare for the Final Judgment at our death. To remind us of this, we traditionally wear white, a symbol of purity — the purity of death. We show up in white burial shrouds. Yom Kippur is a dress rehearsal for us. It is a day on which we turn from our ordinary activities to reflect, to assess, to atone and then turn our lives toward the best we can be. We abstain from eating or drinking and other pleasures. Instead, we turn inward, and we consider our Final Judgment and begin to work on improving ourselves.

We are asked:

At what did we aim?

How did we stumble?

What did we take?

To what were we blind?

What did we give?

Each year Yom Kippur calls on us to reconsider our answers; it calls on us to reflect on our behavior, but more: it reminds us that our lives are not infinite — we have limited time not only to enjoy and achieve and experience, but limited time to learn and grow and give. We haven’t got forever to become wise. We haven’t got forever to figure out how and who we wish to be. In essence, Yom Kippur is a day to shake us into confronting our finite existence and get us to get going on living life.

We are brought to the edge of the abyss, then given the rare and precious ability to imagine, with newfound perspective: if I were to die today, what would I have to show for my days and years? Once a year Yom Kippur challenges us to consider our life – and our death. And then we are given another chance.

There is a story from the Torah – a story about the end of a great life.

“It came to pass after all these things that word was sent to Joseph: “Behold, your father is ill” [Gen.48:1].

The Midrash says that Joseph was shocked to hear that his father, Jacob, was ill. He hadn’t been in very close touch with him lately; he had been busy with his own life, his work, his family, his wife and their two sons. Jacob understands his illness, says the Midrash, as a gift from God. But what kind of a gift is an illness? Surely God or the Biblical writers could have come up with a better gift than that.

It was a gift, our Sages said, because his illness was a reminder that his death was near. Jacob knew it was coming. He knew that no matter how good and faithful a man he was, he could not live forever. He knew that his life would end – and so he was able to prepare for death.

To both live and depart from life in a conscientious and thoughtful way, our Sages said, is a blessing. To live each day as if it were your last – that is a gift we give to those with whom we share our lives.

Yom Kippur gives us an opportunity to make that gift…to say to ourselves:

I may not be here next year or even tomorrow.

This might be the end of me.

And if it is – and every day we are closer to that moment – what will I make of the time I have left?

In the Talmud we are asked to consider this possibility daily. Rabbi Eliezer who lived in the 1 st and 2 nd centuries said: “Repent one day before your death.”

His students asked: “How can you possibly know on which day you will die?” “You cannot.” the sage replied, “Therefore everyday you must consider every one of your deeds – that your life will be a blessing.”

But such a task is enormous. Exhausting even. Would that we were wise enough to know NOW the lessons that often only come at life’s end.

Diana Athill, now over 100 years old, is a British literary editor, novelist and memoirist who worked with some of the greatest writers of the 20th century at the London-based publishing company Andre Deutsch.

At the age of 90 she decided to write a book herself — about living and old age. She gave her book the title: Somewhere Towards the End.

90 is a full life, for sure. It is an age when you ought to know a few lessons about living. And in her book she details a few of these: her achievements, her loves, her regrets and her struggles — which, she concedes, were not so many — and she concludes with this advice:

“There are no lessons to be learnt, no discoveries to be made, no solutions to offer….Although a human life is less than the blink of an eyelid in terms of the universe, within its own framework it is amazingly capacious so that it can contain many opposites. One life can contain serenity and tumult, heartbreak and happiness, coldness and warmth, grabbing and giving — and also more particular opposites such a neurotic conviction that one is a flop and consciousness of success amounting to smugness.” (Somewhere Towards the End, p. 177.)

Despite her hesitation to offer any moral advice, Athill provides this:

“…Miniscule though every individual…is, he/she/it is an object through which life is being expressed, and leaves some sort of contribution to the world…. To think our existence pointless…would therefore be absurd; instead we should remember that it does make its almost invisible but real contribution, either to usefulness or harm, which is why we should try to conduct it properly.”

Everyone of us does make a contribution, either to usefulness or to harm. And, without a doubt, we should try to conduct ourselves properly.

The rabbis could not have agreed more. Rabbi Bachya Ibn Pekuda, the author of the first Jewish system of ethics, written in Arabic in the 11 th century, said: “Our days are like scrolls: Write on them only how you want to be remembered.”

And so, here we are on Kol Nidrei, a night of introspection. The High Holy Days ask us to consider just what Diana Athill did — a measure of our lives. Tonight we are given an opportunity to reflect — not just somewhere towards the end, but at whatever stage we are now living.

Herbert Samuel – a British statesman, philosopher and one of the first Jewish members of the British cabinet – advised the following:

“Let us treasure the time we have, and resolve to use it well, counting each moment precious — a chance to apprehend some truth, to experience some beauty, to conquer some evil, to ease some suffering, to love and be loved, to achieve something of lasting worth. There is promise within each of us that only we can fulfill. Let us live our lives so that someday it will be true to say of us: the world is a little better because, for just one moment, we lived in it.”

May this Yom Kippur be for us a reminder that life is fleeting, our time here precious, and every hour is perhaps our last. May we use our days wisely. And may the world be better because we lived.

AMEN

Sacred Time

Erev Rosh Hashanah 5779

September 9, 2018

Or Chadash

Rabbi Joseph M. Forman

I love the holidays. Especially Hanukkah.

Wait a second, Rabbi. Did you say Hanukkah? It’s Rosh Hashanah!

Yes, I did. Hanukkah is a great holiday. It is a celebration of religious freedom marking the victory of the Maccabees over the Greco Assyrians more than 2000 years ago. What’s not to celebrate? Well, actually, Hanukkah is a bit more complicated than that. And they have a lot to do with our celebration of Rosh Hashanah.

You see, the Maccabees were religious zealots. And not all of the Jews shared their religious practices. There were other Jews living among them who embraced the Greek influences around them. The Maccabees, though, rejected Greek culture and refused to assimilate. Ultimately, when the Temple in Jerusalem was desecrated by the Assyrians, a war broke out …which the Maccabees won! You know the story.

But what you might not know is that in a strange twist of history, we observe Hanukkah with rituals derived from Greek ideas. Some of the words in the three blessings composed by the rabbis who lived generations after the Maccabees,…some of those words have their origins in the very culture that led to the Hanukkah story.

The first blessing tells that we are commanded by God to Kindle the Hanukkah lights. This was a newly invented ritual that most certainly would not have been welcomed by those traditionalist religious zealots. The second blessing invokes the miracles performed for our ancestors “at that season.”

The Hebrew states:

She’asa nisim la’avoteinu bayamin ha’heim baz-man ha zeh.

And the third blessing, recited only on the first night, is the familiar Shehecheyanu prayer, thanking God for giving us life and enabling us to reach a momentous occasion: v’higiyanu laz-man ha zeh.

How ironic those blessings are! Why? We’ll come back to that in a moment. First, a little history on tonight’s holiday, Rosh Hashanah.

It’s in the book of Leviticus that we initially learn of a sacred day called Yom Teruah, a day of loud blasts. This holy day is to take place on the first day of the 7th month. That’s tonight. There is no mention of Rosh Hashanah in Leviticus nor anywhere in the entire Bible! And there is no mention of Yom Teruah, the day of loud blasts, being the New Year. All that came much later.

What emerged over time was the linking of Yom Teruah with the spiritual New Year — or in Hebrew, Rosh Hashanah. And then Rosh Hashanah became linked with the story of creation. So now, today, on the first day of the 7th month, when the sun sets and the moon disappears completely from the night sky, we celebrate the New Year and mark the event with the blowing of the shofar. Measuring the passage of time using the phases of the moon or the arc of the sun in the sky has been part of Jewish time-keeping since Biblical days.

Keeping time, in the Jewish tradition, is important for knowing when Shabbat begins. We use the hours to mark the days. And using the moon, marking its disappearance, is helpful for knowing when the month begins — or the New Year. Jewish time is time measured with a correspondence to celestial events. When the sun sets, the day is over. When the moon is new, the months change.

Greek time, however, is different. The Greeks had two concepts and two words for time: Chronos and Kairos. Chronos, which we might call clock time, measures the hour — or the sun. Very much like Jewish time.

Kairos, though, is special time. It is the kind of time you spend when a good time is had by all, or when it’s time to do something important. Kairos time does not have an hour or a day or a month to indicate it has arrived. It doesn’t correspond to any celestial event. Kairos is the kind of time that is defining, sacred and profound because we deem it so. It corresponds not to heavenly spheres, but to human endeavors.

Now back to those Hanukkah blessings. Shehecheyanu, v’kiyamanu, v’higianu laz-man ha zeh. We have arrived at this time — LAZ-MAN ha ZEH our prayer declares. But to what kind of time does ZE-MAN refer?

To answer that we might look to our sources, but the word Zeman only occurs four times in the entire Bible, and each of those instances is from three of the last books composed.

The Rabbis chose to use the Hebrew word Zeman instead of other Hebrew words they had for time, because they wanted to express TIME in the same way that the Greeks used Kairos. Zeman is a momentous occasion not because the sun set, but because it is a moment that is transformational. And so on Hanukkah and every instance when we recite the Shehecheyanu prayer, we borrow a bit of the Greek idea of Kairos, time not measured by clocks, but measured by our own sense of the sacred.

We commemorate births and weddings and Bar and Bat Mitzvahs and Confirmations, and we call each of them significant events — significant because, to us, they are! And at each of those moments we recite the Shehecheyanu prayer.

And now Rosh Hashanah is upon us. The sun has set, the moon is new and so is the month. Celestial time calls this the New Year — for the earth.

But what of us? The relative motion of the sun and moon alone don’t make this a holy day for us. We need a different measure of time to mark this as a sacred occasion. We need to deem it sacred for ourselves!

Every week Shabbat comes and goes. And perhaps we acknowledge it. And every year Rosh Hashanah returns. And here we are again, marking its arrival.

But how shall each of us make this a sacred moment — sacred for us? What will make this day special in our own lives? What will we do or say or experience that will transform a heavenly New Year into a personal one?

There is a story about President Abraham Lincoln, who, during the Civil War, was known to attend church on Wednesday evenings. Lincoln and a friend of his were walking back to the White House, and the president’s companion asked him what he thought of the sermon. “Well,” Lincoln responded, “it was brilliant, well conceived, Biblical, relevant and well presented….but it failed.”

“How so?” his friend inquired. Lincoln did not hesitate:

“It did not ask us to do something great.”

If our Rosh Hashanah is to be the auspicious occasion that we desire it to be, then we must elevate our own lives and the lives of every human being. We must make of this day a sacred occasion by committing ourselves to something worthy of Lincoln’s challenge.

This New Year can be transformative for us — it can be a special time for us if we but challenge ourselves. Unlike the moon that effortlessly is renewed, each one of us must commit to the difficult work of our renewal.

Shehecheyanu, v’kiyamanu, v’higianu laz-man ha zeh.

We have been given life, we have been sustained and now we have arrived at this sacred time. May it be a New Year of blessings, of peace — for the good.

AMEN