After being here for over a year, the change in seasons still astounds me.On September 21 – the autumnal equinox – almost like clockwork, the weather changed drastically.We had a beautiful warm end of summer and now, all of a sudden, fall has arrived.This week it rained for 4 days straight and you could really see people’s mood change.Today we’re back to sunny skies but there’s a different feeling in the air.There’s a crisp coolness that calls our attention to winter’s approach.
I’m actually quite excited about the change in weather (mostly because I’m looking forward to snowboarding).Since moving here to Colorado, I’ve become so much more conscious of weather.I grew up in Southern California, where the weather never really changes.Every day is pretty much like the last – sunny and mild.Do you remember the movie “LA Story?”Steve Martin plays a weatherman who pre-tapes his reports so he can go away for the weekend.Until I saw that movie, I wasn’t even aware that there were weather reports in LA.What’s the point?The weather never changes much.Nothing seems to change in LA.Even the people don’t seem to age there… they just get plastic surgery.But, here in Colorado, we definitely notice changes.
I remember last year my friend from LA called me and asked me how I was doing… I said, “I’m ok, but there’s something terribly wrong here and I’m really worried.”He asked, “what’s wrong?”
“Well,” I responded, “I think the trees here have some sort of disease… they’re all turning yellow and then red and the leaves are all falling off!I’m scared: think the trees are dying!”
Now, I love the seasons.I notice the changes in the plants and the animals that come out at different times of year.I love to see the leaves change color as winter creeps closer.I love the feeling of winter giving way to spring and the renewal of life.It also makes me think about how much more aware our ancestors must have been of the changes around them.I wonder what it was like here in Denver a few generations back before central heat and Subaru all-wheel drive. I imagine that people didn’t go out more than they needed to.
We modern city dwellers – especially those of us from LA – are so much less aware and less affected by the changing seasons.Even in the ancient Land of Israel – whose weather is more like California’s than Colorado’s – our forefathers and mothers were intimately attuned to the weather and change of seasons. The balance of rain and sunshine didn’t determine if they could go bike riding that day – it was a matter of life and death.If the rains didn’t arrive in time, people would literally starve.It’s really no wonder that our Jewish holidays are so tied to the seasons.Most Jews aren’t aware of it – because we don’t emphasize it anymore – but our ancient ancestors were obsessed with fertility and agriculture.Our festivals probably started as agricultural rituals that we inherited from our pagan predecessors.We changed the theology and over time we grafted onto the festivals the narratives of our people.In fact, the cycle of the holidays tells our national story.
In the Spring, in the month of Nisan, we celebrate our liberation from Egypt.Pesach represents our birth as a nation and it is no coincidence that it comes in the spring when new life is emerging all around us.Pesach is then linked to Shavuot by the counting of the Omer – which was literally counted with sheaves of barley.That period was a precarious time for our ancestors as they awaited the summer harvest.On Shavuot we celebrate receiving Torah from Mount Sinai. The sustenance we glean from the words of Torah is coupled with the nourishment we harvest from our fields.
Someone recently asked me if there is a connection between the High Holy Days and the season.She wanted to know if Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur have resonance with the early fall.You might expect that the New Year would start in the spring.You might expect that Rosh Hashanah, which commemorates in part God’s creation of the universe – would be in the spring, when new life comes into being.Instead, we have the Days of Awe just as the doldrums of winter are approaching.And, furthermore, you might expect that the Yamim Noraim – concerned with repentance and being written into the book of life – would be in the spring, when new life is emerging.
Well, this woman wasn’t the first person to ask this question and it isn’t obvious why we count the new year from the beginning of the month of Tishre. In fact the Talmud (RH 11a) records a dispute between Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Yehoshuah – two sages from the time of the Mishna.Rabbi Eliezer said that the world was created in Tishrei (in the fall) but Rabbi Yehoshuah says the world was created Nisan (in the spring).And to bolster their arguments, they each refer to the same passage in the Torah.When God was creating the Earth, He says, “Let the land be covered with vegetation – seed-baring plants and fruit trees.” (Gn 1:11)Rabbi Eliezer takes this to mean that the world was created with fully formed plants and fruit, which would mean that Creation took place in the fall when the fruits are fully mature.Rabbi Yehoshuah uses the next verse (1:12) “so the earth brought forth vegetation…” and concludes that the world was created at the time of year that the Earth brings forth vegetation – that is in the spring.
The argument in the Talmud goes in a number of directions, but to my mind it brings up an interesting question: what is the appropriate time of year for the reflection and repentance of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur?Is it in the spring when life is renewed, at the beginning of the process of life, or is perhaps the outgrowth of maturation?
At the time we are born, there is no need for repentance.Reflection happens after having lived life for a while.Teshuvah is more strongly associated with the end of life than with its beginning.And while Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur may not be directly tied to agriculture, we also need to bear in mind that the Yamim Noraim are linked to Sukkot.The season of repentance that begins in Elul culminates at the end of Sukkot – at Hoshanah Rabbah – when we begin to pray for rain.To our ancient ancestors, there was nothing more important than the coming of the rainy season.In the Torah, Sukkot is referred to as “he-hag” – THE Festival.It was a time of great anxiety because they believed that rain was God’s reward for our righteousness and drought was a sign of divine punishment.So, it isn’t surprising that before we can ask God for rain, we need to ask for forgiveness from our sins.
There is also a connection to the mood we feel at this time of year.I don’t know about you, but I’m very affected by the weather.The cold short days of winter make me want to stay inside and curl up under heavy blankets.The same is true for the process of teshuvah – of reflection and repentance – that we undergo at the High Holy Days.We turn inward.And, like the seed planted by the farmer at the beginning of winter, we don’t see the fruits of our teshuvah right away.The changes we seek in ourselves don’t just sprout up overnight.Like the farmer sitting in his sukkah, we have to cultivate those changes, nurture them, and hope they will take root.If we are successful, we too will emerge in the spring with renewed life.
The High Holy Days call up on us – both as individuals and as a community – to rediscover the treasures within ourselves that allow us to be the best we can be.
Rosh Hashanah 5770 / September 20, 2009
Less than 2 weeks ago, a reporter from the Inter-Mountain Jewish News called me – she asked me if I had time to be interviewed for a feature piece.So I thought to myself: it’s 9 days before Rosh Hashanah, I haven’t written my sermon, I’m kind of losing my mind – sure, what else do I have to do?
So the reporter, Andrea Jacobs, came over that very afternoon and spent about an hour interviewing me.It actually turned out to be a very pleasant conversation, because she asked some really thoughtful questions.
Toward the end of the interview, Ms. Jacobs threw me a curveball.She asked me if I think the High Holy Days wipe the slate clean for us. I hesitated when she asked me that.My first reaction was to say, “Of course.Yeah – a tabula rasa.” But, I stopped myself, because I realized that I didn’t really believe it.I mean, I want to believe it.It seems like that’s what a rabbi is supposed to say, right?Isn’t that the party line – Yom Kippur atones for our sins?Scrub, rinse, repeat – right?But I couldn’t say that.I’m just not sure it’s true… it certainly hasn’t been my experience.
For years, I have gone to shul on the Yamim Nora’im desperately searching for that cleansing – wishing more than anything else that this time the slate will be wiped clean. I think: maybe this time, if I say all the prayers… if I have just enough remorse for the sins I’ve committed… if I just pound my chest hard enough, maybe this time I’ll walk out of here a different person – a clean slate.I don’t want to say that nothing ever changes, but every year, I walk out of shul disappointed to discover that I’m still more or less the same person I was when I walked in.I still face the same weaknesses.I still have the same challenges.I still have the same temptations.
But this year, after thinking hard about Andrea Jacob’s question, I’ve come to a better understanding of how teshuvah (repentence) really works.The first thing we have to do is liberate ourselves of this idea of a clean slate.There’s no such thing.It’s too much to expect.The truth is we all have “luggage”… I prefer the word luggage rather than baggage.“Baggage” has so many negative connotations.Baggage is the burden you can’t wait to unload.Luggage, on the other hand – that’s just the stuff we travel with.There’s the stuff we’re born with and the stuff we picked up along the way.There’s the stuff we worked hard to acquire, and the stuff that was given to us.There’s the stuff we use often and the stuff that is hidden in the little pockets and crevices that we’ve forgotten about.Most of the stuff is necessary and good, some of it weighs us down.
That’s life. And the challenge is: how do we go about improving, growing, changing, moving, and – yes – repenting, when we’ve got all this luggage?How do we decide what to hold on to, and what to leave on the side of the road?Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are not about wiping the slate clean.Instead, these days are about opening up our luggage and rummaging around inside for a while.They are about being honest about the stuff we travel around with.
These days are about standing before God in the fullness of who we are and saying “Here I am!”“Here I am, God, with all my luggage.Here I am, God, with all my good deeds and my sins, with all my smallness and with all my greatness.”It’s about being fully present and accountable.Hebrew has a beautiful word for this: “hineini” – Hineini means, “here I am.”And this word – hineini – appears prominently on Rosh Hashanah.
In the Torah portion we just read this morning – the story of the binding of Isaac – Avraham, says this word, Hineini, three times in the course of a few verses.The traditional commentaries all understand hineini as an expression of Avraham’s readiness to listen and obey. But there’s no indication of Avraham’s tone of voice or body language.Is it “hineni!” like a soldier coming to attention? Or is there perhaps more ambivalence, more hesitation, more self-doubt.He may be saying, “here I am, ready to serve.”But, at the same time Avraham might be saying, “Hineini – here I am, God, a willing, but imperfect vessel for your will.”“Hineini – Here I am, scared and unsure”“Hineni – Here I am. I cannot possibly hide from you.”“Hineini - Accept me as I am.”
That is how we stand here today on Rosh Hashanah.Hineini – here I am God – a mere human being.Hineini – here I am willing to improve my life but unsure about how.Hineini – here I am with my successes and triumphs.Hineini – here I am with my weaknesses and my failures.Hineini – here I am with all my virtues and strengths.Hineini – here I am with my bad habits and vices, that I promised to change last year, and the year before, and the year before that.Hineini – here I am, trying to be truthful when I say I’ll do better this time.Hineini.
In a few minutes – just before we start the Musaf Amidah – the Chazzan is going to come down the isle chanting a prayer that also begins with the word Hineini.It is really a meditation the Chazzan says to prepare himself for his awesome task: “Hineini he-anni mi-ma’as, nir’ash v’nif’chad mi-pachad…” “Here I am!I stand here lacking in good deeds, agitated and frightened, in dread before God who sits in judgment.I have come to stand and to plead before You on behalf of Your people, Israel, who have appointed me as their messenger – even though I am not worthy or qualified for the task…” In this prayer he’s saying, “look God, here I am… a flawed vessel…” and, despite my deep resonant voice and stunning stage presence, I’m totally unqualified and humbled to stand before you as a conduit for the prayers of my people… but I’m going to do it anyway… as flawed as I am, here I am. I’m going to pray on behalf of this congregation!
That’s the yamim noraim in a nutshell… Hineni.Here we are unprepared but willing.We stand before God as we are – the good and the bad – and God sees all of it.And we too are supposed to take a long hard look at ourselves… not a fantasy of ourselves as perfect people – but who we are… only the best of who we are.And that’s where the opportunity lies.There’s no clean slate, but there is the possibility of teshuvah - repentence.The yamim noraim are about looking boldly at ourselves and become more aware.And the paradox of saying Hineini is that being honest about our shortcomings actually allows us to discover our greatness.When we look deep within ourselves we find the spark of the Divine that is at our core.Too often we think the answers our out there somewhere, if only we could find them.The lesson of hineini – of being fully present with ourselves – is that we already have what we need to improve.
And what is true for us as individuals is also true for us as a community.It isn’t surprising that this is the time of year when Jews make an extra effort to be in shul.The Yamim Noraim are about showing up and being counted.The Torah’s name for this day is Yom Ha-Zikaron, the day of Remembering.And, as Jews, we remember that this is our home.This is where we come to check in, to reconnect.This is the time of year when we turn to one another and say “hineni” – “here I am.”And just as this season is a moment for personal reflection and honesty, it is also an appropriate time of year for us, as a community, to take stock.
This is, indeed, a wonderful synagogue.This is a shul that has a reputation for being warm and welcoming.It is a community in which members care for one another.We come together in moments of celebration and in times of mourning.And for all of this, we have been very successful over the last many years.
But today we all find ourselves in a challenging environment.We all know from our own lives and from reading the paper that we can no longer take growth and success for granted.We all know from our own households and our own business that these difficult times have challenged us all to think about how we conduct ourselves.Most of us in our own homes and in our business are reevaluating what we are doing, and how we’re doing it. And, the Hebrew Educational Alliance is no exception.
But I’m here to tell you that there is a hidden treasure to be found.The gift we are given in challenging times is the gift of teshuvah.We are all looking at our lives and reprioritizing.We’re asking ourselves: what is important to us and what is luxury?What is the right balance of quantity and quality? We’re asking ourselves who we are and what are our core values?
This is a time for us as a community to begin our own teshuvah process.What is true for us as individuals at this time of year is true for us a shul.It is time to be honest with ourselves and rummage around in our luggage.
There is a well-known Jewish folk tale that I think illustrates my point.A long time ago, in the city of Cracow, lived a man named Avrom the son of Beril.Though he was a hard-working man, Avrom was very poor and always struggled to care for his family.
One night, he had an unusually vivid dream.In the dream, Avrom saw himself standing under a bridge.All around him were magnificent buildings, and on the road leading from the bridge there was a majestic palace.Suddenly a voice spoke to him: “Avrom, this is the great city of Prague.This is the bridge leading to the King’s castle.Dig a hole right where you are standing under the bridge and you will find a treasure.”
Avrom suddenly awoke and saw that it was morning.He thought to himself, “How can I go to Prague?I don’t even have enough to feed my family… besides, it’s just a dream.”But the next night, the dream came to him again.And, again, he dismissed it. But when he had the same dream a third time, he decided he had to make the trip to Prague.
It took him weeks to walk there, but when he finally arrived, he was stunned to find that this magnificent city looked exactly as it had in his dreams!There in front of him was the palace of the King, and here was the bridge leading to the palace.He started to head for the exact spot he had stood in his dreams, when he was approached by one of the palace guards, demanding to know what he was doing.Avrom was a very honest man, so he couldn’t bring himself to lie.Feeling foolish, he told the guard about his dream.
The guard started to laugh, and replied, “Foolish man!Dreams aren’t real.I, too, had a dream in which a voice spoke to me.It told me to go to Cracow, to the house of some Jew named Avrom the son of Beril.If I looked under the stove in his kitchen, I would find a treasure, the voice told me. Well, I’ve heard that half the Jews in Cracow are named Avrom and the other half are named Beril – and they all live in tiny cottages with stoves.So, even if I believed the dream, how would I find the right one?”
Avrom listened in amazement as the guard described Avrom’s own house.Avrom hurried back to Cracow and dug under his stove in the kitchen and yes, there he discovered the promised treasure.His dream had come true.[1]
How often do we go out searching for treasure – believing that it must be out there somewhere?We make ourselves crazy and run ourselves ragged looking far and wide.But the truth is – we often fail to look within ourselves – to discover the treasure in our own midst.
I’m not going to stand here and tell you what I think is working or not working at our shul.That isn’t the job of just one person.It isn’t for me – certainly not after have been here for only one year – to tell you.This task of communal teshuvah is greater than one person.It is incumbent on each and every one of us to do this work – it is a conversation we need to have.It is for each of us to stand up and say “hineini” – here I am.I am asking you to do for this community what we are called upon to do on these High Holy Days.Just as we have to look within ourselves to examine our strengths and weaknesses, so too with our community.And just as we do as individuals, when we look deep within this community, we will rediscover the greatness that is at our core.Just as it is with our own souls, we need to look at what we do well, and then do it better.We should dream.We should dream together about what this community can be, but I suspect that the answers aren’t out there somewhere.The moral of the story of Avrom is that the treasure we seek is in our midst.It’s been there all along – we just have to know where to look.
I came across an interesting statistic recently.A study of congregational life conducted by researchers at Brandeis University asked Jews to respond to the following statement: “my synagogue makes good use of my skills and abilities.”Before I tell you what they found… think about that statement for a moment, and ask yourself if you agree or disagree:“my synagogue makes good use of my skills and abilities” Well, in the Brandeis study a mere 34% of respondents agreed with the statement.They also discovered that nearly 2/3 of shul members reported that they were “not at all active” in their congregation.[2]
Those are shocking statistics – but, unfortunately, not surprising.I know we have a very active and vibrant community, but I imagine our numbers would be the same if we did that study here.Now imagine for a moment what our community would look like if the statistics were reversed.What if 66% of us could say, “The synagogue makes good use of my skills and abilities”?What if 2/3 of us could say we are actively involved in our community?
Our treasures are not out there somewhere under a bridge.They too are right here at home – in this room.Right now. Look around you.What you see – whom you see – these are our untapped resources.And to find them, we just have to be willing to say hineni – here I am.Hineini – these are my skills and talents.Hineini – these are my passions and my interests.
Do you have a passion for social justice – say Hineini – and join our Habitat for Humanity building crew.Do you love sports?Say Hineini – here I am to join the softball team.Do you enjoy parties?Say Hineini – and host a Shabbat dinner.Don’t know a lot of people?Say Hineini and introduce yourself to others.Do you have a talent you love to share?Say Hineini and volunteer your skills.
It isn’t about showing up in a building, and it isn’t about filling seats, and it isn’t about these walls.Hineni is adding to the conversation.It’s about presence.It’s about looking deep within ourselves as a community and being the best of who we are – with all of our strengths and challenges – and saying “here I am” – Hineini.
May the coming year encourage us to greater introspection.May we find treasures waiting to be discovered.And may we all be willing to say hineini.
L’shanah tovah tikkateivu ve’tihateimu – My we be inscribed and sealed for a good year.
[1] My retelling of the story is based on a version found in Peninnah Schram’s Jewish Stories One General Tells Another.
[2] The findings I refer to are cited by Rabbi Hayim Herring on his blog – Tools for Shuls.The author of the study was Prof. Amy Sales of the Cohen Center for Modern Jewish Studies at Brandeis.
