September 25, 2015 - Water and Joy

Parashat HaAzinu/ Erev Sukkot - September 25, 2015
Rabbi Julie Pelc Adler, Congregation Am Echod in Lindenhurst

This coming Sunday evening, we begin the holiday of Sukkot.

Sukkot is maybe our best holiday. After all, amidst all our myriads of commandments pertaining to social justice or ethics or morality or elegant subtleties of ritual practice, only one time a year are we literally commanded to be joyful and only joyful: Sukkot.

That’s a commandment we should all be able to get behind.

And Sukkot has layers, too-- it’s not just about the party. We build our Sukkot not only as reminders of the way our ancestors harvested their crop at this time of year, and not only as and as reminders of how we dwelt in temporary shelters during our wandering in the wilderness after the Exodus.

We wave lulav and etrog not only to mark the fruitfulness of this time of harvest, but also to remind us of the praying for rain that is so integral to the holiday.

One of the things we forget most often today about Sukkot is that it is really about rain.

Traditionally, we don’t just make the blessing over the lulav and etrog and then point it in all directions: we wave it, shaking it so the fronds of the palm branch shift and brush, the willow and myrtle rustle. And the sound that it makes is the sound of rainfall.

In ancient times, there was a water offering made in the Temple, when water was poured out at the corner of the altar, praying that the late autumn and winter rains will fall.

This offering was at the center of a massive public rejoicing, called the simchat beit ha-sho’evah, the rejoicing of the house of drawing [water].

The Rabbis of the Talmud say: anyone who had not seen the simchat beit sho’evah had never truly seen joy.

There was feasting, drinking, music, and games.

The Zohar teaches us that though we are judged on Yom Kippur, the decision sealed by Ne’ilah, the “verdict” is not final until after Hoshanah Rabba, the end of Sukkot.

For this reason, prayers for prosperity, life, health, growth-- all parts of the prayers for rain-- are all continued through these days and weeks.

Rabbinic literature identifies water as a symbol or metaphor for Torah (one quenches the thirst of the body, the other quenches the thirst of the soul.  

Just as we cannot live without water, Jews cannot live without Torah.

It also meshes well with the Kabbalistic imagery of the outpourings of Divine energy radiating from God - being like water.

So it makes sense that Sukkot, ending with Hoshanah Rabba, melds virtually seamlessly into the following holiday, Shmini Atzeret, on which we say Geshem, the great prayer for rain, and after which we begin adding the phrase "mashiv ha-ruach u-morid ha-geshem" (“Who makes the wind blow and the rain fall”) to the Amidah prayer.

Part of what makes Sukkot so amazing, and so interesting, is the way in which water and rejoicing come together.  And, in doing so, they reflect the

·    physical seasons of the year

·    the agricultural concerns of our ancestors

·    and also the spiritual imagery of our tradition

It is the perfect reflection of the balance that Judaism tends to strike, finding meaning in both the physical and in the spiritual.

And so it is - almost immediately after Yom Kippur we go outside and build sukkot: not because we are done with prayer, introspection, and preparation for a new year… but because the logical next step is to take what we’ve learned and apply it to our lives.

Shana Tova!

Yom Kippur 5776 - Why Shabbat Matters

Yom Kippur 5776 - September 23, 2015

Rabbi Julie Pelc Adler, Congregation Am Echod in Lindenhurst

·    Let us proclaim the sacred power of this day for it is awesome and full of dread.

·    The angels in heaven rush about dismayed—they are seized with fear, with trembling.  They cry out, “Behold! The Day of Judgment!”

·    Who shall live and who shall die.

·    Who by fire and who by water.

·    Who shall be secure and who shall be troubled.

·    On Rosh HaShanah it is written and on Yom Kippur it is sealed.

Every year we return to this text penned nearly 800 years ago.  We read our lines in this divine drama where God, the Divine Judge stands on high documenting and deliberating over all that we are and all that we have been and records our fate in the Book of Life.  In these moments where we imagine ourselves standing at the precipice of fate, we become keenly aware of High Holy Days past, present, and future.  This moment becomes all of history in one breath, one note—this is all there is, this is all there ever was, this is all there ever will be.

The genius of these Ten Days of Repentance is in this dramatic resonance—this ability to connect us to the experience of the infinite.  Through this entire season, we feel truly connected to Jewish history and experience, to our ancestors thousands of years back and to our descendants thousands of years into our future.  Is it no wonder that we keep coming back, then, year after year after year?  How many experiences in our daily life connect us so poignantly to all of Jewish history?  When else do we feel this connected to the infinite?

We imagine romantically that, once upon a time, we had daily encounters with the mystery of the universe.  Once upon a time, we felt a sense of awe throughout the year.  Once upon a time, The high holy Days were not the entirety of our Jewish life, it was merely the pinnacle of it.  

BUT, the reality—the truth—is that if the High Holy Days is our CENTRAL experience with Judaism, or with the Jewish community or, for that matter, with God, then we are missing out.

A rabbi and a soap-maker once went for a walk together. The soap-maker said to the rabbi: “What good is Judaism? After thousands of years of teaching about goodness, truth, justice, and peace, after all the study of Torah, and all the fine ideals of the Prophets, look at all the trouble and misery in the world! If Judaism is so wonderful and true, why should all this be so?”

The rabbi said nothing. They continued walking, until he noticed a child playing in the gutter. The child was filthy with soot and grime. “Look at that child,” said the rabbi. “You say that soap makes people clean, but see the dirt on that youngster. What good is soap? With all the soap in the world, that child is still filthy. I wonder if soap is of any use at all.”

The soap-maker protested, and said, “But Rabbi, soap can’t do any good unless it is used!”

“Acha! Exactly!” cried the Rabbi. “So it is with Judaism. It isn’t effective unless it is applied in daily life and used!”

For Judaism to work, to be relevant in our lives, it has to be applied to our lives and on a regular basis.  While immersing ourselves in the rites and rituals, prayers and melodies of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are all well and good, what does this do for us in the middle of January?  Where is that feeling of history and meaning and connectedness throughout the rest of the year?  Judaism was never built to be a twice a year event—on the contrary, we have a stunning tradition that has the potential to bring a sense of history and meaning and connectedness to our everyday life.  

We have rites and rituals that can transform our day, our week, our entire year.  But we must be willing to use them—to apply them to our day, our week, our entire year.  And so, you ask, what are these magical rites and rituals that, supposedly, can transform my ordinary existence into a life of meaning?  How can Jewish history possibly be relevant to my regular life?  Why should I waste my time and energy on some arcane traditions—can they really make me feel connected?

The simple answer is, yes.  Through the celebration of festivals throughout the year, a plethora of traditions, and adding Shabbat into our lives, we really can find historical relevance, meaning and a feeling of being connected to each other as well as to the infinite.

Festivals

The High Holy Days, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, are intense!  They have extraordinary melodies, liturgical poetry, and high drama:  each year we imagine a divine court room.  We ask the question: who shall live and who shall die!  I even love the severity of it all.  It feels very real and it connects me to my vulnerability, reminds me that I have the power to change my life, that I can push myself to make things right with anyone with whom I have tension or conflict.

But if this were the all of my Jewish life?!  

This is the hard stuff, the scary stuff, the depressing stuff.  These are the rituals we do out of guilt and, at times, out of shame.  While there is great meaning in facing our guilt and coming through the severity of tradition—there is very little joy in it—what about the fun?

Judaism was never meant to be a religion dominated by guilt and restrictions and discomfort.  We Jews are about the joy and the fun and celebration of life.  We are commanded to have glorious feasts for nearly every occasion and to even get drinking a few times a year.  We love to sing and dance and rejoice whenever possible.  We have more words in Hebrew for joy and happiness than any other emotion.

Each of our holidays - from Sukkot to Simchat Torah; Hanukkah to Purim; Passover to Shavuot; gives us the opportunity to connect with our history - but through the happiness of giving thanks and rejoicing in all that we have experienced, all that we are and all that we have.  

We have been given this amazing heritage as a gift, filled with fun and joy—let’s not limit ourselves to only the seriousness and severity any longer.  

Traditions

Franz Rosenzweig, the influential 20th century Jewish theologian, argued that the point of the mitzvot and Jewish traditions are to bring us closer to God.  Therefore, he argued, if a particular Jewish practice does not bring you closer to God—does not “ring a bell” for you, don’t do it.  The catch is, however, how are you going to know if a particular mitzvah or tradition works for you unless you try it first?  

Adding something Jewish to your daily life does not have to be a completely daunting experience.  You do not have to completely overhaul your daily schedule or even your kitchen appliances all at once!

If you want to make a dramatic change, I will of course be happy to help you in any way—but living a more Jewish life does not demand that you change your life into something that looks like Orthodoxy.  Adding meaning to your every day existence can begin with the simple things:

·    Say sh’ma at night before you go to bed.

·    Or, say it in the morning, when you wake up.

·    Have a mezuzah on your door and kiss it when you leave and return to your home.

·    Make a habit of giving tzedakah—in other words, have a tzedakah box in your home and, for example, put a quarter in it every day.

·    In fact, have Jewish stuff—have a tzedakah box and Shabbat candlesticks and Jewish art.

If someone were to walk into your home, would they know you were Jewish?

·    Be thankful every day and, even try to say a blessing when you can

·    When you are at the grocery store and you have a choice to do so, buy something kosher.

·    Subscribe to a Jewish magazine or e-zine or daily e-mail (like the Forward, or the URJ’s 10 minutes of Torah, or Zeek, or Sh’ma - a Journal of Jewish Ideas)

Shabbat        

Out of all of the traditions that you can incorporate into your life, the top one, the easiest one, quite possible the best one has got to be—Shabbat.  

Somewhere along the timeline of modern American Jewish history, Shabbat fell out of fashion.  For that matter, rest has seemed to fall out of fashion.  

Within the last couple hundred years we started thinking of Shabbat as a burden, a task, a set of laws to follow.  We let all of the technicalities associated with traditional observance cloud our vision of all that Shabbat has been and could still be.  In its most basic understanding, Shabbat is merely a day of rest and joy; our tradition has always understood that not only do we need to rest by sleeping every night, we need waking rest as well.  

Throughout the week we are workaholics;  we take orders from everyone around us;  we are obsessed with being the perfect success but more often than not, we see only how we have failed.  

Throughout the week we do and create and invent and push and drive....  But on Shabbat, we reflect.  

We rejoice in the fact that not everything is in our power and this gives us permission to let go.  We don’t have to try to be perfect.  We can rest with things as they are; we can accept ourselves as we are.

On Shabbat we focus on being instead of doing.

Shabbat is one of the greatest gifts that Judaism has brought to the human race—a time of family, a time of rest, a time of being, a time of joy.  

Yet it is a gift that we, the Jewish community, tend to put in the closet and forget about.  

I think we need to recover and reclaim Shabbat as our rightful inheritance - not because Shabbat needs us, but because we need Shabbat.

We live in a world of constant busy-ness, constant motion, constant visual and audio stimulation.  Sound bytes and emails and text messages blur past us, making it seem like life is speeding past us faster and faster.

We need to stop.  We need time to slow down, once a week, every week.  We need to look into the eyes of those we love and listen to them tell about their day, their week, their life.

It is time to bring Shabbat into our homes because Shabbat helps us maintain our sanity as well as our humanity.  

It is time to make Shabbat for ourselves as well as for our families because Shabbat brings us closer to those in our homes as well as to Jews all over the world.  

As the great Israeli author Ahad HaAm once said, “More than the people have kept the Shabbat, the Shabbat has kept the people.”

And, again, making Shabbat on a weekly basis does not mean having to overhaul your life and everything that you do.  It can mean:

·    Not picking up the mail on Saturday

·    Lighting candles on Friday night.

·    Making time for family and friends

·    Having dessert

·    Taking a nap

·    Learning something new

·    Trying something new

·    Having a glass of wine

·    Taking a walk

·    Counting your blessings

Let Shabbat transform you and your experience of the world around you.  

Make space to be rather than to do.  Make Shabbat.

Ultimately, it all comes down to the rabbi and the soap maker.  We have to use Judaism and apply it to our lives in order for it to “work”.

Don’t let the High Holy Days be the beginning and end of your Jewish experience.  

Try being and doing Jewish all year long. 

As you leave the synagogue at the end of Yom Kippur, know that you take your Judaism with you.  

Try to see the world through Jewish eyes; understand this world according to Jewish values; and care for yourself and those around you with a Jewish heart.

Embrace Judaism in your everyday life and your everyday life will be transformed into something truly sacred.

Kol Nidre 5776 - Toward a Renewed Understanding of Humility

Kol Nidre 5776 - September 22, 2015

Rabbi Julie Pelc Adler, Congregation Am Echod in Lindenhurst

Jimmy Fallon, the usually irreverent host of the Tonight Show, was in the hospital this summer for ten days. “I started losing it halfway through,” he told the crowd on his first night back on the air. “I started reading books about the meaning of life.”

And which book did he show the audience?  Man’s Search For Meaning by Viktor Frankl.

Frankl was a Professor of Neurology and Psychiatry at the University of Vienna Medical School when WWII broke out.  Then, he spent 3 years in various concentration camps, including Theresienstadt, Auschwitz, and Dachau. 

His work after the Holocaust focused on trying to understand how people can endure suffering and survive.  In his book, Man’s Search for Meaning, he describes how finding meaning in life allowed some people to survive the horror.   Frankl believed that a higher meaning gave people something to stay alive for.

Though he’s hardly known for being the most serious person on television, Fallon spoke honestly and solemnly about reading the book and highlighting it on his Kindle.

He concluded after reading the book: “This is the meaning of my life. I belong on TV... I’m here to make you laugh. I’m here to make you have a good time … That’s my job. That’s why I’m here. I want to spread the love.” 

And, after sharing these insights on National Television, Jimmy Fallon did something else profound that evening.

He thanked people. He thanked his doctors by name. He thanked the nurses, his wife and family, and his comedian friends who reached out to him with what I can only assume was comic relief.

In Jimmy Fallon’s own search for meaning during a challenging time in his life, he exhibited the attribute of humility. “True humility is not thinking less of yourself; it is thinking of yourself less.” wrote C.S. Lewis.

Jimmy Fallon took the time that particular evening to contract his sense of self in order to acknowledge the strengths of others.

The human trait of humility is connected to many of our greatest leaders.  

At the end of the Torah we read that no one was ever as humble as Moses. The rabbis in the Talmud write that one shall strive to be as humble as Hillel. And, when Rabbi Yehudah haNasi, the master organizer of the Mishnah died, his contemporaries believed that nobody could be humble like he was. As the Talmud put it, “When Rebbe died, humility disappeared.”  

The importance of humility has been woven into the thinking of our greatest theologians and philosophers. In the tenth century, Rabbeinu Baachya wrote, "It follows that all virtues are secondary to humility,  which is the head and front of them all." According to Louis Jacobs, “greatness and humility, in Hebraic tradition, are not incompatible. They complement each other. The greater the person, the more humble he is expected to be and is likely to be.”

Humility is one of those words that we often use but rarely define.  We often mistakenly define humility as someone who is self-less, someone who thinks less of herself than she thinks of others.

But that’s not humility. Humble people are  confident and competent in themselves so much that, as a result, they have space in their hearts to focus on helping others.

Humble people just don’t feel the need to boast about themselves.  Instead, their actions are a reflection of their ideals.

Borrowing language from the business world, humility requires a shift from an ego system to an eco system.  An ego system is one that cares only about one’s own wellbeing, whereas an eco system is when one cares about the wellbeing of all, including oneself.

When operating in an ego system, we are driven by the concerns and intentions of only ourselves.  When operating using an awareness of the eco system, we are driven by the concerns and intentions of the whole.  

To me the most interesting difference here is that humility requires self-confidence and self-awareness à not self-depreciation.  Humility is having a quiet inner strength that enables the focus to be elsewhere.  The greatest leaders are often humble - and it’s not because they find value only in others.  Rather, they are able to be humble because they have the internal resources and confidence in their own merits so that they can make it their business to bring out the strengths of others.

Last year, Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks, former Chief Rabbi of England, shared two stories of individuals who made a great impression upon him.  

He wrote that as Chief Rabbi, he and his wife were expected to hold dinner parties, and not just for members of the Jewish community. There was one guest who not only thanked the hosts but also asked to be allowed to go into the kitchen to thank those who made the meal. The person who did it was John Major, then British Prime Minister. He called that an example of humility.

The second story he shared was about Prince Charles visiting a synagogue on its 300th anniversary. What impressed Rabbi Sacks is that this man, the next in line to the throne, spent as much time talking to the young men and women who were doing security duty as he did to the guests. According to Rabbi Sacks, Prince Charles made them feel as important as anyone else on that special occasion. Again, another example of humility.

There has been a shift in our culture that encourages people to shout out to the world: LOOK AT ME. There’s not a lot of time or energy invested in thinking humbly or seeing ourselves as part of a collective whole.

But Judaism is often counter cultural.  We Jews are asked to emulate God and to approach life as best we can in the divine image. Tradition teaches that even as God was creating the world, God was humble.  

In a passage in the Talmud (Megillah 31a) we find:  Rabbi Yochanan said, ‘Wherever you find the greatness of the Holy One, blessed be He, there you find His humility.

In the tenth century, Rabbeinu Bachya ibn Pekuda dedicated an entire section of his book Duties of the Heart to explaining one’s obligation to have humility before God.  

“Pride…” he wrote,

can be of two types: one disgraceful and the other - praiseworthy...

The praiseworthy type is when a person is proud of his wisdom or righteous deeds, and considers them a great favor - [a gift from God].

This pride assists humility, and adds to it, as it is written, "humility brings about fear of God."

For Rabbeinu Bachya the other kind of pride, the one he considers to be disgraceful - is negative pride; it’s only this kind of pride that is antithetical to humility.  

But, positive pride, on the other hand, assists humility and enhances a sense of gratitude to God.  

Once one feels confident and proud, it’s possible to direct attention elsewhere. 

Negative pride is the type to avoid.  Negative pride is about arrogance, selfishness, and obsession with self.  It’s “Big Me”, and there is a lot of it in our world today.

Positive pride (and humility) are not in vogue today. David Brooks, near the beginning of his book The Road to Character, writes that there has been a shift in culture: a shift from a culture of self-effacement to a culture of self-promotion. Today, we are expected to shout: “recognize my accomplishments, look at me!”

Humility, on the other hand, can offer self understanding. When we acknowledge that we make mistakes and feel the gravity of our limitations, we find ourselves stretched and are able to see the value that others provide in the world.  

Humility does not disregard the self - it allows us to transcend it.  Humility gives us a gift of perspective, a unique kind of vision and honesty. 

We see ourselves as part of a whole, as an important member of a society, where our strength does not negate or disregard the strengths of others.

The High Holiday liturgy reminds us over and over again to take a step back, and distance ourselves from the Big Me mentality. When we recite the Amidah, we say “oz byadcha, u’gvura b’yeminecha”, (for we know that true sovereignty is Yours, power and strength are in Your hands).

As we look toward Yom Kippur and a new year, let us commit ourselves to strive toward a renewed understanding of humility.  And let us, in turn, renew ourselves to recall our place in the world.

Shana tova