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

Rosh Hashanah Day 2 5776- The Puzzle of Community

Rosh Hashanah Day 2  - September 15, 2015

Rabbi Julie Pelc Adler, Congregation Am Echod in Lindenhurst

Shana Tova.

It’s the 2^nd Day of Rosh Hashanah today, and, as is the case in many, many communities, we’re a much smaller group.  And I think there’s the tendency to want to look around the room and cast suspicion on those who make choices different than our own. 

But it’s impossible to know another’s life, another’s reality, another’s choices.  Here we are. 

And, in truth, it’s the diversity in our community that creates strength.  It’s not about everyone doing the same thing at the same time - or believing the same thing, or making the same choices. 

In many ways, a diverse community is like a jigsaw puzzle.  If you’ve ever tried to piece together a large jigsaw puzzle, then you know.

The pieces in a big puzzle are a multitude of shapes and colors: red and yellow and blue and green and white and black and brown.

Some have bits of red and yellow. Some have bits of yellow and blue. Some have yellow and red and brown. Some pieces share colors and others are completely distinct. But when all the pieces are finally placed together, a singular picture is created.

The sum of all of 1000 or 500 (or sometimes only 10!) pieces create a whole.

  

All together, they create one image.  

One.

If only the same could be said for the Jewish people today!

Instead, the Jewish community is divided on so many issues, and it sometimes seems that the rhetoric has never been as ugly as it is now.

The Jerusalem Talmud tells us “Just as no two physical appearances are the same, similarly, no two opinions are the same.” The expression “two Jews, three opinions" comes from somewhere...

Our tradition teaches us about machloket l’shem shamayim, a dispute for Heaven’s sake.

Our tradition also teaches that Eilu v'eilu divrei Elokim chaim (these and these are the words of the living God) or, all opinions are the words of God.

Our tradition trusts that many opinions can exist at the same time on a particular subject. Our most popular commentator Rashi nearly always interpreted verses in the Torah differently than his colleague, Ibn Ezra.  

The Talmud is a multi volume book which is full of argumentation. Our tradition seems to encourage - no, champion! - differences of opinion.

But these cherished differences can only remain part of a unified puzzle if each looks to the other with respect (and even reverence).  Listening to those with whom you disagree and hearing the voice of God takes work; it takes patience; it takes a keen sense of perspective; it takes humility.

And there is far too little of this kind of reverent listening happening in the Jewish world today.

Let’s review a few of the larger issues that are currently dividing the Jewish people.

The Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action on Iran.  Is it a good deal or a bad deal for America, for Israel, for the global community? As in every synagogue this morning, there are people sitting in this room who are passionately in favor and those who are passionately opposed to the deal.

And then there’s Israel. And American Politics.

We could stand here all morning and list the many topics about which the Jewish people are currently divided and subdivided. But, instead, I want to ask you to take a leap with me.

Imagine that we are all jigsaw puzzle pieces that can fit together to create one image.  Try to imagine that there is something that could unite us, something that could gather up those seemingly disparate puzzle pieces and place them carefully, deliberately, back together.

This might seem crazy, but I think there’s actually something that could bring us back together.  It’s something accessible to each and every one of us.  It isn’t expensive, it isn’t something only available to the elite among us.

The thing that can unite us is prayer.

Each of us, to the best of our ability, can pray. We don’t even need this machzor to do it. All of us can pray. Individually, or in groups of ten people, in gatherings like this, and gatherings ten times the size, we can pray.  

Prayer is not something that other people do,  it is not reserved for Jews who look a certain way or who speak a certain way.

I hope that since you are here on the second day of Rosh Hashanah, you believe that too.

In an article last year, Andrew W.K., who answers an advice column in the Village Voice, received this question:

Hey, Andrew.

….I'm going to make this short and to the point. My older brother was diagnosed with cancer last week. My whole family is...trying to deal with the news. Everyone is trying to find different ways to help, but something my grandmother said has really got me angry. She said we should all just "pray for my brother," like prayer would actually save his life. Just thinking about it now makes my fists clench with frustration. We need to actively help my brother and do actual things to save him, not kneeling on the ground and mumbling superstitious nonsense. I got into a fight with my grandmother and the rest of my family about this and now I feel worse than ever. I need to get them to see that praying and religious mumbo jumbo doesn't help. How do I explain this to them?

Thanks for reading this, Not Gonna Pray

Andrew’s response was as follows-

Dear Not Gonna Pray, …

I'm deeply sorry to hear about your brother's diagnosis. I'm sending you my thoughts, and my heart goes out to your brother and your whole family. Guess what? That was me praying for you. I think the idea of "praying" is a lot less complicated, a lot more powerful, and a little different than you may realize. In fact, I'll bet you're already praying all the time and just don't realize it.

(and then he goes on)

I remember the first time reading the article and wanting Andrew W.K. (Jewish or not) to be one of my Rabbis. There was so much wisdom in his words. Andrew believed, like I believe, that prayer is not only about the words in the prayer book.

It can’t be, in fact, because every published prayer book is different.  And as you know, there are even countless alternatives for specifically Jewish prayer books just for the High Holidays. 

One might think that there’s only one way to pray, only one set of correct prayers, and only one way to sing each song.  But we know this to be untrue. 

Some prayer books include much more poetry. Some have gender neutral language. Some include illustrations, more Hebrew, or fewer English readings. It does not really matter because whether we open our prayer books or not, we can unite by our prayers.  

We may have walked into this Sanctuary with polarizing ideas about the outside world. Some of us might have entered without knowing a single word of Hebrew.

In spite of that, because we are all here, we can unite together with our prayers, and become one community this morning.

In the Talmud, Rabbi Eliezer said:

If a person prays only according to the exact fixed prayer and adds nothing from his own mind, his prayer is not considered proper. (Brachot 28a).

Already two thousand years ago the rabbis understood the importance of praying with the book closed, but with the heart and mind open.

Wherever our thoughts go today with private requests - moments of gratitude, expressions of anger or grief or loss -  if we direct these thoughts to God, then we will all pray together.

The prayers that we have received from our ancestors are important and set the tone for the solemnity of starting a new year. It is very powerful to say the words our ancestors have recited for generations.  The prayer book tries to give language to that which we feel but cannot express.

The ancient rabbis knew we were human beings with hearts and souls and personal yearnings and desires. They taught us to value both keva —the fixed structure of the liturgy -  and also kavana, the spontaneous, unscripted prayers in our hearts.  Both are integral to Jewish prayer. When we pray, both are necessary.

From where I stand, I see a rainbow of people sitting in the pews.  And this rainbow isn’t just about the color of our skin, or our clothing.  We are all different from one another: we have diverse interests, concerns, passions, fears and areas of expertise.

The person sitting next you might differ from you in their political beliefs, religious practice, or educational background.  But you have something in common with your neighbor. You both can pray; you both can talk to God. You can thank God or you can tell God how angry and sad and lonely you are.  Everyone can partake in that.

Prayer is for all of us. This morning we connect ourselves to every other Jew who is praying today and who has ever prayed.

So, certainly during the rest of the service today - but, perhaps even more so - throughout the next 10 days and for the rest of the year (!!), I invite you to try to pray.

If the words on the page don’t work for you, talk to God however you can. Use your heart. Use your soul. Leave your chair and stand in a corner if you need more space. Talk to God. Ask. Thank. Acknowledge. Praise.

We can all do it.

Our souls and our thoughts will reach God together. And for a brief moment on Rosh Hashanah, when God is looking very closely at each person, we will be seen together, as one.

Shana tova.