Kol Nidre 5772/2011

Several weeks ago, my mother looked at me, and with a sense of intensity and urgency asked: “In your High Holiday sermon, can you talk about how to cope in such tough times?  About how to find hope and perspective when things feel so hopeless?” 

Something about my mom’s question-and her earnestness, the worry I could hear in her voice—stopped me and gave me pause to think.

Now, my mom doesn’t usually lobby me for sermon topics. In fact, I’m not sure she has even once, in ten years, offered a specific suggestion or idea.  So I knew that I needed to pay attention. 

Even more striking than my mother’s special request for the holidays was my immediate sense that she was not alone in her feelings of frustration, helplessness and hopelessness.  With unemployment remaining steadily at 9.8% nationally and 10.8% for Philadelphia and many more who are jobless; with federal, state, and local cuts to social and educational programs; with the gap between those who have and those who don’t have widening with each year; with the number of uninsured people (close to 50 million) on the rise and approaching its all time-high, with a global debt crisis which experts just this week warned were going to throw the U.S. back into recession, it understandable that we enter this High Holiday season with feelings of insecurity and worry.  It is easy to understand why people are Occupying Wall Street.  

Perhaps even worse than our troubled economy is the vitriol and gridlock in Washington, where ideology trumps service, where acrimony and political posturing dominate; where politicians seek to balance the budget on the backs of working and middle class.  As someone I spoke to the other day said, “It seems as if the corrupting influences of money and power are more intense than they have ever been before.”  In light of these global concerns, combined with our own personal struggles, I imagine that many of us may be wondering, as my mother is, how to cope in these times? How to find meaning and hope?

 Kol Nidre is the time when we pause from our daily lives, reflect on this past year and the year going forward, and seek meaning through our shared tradition.  How might the wisdom of our ancestors come to bear on our lives and help us shape a better future for us and our society?  What might our tradition have to teach us about where to find the strength, courage, and faith to move forward with our lives in a positive direction?  Kol Nidre is also the time we seek personal transformation.  Can we transform our anxiety and fear into perseverance; our hopelessness into hopefulness; our anger and frustration into determination?

 So I would like to answer my mom’s question—which is likely a question many of us share – by highlighting three aspects of Jewish tradition that help me find solace, strength, and courage when facing difficult times.   I share these because I believe these teachings can serve as spiritual resources for us, to help us find perspective, lift us up, and restore hope and inspiration as we enter the New Year. 

The First Teaching: Looking to Jewish History

There is a great Yiddish folktale that goes like this:

A poor man lives with his large family in a small hut. The noise and fighting is driving him crazy so he goes to the rabbi to help him solve his problem.  The rabbi asks if he has any animals and the man says, "Yes, some chickens, geese and ducks." "Bring them into the hut with you." The man is confused, but trusts in the wise rabbi and does what he says. With the chickens, geese and ducks in the small hut the noise only gets worse until the man has to go back to the rabbi. "Rabbi, I can't stand the noise! It's too much." "Do you have any other animals?" asked the rabbi.  "I have a goat." Says the man. "Bring the goat into your home." Again the man is confused, but does as the rabbi says.  Again the noise gets worse and the man returns to the rabbi and complains. "Rabbi, why did you tell me to bring the goat into my house? The noise is even worse than before!" "Do you have a cow?" the rabbi asks. Exhausted and frustrated, the man replies yes. Again the rabbi tells him to bring the animal into his home and again the poor man complies.

Time passes and the small hut is even more crowded and noisy than ever and finally the man goes back to the rabbi.  "Rabbi, I'm going crazy. There's no room and the noise is out of control!"  "Put the animals back outside."  Relieved, the man rushes home and puts the animals back into the yard. That night the man and his family have the most perfect night of rest. The next day he rushes to tell the rabbi.  "Rabbi," the man says, "I slept so well last night. I finally had some peace and quiet."  "Just remember," the rabbi replied, "When you think things are bad, remember: it could always be worse."

I love telling this story not only because of it is an entertaining way to teach a life lesson, but because it is a quintessionally/such a “Jewish” message.  Things can always be worse! Things have been worse!  When I look around at the circumstances around me that seem so dire, so disappointing, it is helpful to hear this lesson, (it could always be worse!) straight out of the mouths of Jews a century ago who in many ways had a much tougher time than we do today.  This kind of perspective helps me put my personal struggles and our societal ones into perspective, which in turn enables me to relax and breathe and have faith that “this too shall pass.”    

Being a part of Jewish history is not only a teaching that “things have been worse,” it is a reminder that over and over again, against all odds, Jews have survived incredibly dark and challenging times.  As Rabbi Robert Levin says, “The continued survival of the Jews alone is an argument against despair, a warrant for human hope.”  If the Jewish people have endured so much throughout our history and survived, so can we survive these challenges and come out stronger as individuals and as a people. This sense of perspective and hopefulness is articulated by Rabbi Toba Spitzer when she says, “It is helpful to me to place myself in the millennia-old course of Jewish history and ritual.  There have been such great highs and such devastating lows for our people, for the world, during the past few thousand years- and yet, our traditions have endured, our people as endured, as has the hope that perhaps this year will be the year when, finally, we human beings get it right.  This is the great gift of being part of such an ancient tradition. We have the long view, the understanding that the momentary highs and lows of history are not all that there is.”

Drawing on the strength of our ancestors does not make the problems of our world go away and may not even diminish them.  But, seeing the “long view” can help give us perspective, relieve some of our anxiety and worry, and strengthen us to face what needs to be faced. 

 

Teaching 2: The Theology of Perpetual Renewal

At their core, the High Holy Days are about the possibility of renewal.  That with the blank slate of the New Year and teshuvah, repentance, all things are possible.  That no matter how intractable something might seem, they can change.  That no matter how stuck we are in our lives, we can get un-stuck, we can find a new way. 

This concept, that the world renews itself every year, is part of a larger Jewish theology about the perpetual and ever-present possibility for change and redirection.  Not only every year, but every day.  In the morning service in our liturgy, we say “B’Tuvo M’chadesh B’chol Yom Tamid Ma’aseh v’reishit”: Every day the work of Creation is renewed.  Our ancestors saw creation not as a singular act, rather as an ongoing process.  If each day is entirely different than the next, therefore, each day, we have an opportunity to start all over again.

Further, our tradition expands, not only is every day new, but each moment is full of unknown possibilities.  Rabbi Levi Yitzhak, a Hasidic master, teaches [on the verse “Kol HaNeshama T’Hallel Yah: Every Soul or Breath Praises God”] that we are renewed, with each and every breath.  According to Levi Yitzhak’s interpretation, each moment we breathe is an opportunity to experience teshuvah, change or redirection and therefore, at each moment, we can become new creatures.  Can we imagine if we truly took this teaching to heart and saw every breath, every moment full of possibility and newness?!  That things can change at any minute, that those problems in our lives and those problems in our society that we think are intractable, impervious to change are simply not so. 

For me, this theology of change is an inspiration for radical hope. Why can’t this be the year where wars cease, where people act toward each other as if they are btselem elohim, made in the divine image? Why NOT? Why can’t this be the year that human beings get it together and begin to express their divine purpose, to love and to build, to cherish and to care for the stranger and one another?  Why is 5772 not the year when things shift and change?  

The concept of “Why not” is not simplistic or far-fetched.  I invite you to consider the incredibly dramatic changes that have taken place in our world in this past year.  Would anyone sitting in these seats last year have thought to themselves that this would be the year in which peaceful, non-violent, courageous protests would come to the Middle East, ousting oppressive regimes and paving the way for a new society affords dignity and freedom to its people? 

Would anyone have dreamt that these revolutions would have inspired Israelis to camp out in tents, on the wealthiest street in Tel Aviv, demanding economic justice and fairness in their country, leading to a mass protest that would involve close to half-a-million Israeli citizens, including Sephardi and Ashkenzi, Arab and Jewish, young and old to come together and demand change?  And could we have imagined that these acts would inspire a nascent movement being born in the United States right now?  (As we sit here, several Kol Tzedek members and other Jews and allies are observing Kol Nidre Services at Occupy Philadelphia and we wish them also a Shana Tova and G’mar Tov!)  

While we know the march toward sustainable and substantive change will be long and will involve some steps backwards as we move forwards, we can have hope, faith and trust that the road is leading toward greater freedom and equality for all.  As Martin Luther King so beautifully said, “The moral arc of the universe is long, but it bends toward justice.

On this Kol Nidre evening, when we seek to be transformed and to be uplifted, I invite us to consider taking this teaching into our hearts, that no matter how challenging things may seem, no matter how intractable, there is always the possibility for change, there is always a reason to hope. 

Teaching 3: The Power of our Individual and Communal Actions

One of the most inspiring parts of Judaism for me is the very fact that our people, our religion, three thousand years of history starts with one person.  One individual had a hunch, an intuition, a “calling” that things could be different. That people God could be accessed anywhere and everywhere, that people could be a blessing to others.  And from there, life as we knew it changed.  Whether Abraham was a “historic figure” is irrelevant; the idea that one person could change the world is a story worth teaching from generation to generation. 

 Further, what’s even better than one person changing the world?  People changing the world, together.  After all, the central narrative of the Jewish people is the story of the Exodus from Egypt.  Though Moses is a central organizer, the Exodus cannot happen without people who, though scared and afraid, find the courage to leave the narrow places and forge a new path. 

 This central Jewish narrative, which has been a source of inspiration for many liberation movements, has come to signify the power of people to rewrite their fate, to topple structures of power, and to change the course of things.  As Michael Walzer so beautifully says (a quote that I have taught from time to time): “We still believe, or many of us do, what the Exodus first taught, or what it has commonly been taken to teach, about the meaning and possibilities of politics and about is proper form: -first, that wherever you live, it is probably Egypt; second, that there is a better place, a world more attractive, a promised land; and third, that ‘the way to the land is through the wilderness.’ There is no way to get from here to there except by joining together and marching.”

I want to share with you a story about people in our city coming together to make a difference.  It is the story of POWER, P. O. W. E. R., Philadelphians Organized to Witness Empower and Rebuild, a new grassroots, faith-based organization, of which Kol Tzedek is a founding member.  Eighteen months ago, an organizer [from the national network of PICO/faith-based community organizations] came to Philadelphia and began talking to some religious leaders about the possibility of an organization in which people could lift up their faith and their values for the purposes of addressing and correcting the disparities and injustices in our city.  Thirty-five clergy decided to take a leap of faith and began identifying leaders in their congregations to be involved in this effort.  Soon, two-hundred and fifty leaders (which included several KT members!) received training in community organizing skills and were invited to have one-to-one conversations with members of their congregation about issues of concern to them.  By the fall of 2010, those efforts resulted in over 1,000 conversations with people about their fears and hopes for our city.  Through these conversations and meetings with experts, POWER leaders decided to narrow its initial focus to addressing joblessness, setting its ambitious goal for the promotion and creation of 10,000 new jobs in the next five years. 

Just two weeks ago, I, along with about 20 other Kol Tzedek members, attended the organization’s Founding Convention.  All my dreams and hopes for this event were surpassed.  As I approached Tindley Temple on Broad Street that evening, I saw bus after bus pulled up, dropping off dozens of passengers at a time. Entering the building, navigating my way through crowds of people, I saw people that truly represent the diversity of this city— of all religious, economic, racial, geographic lines.  As the crowds came pouring in, a gospel choir sang, people clapped their hands and reached out to each other in friendship. The night was filled with beautiful prayers, inspiring reflections, personal testimonials, and fiery speeches.  Every speaker, even Mayor Nutter (who was kept to a strict time limit and asked to make commitments to the organization) drew upon the sources of their tradition that point them to seek justice and righteousness.  It was, for me, a holy experience.  

In total, about two thousand people were gathered in that church that night.  Two thousand!  That just doesn’t happen in Philly, right?!  Two thousand people acknowledging the problems our city is facing and lift up solutions that we can accomplish together.   Two-thousand people recognizing that we cannot accomplish anything unless we join together toward common goals.  P.O.W.E.R. is now poised to make positive changes in our city.  But just as our tradition instructs, power lies in people coming together to make a difference.  Our actions matter.  P.O.W.E.R will only be successful if those people in all 40 member congregations participate in bringing the organization’s agenda forward.  Kol Tzedek is part of this effort.  On this night, when we contemplate the direction of our lives in the coming year, I want to challenge each of us to get involved with this effort —attend or plan an action, do one-on-one relationship building for example.  Regardless of our time and resources, we can all find ways – big or small—to get involved.  By doing so, we can live up to our name, “Kol Tzedek: Voice of Justice.”  By doing so, we can help make Philadelphia, as the P.O.W.E.R. slogan says, “a city that works for everyone.”

Conclusion:

I want to conclude with a prayer from Rebbe Nachman of Bretzlov and a wish for all of us for the New Year:

 Architect of the world, author of her story,

Grant me the courage to participate in the world’s design,

To join in the unfolding of her story.

How I want to share in the responsibility of this world—

To pray for her welfare, to care for her needs, to safeguard her treasures,

To work for her rectification.

            --Rebbe Nachman of Bretzlov

 May this year be filled with courage and hope.  May we be granted the ability to see the long-view, the understanding that renewal and change are always available to us and the world, the confidence to see that our actions matter, the courage to join with others to an unknown promised land and the perseverance to keep doing what needs to be done, day in and day out, to heal ourselves and our world.