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Rosh HaShanah Services 5770

Crafting a Vision for Social Justice

Rabbi Lauren Grabelle Herrmann

Rav Joseph Soloveitchik, one of the past century’s pre-eminent Jewish thinkers, taught regarding Rosh HaShanah: “A person’s task is to perfect both himself and the nation.  God judges the consequences of a person’s actions for society and the world—to where they reach—not just their impact on the individual….With this perspective in mind, one should prepare for the judgment of Rosh HaShanah by attempting to aid one’s community achieve growth and completion.  One should seek to determine the weaknesses of her society and to discover how she can mitigate them.”

Rosh HaShanah is the time in which we hold ourselves to account before a Power greater than ourselves, when we repent for our misdeeds, our missteps, our hurtful words and actions.  We often do this work of teshuvah by focusing internally.  As Rav Solevechik instructs, Rosh HaShanah is also the time to look externally, to atone not just for our actions but for our inactions—to examine our relationship with the community and larger world.

Through teshuvah, Soloveitchik challenges us “to determine the weaknesses of our society and to discover how we can mitigate them.” Looking out at this kahal, this community today, I think it is fair to say we are experts at the first part.  Naming the weaknesses of our society is a strong suit of progressive Jews who find themselves so often at odds with the policies of our government and the values of so-called middle America.  We acknowledge our society’s plagues of racism and homophobia; we aim to call to task those who oppress and those who leave the most vulnerable to struggle and flounder.  We cry out against the broken systems in our midst—the prison system, the justice system, the health care system, the immigration system, the education system.  And let’s face it; I am really just skimming the surface!  In terms of assessing the weaknesses of society, I think we have it covered.

But alongside of that, we are – at this time of judgment and turning—asked to seek the ways that we can respond, to discern what each one of us can do to address society’s faults, what we can do to impact the direction of things.  Now, you may be saying to yourself: “Rabbi Lauren, we already do this too!”  After all, this is a community of in large part made up of progressives, of activists—some of whom make their living responding to problems in our society. 

And to that I say: first, we can always do better.  There are still ways we have missed the mark, ways we have not lived up to our commitments, not made sufficient time to address the needs of the community and the larger world.  And further, all the more because we are people who care so deeply about injustice and because the resources of money and time are so scarce, it is valuable for us to take time to assess how we can be the most effective agents of change.  Teshuvah towards our relationship with the world offers us the chance to not simply react to the problems of the day but to pro-actively create a vision for how we utilize ourselves and our community to for the purpose of the world’s betterment. 

In crafting such a vision, I want to offer Jewish tradition as a guide. Jewish tradition, from its inception, is concerned with the establishment of a fair and flourishing society yet recognizes that society is vulnerable to corruption and inequity.  Judaism then instructs its adherents to correct society’s wrongs and help the most vulnerable.  As Judaism has developed and evolved, its vocabulary for social justice engagement has grown.  However, those terms are not always understood correctly.  For example, the terms “Tzedek” and “tikkun olam” are often used interchangeably as “changing the world” or “seeking justice” while each has its own meaning and implication.  The truth is that there are many different Jewish terms to describe the ways in which we Jews seek to make the world more whole, more compassionate, and more just.  Understood in their distinctness and taken together, they offer guidance that can shape our intentions and actions, that can empower us to find balance and integrity in our work in the world.  Let the vocabulary for Jewish engagement inspire us in our effort to perfect the world.

Tzedakah

Tzedakah, translated as charity, traditionally refers to financial contributions to needy individuals or to organizations that serve needy individuals. 

It occurs to me that giving from our pockets is often seen as a lower form of social action.  Yet, our ancestors viewed it as a mitzvah of utmost import, so powerful that it can deliver us from death.  One talmudic story in this regards is about Rabbi Akiva and his daughter who is about to be married. Astrologers told the Rabbi that when she entered the bridal chamber, a snake would bite her and she would die.  Rabbi Akiva was distraught. On her wedding day, she had a long ornamental pin that she stuck into the opening of a wall.  By chance, the pin penetrated the eye of a snake coiled behind the wall and stuck there.  When she took out the pin, the dead snake was pulled out with it.  When her father asked her if she had done anything unusual, she replied, “Last evening a poor man came to the door.  Everybody was busy with the banquet so I gave the gift that you had given me to the poor man.  Rabbi Akiva then lectured from the Book of Proverbs “Charity delivers from death.” 

Our rabbinic ancestors were of course not speaking literally when they told this and other stories of charity’s sway over death.  But they told them in order to teach the lesson that charity is an integral to our vision of making the world better.

From the Hebrew root Tzedek, “justice,” charity is not merely a feel-good act, rather an opportunity to restore justice.  The early rabbis who developed the term saw tzedakah as a means of restoring fairness and establishing a more equal playing field in a free-market society.  It doesn’t always feel like we are doing an act of justice when we hand a homeless person a dollar, at the same time, it is a very small way in which we work to tip the scales in the direction of a more equitable division of resources. 

One practice I have—or more to the truth, that I aspire toward— regarding tzedakah is indiscriminately giving money or food to every person who asks me for it.  I know many people argue that it is better to give to an organization that feeds the hungry or supports the homeless than to (quote-unquote) “waste” my change on people who may not use it in the right way.  But I take guidance from what Rabbi Hayim of Sanz taught: “The merit of charity is so great that I am happy to give to one hundred beggars even if only one might actually be needy.”

Another aspect of tzedakah that I find compelling is the fact that everyone is equally obligated; even the poor must give tzedakah.  How valuable for us to hear, at a time when perhaps our own fortunes or those of friends and families have been changed due to the economic downturn?!  Many other members of this community are in situations or stages of life where we may have significant money to give-- undergraduate or graduate school or recent graduates or artists or activists -- who may anticipate that “one day” we have the money to share with those in need. But our tradition urges, there is no “one day” – there is only today.  And no matter what our economic status or standing, we are all obligated.    

As we are called on to assess the impact of our actions on society on Rosh HaShanah. we ask ourselves: Are we giving generously, in spirit and in amount?  Are we giving thoughtfully, making purposeful choices that maximize the impact of our financial contributions?  Are we planning our tzedakah, considering a variety of causes, including those which serve the needs of people whom we may not be able to directly reach?  What are our goals for tzedakah for the coming year?  What do we hope to accomplish? How can we start making this practice more meaningful and spiritually uplifting?

Tzedek

If tzedakah ameliorates the discrepancies of wealth in society, then Tzedek or Justice seeks to address the root causes of those discrepancies.  This Jewish term has its root in the establishment of a justice system in Israelite society.  In the context of mitzvot like “not perverting testimony, not taking bribes, and not showing favor to the rich or poor in judgment”, the torah instructs “Tzedek, Tzedek Tirdof: Justice, Justice, you should pursue.” 

More broadly interpreted, Tzedek has come to mean the addressing of root structures of oppression and fixing societal structures so that they are more accountable and equitable.  Tzedek is the ethos of the prophets, who call out to people in their society to see the error of their ways, to “unlock the fetters of wickedness,” as we read on Yom Kippur.

Tzedek, in my opinion, is the Jewish teaching that invites us to see our fate wrapped up with the fate of all humanity; to understand that the oppression of my neighbor is an affront to me.  As Abraham Joshua Heschel, the late rabbi, teacher, and activist, once said: “In regard to the cruelties committed in the name of a free society, some are guilty, while all are responsible.”

Although I have participated in marches and demonstrations, even in campaigns of various natures, I have most palpably felt the power of people working for Tzedek through Congregation-Based Community Organizing.  When I lived in Boston, I was briefly involved with The Greater Boston Interfaith Organization.  In this community organization, members of congregations of all faiths got together individually and in small groups to discern what issues touched their lives and what issues needed to be addressed in their neighborhood. With the help of local organizers, the thousands of members who had conversations narrowed down their focus into on targeted campaigns for change.  Utilizing the power of these diverse members of congregations (spanning race, ethnic, and religious lines), the group planned effective actions in which ordinary people spoke up for their rights and the rights of their neighbors.  And the amazing thing: people listened to them!  City officials, mayors, council-people—they listened because they didn’t have a choice, here was not one person, not dozens, not even hundreds but over a thousand people who together shaped common interests and spoke truth to power.

This, in my mind, is the embodiment of “Tzedek Tzedek Tirdof: Justice, Justice you shall pursue.”

The idea of addressing society’s weaknesses by seeking to reform the root causes of inequality and oppression is powerful and potent for me, as I suspect it is for many of us. After all, here we are—this is Kol Tzedek, Voice of Justice.  At the same time, truly working for justice requires that we reach out to neighbors and fellow travelers to make real changes in our local community and beyond.  We cannot secure protections for transgendered people or fight for a living wage alone.  As we reflect on Tzedek this Rosh HaShanah, on how we have done in this past year and how we can more deeply engage in the coming year, let us ask ourselves: How am I currently doing in the realm of “Tzedek?”  Can I find more ways to express my commitments into more tangible action? What is one issue that I can focus on?  What is an organization with which I can involve myself to address a problem of justice in our society?  How can we join together as a community to effect real and lasting change? 

G’milut Hasadim

A person went to the Baal Shem Tov and said: “Rebbe, I want to see Elijaah the Prophet.” “It’s simple,” the rabbi said. “Fill a box with food. Then before Rosh HaShanah travel to Minsk.  On the outskirts of town is a dilapidated house.  Find that house, and shortly before candle lighting time at sunset, knock on the door and ask for hospitality.”

So he went and did as the rabbi told him.  He filled the parcels with food and went to Minsk, where he found the broken down house.  Inside he heard children crying, “Mommy, we’re hungry.”  He heard the mother answer, “Children, trust in God. He’ll send Elijah the prophet to bring you everything you need.”

Then the hassid knocked on the door.  When the woman opened it, he asked if he could stay with them for the holiday.  “Don’t worry,” he said, “I have enough food for all of us.”  He came in, opened the box, and they ate.  He was there for two days, waiting to see Elijah the prophet but no one came.”

So he returned to the rabbi and said, “Rabbi, I did not see Elijah the Prophet!”  “Did you do everything I told you?” said the Baal Shem Tov. “I did!”  he said.  “Are you sure?”  “Yes Rebbe!  I didn’t see him!” “Then you’ll have to return for Yom Kippur,” said the rabbi. “Go back before Yom Kippur, with a box of food to the same house.  So he went back to Minsk before Yom Kippur. 

Inside he heard children crying, “Mommy, we’re hungry!”  We haven’t eaten the whole day!  “Children!” said the mother. “Do you remember you were crying before Rosh HaShanah and that you had no food?  And I told you, “God will send Elijah the prophet who will bring you what you need!  Didn’t Elijah come and bring you food?  I promise that Elijah will come now, too, and bring you food.”  The chassid understood what his rabbi had meant.  He was Elijah.  So he knocked on the door.

G’milut Hasadim are acts of “lovingkindness” we do to help and serve the needs of another person like feeding the hungry, visiting the sick, burying the dead, clothing the naked.  Where tzedakah and Tzedek focus come from a sense of duty and obligation, g’milut hesed come from a place of compassion, from the generosity in our hearts and with out concern for personal gain or reward. 

We start g’milut hesed in our own community.  Here at Kol Tzedek, we have a Hesed committee that organizes meals and visits as requested by members who are going through transitions or dire straights.  If you get sick or welcome a child, you are pretty much guaranteed to be fed and cared for at least a week.  For those who have experienced this kind of giving or receiving know the power in acts of hesed is not simply because they are helpful but also because they remind us that we are not alone in this world. 

Acts of lovingkindness are meant to expand to the community beyond our community, to those in our midst.  G’milut hesed as a category thus challenges us to assess the ways in which we are or are not responding to those who might need a meal, a visit, a coat, [or] some company.  Many of us “buy local” as an expression of our commitment toward the environment—we know that the act of buying local, organic produce is not going to be the thing that solves global warming, but we still recognize its importance.  What are we doing addressing poverty locally?  Education locally?  Even as we know that helping the poor in our community will not end poverty, we are nonetheless called upon to act.

I often find that in progressive circles, social action in the form of volunteering at a soup kitchen, organizing food or clothing drives (for example) are considered “quick fixes” or “band-aids” and dismissed as unimportant. 

Immediately after college, I went to Boston for a yearlong program in Jewish, social justice organizing called “The Jewish Organizing Initiative.”  On our five day training retreat, I was taught over and again about the Hierarchy of Social Change.  Lowest on the list was direct service.  Second from the bottom was education, third advocacy and final, (ta da!) organizing.  Organizing we are taught was about empowering those disenfranchised folks to speak their own truths, to be engaged in the work of their own liberation.  Service was about keeping people in their societal positions and reinforcing the hierarchy between “helper” and “helpee.”  Organizing was about speaking truth to power, service was about keeping the status quo. 

I suppose that on a basic level there is a “truth” to these statements.  When you feed a hungry person, they are going to be hungry tomorrow.  If you win a livable wage campaign, then many more people will be able to leave the breadlines.  At the same time, I believe that the hierarchy that I was presented with in my organizing training does a disservice to those in need and to those who are in a position to help.  Even as we fight for systemic changes, people go hungry, people go without clothes.  How can our compassion not stirred for those in need?  And especially at a time in our country, when so many more people are out of work or underpaid, can we not heed the moral of the story I told earlier, that we all can be Elijah the Prophet? 

Learning the vocabulary of Jewish social responsibility helps us understand that we do not need to choose between Tzedek and g’milut hasadim, between activism and direct service.  Both are expressions of our commitment to the outside world, both are necessary in addressing the problems we face as a nation.  As we seek to build our vision for social change, let’s ask ourselves: Can we build a vision for social justice for ourselves and our community that is balanced by both long-term and short-term responses to the social and economic problems of our day?  Can we find time for service, whether joining in with Kol Tzedek’s upcoming efforts to winterize homes or through our own decision to carve out some time (whether it be one hour a year, month, or week) to serve a hot meal, to tutor children, to visit sick people in the hospital?  Can we find it in our hearts to open our hearts in compassion and to serve? 

Tikkun Olam

Tikkun Olam, translated as ‘repair of the world” is one of the most popular terms in Jewish life.  The term has come under critique of late, as more and more people use the phrase “tikkun olam” to describe any effort they deem important.  But the word is popular because it is potent, because it points to the powerful effect human beings can have on society.  According to the mystical interpretation of Tikkun Olam, the original Creation involved a shattering of the vessels that contained God’s light. According to the mystics, our task is to raise the sparks -- through all kinds of behavior (both ritual and social) and to help unify the Divine. 

In this context, tikkun olam holds a precious assumption that individual actions can affect the fate of the world, can affect change even in the cosmos.  Based on this, I tend to think of “tikkun olam” as spiritually motivated social justice work.  I take inspiration from a story in the Talmud that recalls Rabbi Eleazar who upon giving a coin to a poor person, immediately entered into prayer because it is written, “In Tzedek I shall see Your Face.”  Rabbi Eleazar recognized that we find God through our actions toward others and that giving of ourselves reinforces our sacred purpose on earth. 

The word “tikkun” has implications of both worldly and interpersonal healing, as there is tikkun haolam and tikkun hanefesh – repair of the world and repair of the soul.  So often, those who are fighting for social change suffer from burn-out and fatigue that impinges on their ability to be effective agents for change.  Seeing the sacredness of the task helps guide our way.  Seeing the healing and nurturance of our soul as integral to the healing and nurturance of the world is vital to a holistic vision of Jewish social action.  

Considering all the work we do – tzedakah, Tzedek, g’milut Hasidim—as part of a larger effort toward tikkun olam reminds us to be attentive to the spiritual purpose of our efforts and the spiritual conditions of our soul.  Are we conscious that work in the work—even something as simple as writing a check—is holy?  Is in the service of the Divine?  Are we recognizing the sacred purpose in our pursuit of justice and peace?  And are we attentive to our own physical and spiritual needs in the process?  Are we nurturing our souls?  If not, how might practices of prayer, Shabbat, community help sustain us in our work?

With the guidance of Jewish tradition, we seek to create a vision for our work in the world for the year to come.  This applies not just to us as individuals but also as a community.   When Kol Tzedek chose its name almost six years ago, its initial members made a statement: we desire justice to be a part of what we stand for and who we are.  Yet as a community, we struggle with the same issues that most of us do as individuals—limited time and energy; our primary work and family commitments limiting our ability engage; not knowing the most effective way to make a difference.  This moment of reflection and renewal is an opportune time to think for ourselves and for our community, to begin to create a vision for Kol Tzedek’s social engagement. Do we want Kol Tzedek to be a place where people get together to do their Justice work together?  Do we seek a place we come for inspiration, for like-minded people to help us feel part of a larger movement?  What are we equipped for and what are we not equipped for as a congregation?  As members or participants of this community, each of us is invited to discern: What do we envision and what can we offer to help support that vision?  I encourage us to continue the conversation informally and formally.

Precisely because we so much want to do what is good and right, to walk in paths of justice and truth, Rosh HaShanah is an important time to expand our teshuvah beyond ourselves, to our community and the larger world.  And because our time is so precious and resources are so limited and so often it feels like we making such a limited impact, it is a precious opportunity to create a vision for how we, individually and communally, can address the problems of our world—through tzedakah, Tzedek, g’milut Hasadim, and tikkun olam. 

Through the wisdom of our tradition, we can build a vision for social change that balances the needs of today with the hopes for tomorrow, that enables us to bring our whole selves-- our wallets, our hands, our voices our hearts, and our souls in the pursuit of righteousness and justice. 

May we seek well and be blessed to know a world changed, reaching toward perfection.        

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