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Devar Torah (Word of Torah)
Parashat Mishpatim
27 Shevat 5769 / 20-21 February 2009
Rabbi Joe Blair
Temple House of Israel, Staunton VA
Shabbat Service Commemorating Evolution ‘Weekend’ 2009
Shalom.
The Torah (five books of Moses) portion we have just read for this week is a combined reading, taken from the reading known as Mishpatim (Ex. 21:1-24:18), along with the reading of an excerpt taken from Ki Tisa (Ex. 30:11-16). The first section is the continuation of the reading of the Torah in the standard cycle beginning at Simchat Torah (Rejoicing in the Law), while the second section is a special additional reading to acknowledge that this is Shabbat Shekalim (the Sabbath on which we recall the per capita tax for maintenance of the Temple).
The weekly portion, Mishpatim, is a continuation of the narrative that began last week in weekly portion Yitro (Ex. 18:1-20:23), in which the people have all witnessed the revelation of G-d, and they have received and accepted the Aseret Hadibrot (the ten sayings, sometimes called the ten commandments). They have been overawed by encountering G-d, and have asked Moses to speak to G-d on their behalf.
We begin our reading this week with the people still gathered at the foot of Mount Sinai ten weeks after they have fled from Egypt. Moses is still conversing with G-d for the people, and is being given a summation of the laws that G-d commands the Hebrews to follow. Moses hears and writes it down for the people, then, as G-d instructs, Moses goes up on the mountain into the cloud of fire to be given the Tablets and to learn the full contents of the commandments.
Reading these two sections together as a whole, we find that G-d is giving Moses the information on how the people are to live in a shorter form, having Moses deliver that information, then having Moses ascend to learn the full scope of the instruction (Torah) and how to interpret and apply the laws contained in it. This section is sometimes referred to as the Sefer Habrit – the book of the covenant – setting out the rules and regulations for how to live (in an abbreviated form). This is enough for some purposes; but the full version is coming along shortly. If I just want to know what to do this minute in the normal course of events, the short form is adequate. If, however, I want to know what about in the case of a person in a space ship passing a plutoid who encounters a previously unknown type of animal…. Then, I would need to look to the full version and use the techniques given for how to apply these rules in new and unusual situations. In short, I would need to use the correct method or tool to find the answer. We always need to find and use the right tools to approach questions of import.
Not very long ago, after I had concluded telling the class the outline of the exciting story of the parting of the reed sea (not ‘Red,’ as it is so often mis-stated) to one of the younger classes in the religious school, one of the young boys in the class came up to me afterwards, and in a very earnest way, asked me, “Did that really happen?”
That young boy voiced a question that so many ask. They aren’t as direct, or as clear, and they add in all sorts of presuppositions and assumptions, but at the bottom of it all, they are asking the same thing, and for much the same reasons.
That is the question that led to the creation of the science of archeology. That is also the question that led to the development of many religious beliefs in the world. The question is common, but the tools selected to try to answer make a difference.
It seems to me, in fact, that this is the question that is at the heart of the divide in approach between those who seek a literal reading of the Scriptural text , and those who interpret it. These positions in many instances have come to be framed in the light of science versus religion.
I think that this framing is a mistaken idea. It is not one or the other; rather these are two different approaches, two sets of tools to try to examine the world around us. Human nature being what it is, when someone has a hammer, everything they see is a nail! That way lie a lot of smashed fingers, and not many answers!
The issues, when approached from each of these perspectives, present different aspects. For the religiously focused, there is a nut and bolt, and the tool needed to make it work is a wrench. In that way of thinking, the bolt is how things are, the nut is how they came to be that way, and the wrench is G-d. The goal is find and accept an explanation for what it is, and why it is as it is.
For the scientifically minded, there is a wood screw, and the tool needed is an appropriate Phillips head screwdriver. The screw is the observed world, and the screwdriver is the series of theories and experiments used to try to take the screw out of the wood. The goal is to take it all apart and see what makes it tick by eliminating all the possible explanations one by one until there is nothing else that can explain what is.
Insisting on using the tools that the other approach needs leads only to frustration and failure, and criticizing the other for using different tools is nothing but foolish.
To argue with science as a valid methodology for not being a religious approach is no more sensible than arguing with the screwdriver for not being a wrench, and vice versa. To my mind, the two approaches are compatible and congruent. As a Jew, I see no difficulty in believing in G-d, the Creator, and also in applying the scientific method to tease out more information about the world around us, the very world that G-d created! There is no need to select one or the other. Such a formulation is pointlessly divisive. If you prefer one approach or the other, that is fine; but that does not negate the other as a valid approach, when it is used for the appropriate inquiries.
More: to dogmatically and stubbornly cling to one or the other – either one – is to minimize the wonder of G-d. For example, when science seeks to dismiss the marvelous, miraculous events of this world as ‘just’ normal, it does damage to all of us as human beings who are privileged to see G-d’s handiwork in the everyday miracles of the growth of a seed into a plant that then buds and flowers, or the birth of a child with a unique, individual personality. At the same time, for the religious to scoff and jeer at the scientific approach as godless and faithless is equally an affront and belittling of G-d, because it was G-d that created mankind with the intellect and the tool making ability, coupled with the urge to explore and understand that led to the scientific method and approach.
Admittedly, I am primarily one who approaches things from a religious perspective, so the examples I am using presuppose that approach. That said, I have absolutely no problem with science, or approaching an examination of things in that fashion. As a Jew and a religious person, I am comfortable with the understanding that all knowledge is ultimately from G-d. Science is one of the ways to approach knowledge, and in that way learn more about G-d and the world that G-d has created.
Coming back to that young boy, the right answer for him was not to answer, but rather to turn the question around, and to ask him, “What do you think?” He paused, thought, and then told me, “I think people think so, but maybe it was all pretend.” He then ran off towards some of his friends. He used the tool that fit for him, and the answer he found worked for him. By giving him the freedom to answer for himself now, he has the power to revisit that question through his life, and to come to different conclusions.
As he, and we, grow and mature and change in our lives, we move back and forth between different approaches, and reach different answers at different moments. For me, this too, is part of the everyday miracle of life. We are not trapped in one view or one approach. We have the ability to find the tool that works for us and continually to find fresh insights into the nature of the world, ourselves, and G-d. To limit ourselves to one view is to put blinders on and to miss part of the marvel that is the world that G-d has made.
Shabbat shalom.
Archive for the ‘virginia’ Category
Evolution ‘Weekend’ – Devar Torah on Religion & Science
Monday, March 2nd, 2009Facing Down Our Fears: Yom Kippur 5769 Sermon by Rabbi Joe Blair
Wednesday, December 10th, 2008Yom Kippur 5769
October 8-9, 2008
Rabbi Joe Blair
Facing Down our Fears
Gut Yontiff.
As one of my colleagues, Rabbi Lewis Eron of Voorhees NJ, has recently described it, we have completed the first two legs of the annual Jewish Spiritual triathlon.
We spiritually trained hard through the month of Elul, doing the work of Teshuvah.
We got to the starting block, and took off at the sound of the gun at Rosh Hashanah. We pushed ourselves and made it through the initial stage of that distance swim.
We clambered out, limbered up, and launched ourselves again immediately into the next stage, and have just completed the nine day endurance bike/run of the Yamim Nora’im, the days of Awe. Now, finally, we are here, in the midst of the 25 hour heavy power-lifting effort of Yom Kippur.
This metaphor is apt because the work we are supposed to be doing for this holiday is hard; we have to prepare ourselves for it, it comes in stages, and at the end, we can find ourselves exhausted, and though elevated by the effort, not having achieved the coveted status of ‘the winner’ – that one person recognized as the best, the highest achieving, the mark others aim to surpass in future. Most years, that seems like challenge enough.
This year, however, it feels even harder and more of a challenge than usual. This year there is so much happening in the world around us that demands our attention, that tugs at us and pulls our focus away from the world of the spiritual. It all feels so urgent, burning, and insistent.
Think about it. The news we heard just this week is terrible. Not to list all the ills of the world:
Today, in addition to the sorrows that all of us must face, the pains of losses, of illnesses, and of deaths, we are burdened by what is happening around us. We are faced with an economic crisis which is affecting most – maybe all — of us, and which is destroying many people’s lives. Think of those who are being evicted for being unable to keep up with the rising interest payments on their homes, as one example of this disaster.
Think of the kinds of natural disasters that have struck, which seem to have increased in numbers of late, and the toll in lives and property lost has been staggering, with no end in sight.
There are genocides ongoing in the world, wars that seem to have little purpose and no end, and little being done about them. Even when we try to help, it is so little compared to the needs of those suffering.
Terrorism has spread and become the de facto means of waging wars worldwide. From the middle East to India to the former Soviet Union, and now elsewhere in the world, terrorism is on the rise. We are watching tensely as nations and groups whom we have good reason to fear, some of whom hate us for simply existing, both as Americans and as Jews, come ever closer to acquiring access to weapons that are terrifying to contemplate ever being used – yet apparently they have every intention of doing so.
Our own civil liberties and most cherished rights to due process have been curtailed in the name of combating terrorism, without a hue and cry arising.
We see a massive rise in the number of anti-Semitic acts and hate crimes in the world – not just ‘over there’ – the statistics show that it is rampant right here at home.
We see the increase in power of forces of intolerance and bigotry. Here at home, the push to rescind some of the social gains that have been made over the past two generations has gained new force and adherents, and is making inroads in the public mind.
Taken altogether, in light of all this the future looks bleak, and very uncertain. We don’t know what to expect next, what will happen, how to react, how to protect ourselves and our loved ones.
So these are difficult times. Times of uncertainty, fear, anxiety, and even dread. None of us is immune or exempt from these feelings.
In times such as this, it is easy to lose heart, even easier to fall prey to fears. The crisis du jour calls us to attend. Look NOW! it screams. REACT! But I urge you – think carefully, do not fall into this trap. Do not be tempted by the siren song of urgencies!
In the words of Mordecai Kaplan:
“To find life in the present worth living, people must have faith in a future. The ultimate in human tragedy is not suffering or even death, but hopelessness. This is the true meaning of damnation. Men have been known to suffer all manner of torments and to maintain, throughout them all, a deep and abiding interest in life, to experience life as worth living.
“Martyrs, like Akiba and Socrates, have gone to their death with serenity, because they believed their death was not the final verdict on all they lived for. But it is hell to suffer evils without feeling that there is anything that we can do about them, or without the confidence that they will be abolished.
“It is the function of religion to save men from this hell, and the Jewish religion did so. How keenly our Sages predicted the need of faith in a future to give meaning and worth to the present is beautifully expressed in a midrash that comments on the prayer of Jacob at Beth El. We are told in Genesis that Jacob, when fleeing from the wrath of his brother Esau, was accorded a vision of God in a dream, and when he awoke, he set up the stone, on which he had lain, as a pillar and vowed that, if permitted to return to safety, vehayah adonai li lelohim, “the Lord shall be my God.” In saying this, our Sages explain, “Jacob gave permission to the key-word by means of which God would in future ages redeem his descendants.” All the solace and bliss that would fall to the lot of Israel would be theirs, by virtue of the rallying cry vehaya, “it shall come to pass,” that is to say by virtue of faith in the future.
“We always seem to be confronted with the alternative of either accepting the present situation as the norm, with its violence, falsehood and hate as the ultimate reality, or we must seek to save ourselves from demoralization by applying the traditional key-principle of salvation, vehayah, “it shall come to pass.” There is still a future, and in it are concealed unfathomed possibilities for good. As our vision for the future appeals more clearly to us, the evil in the world will cease to be an obsession that prevents us from beholding and enjoying the good there is in it. When we recognize an evil, let us see whether we can do something to correct it. If we can, let us do it. If not, let us defer the correction of that evil until some future time, pressing on, meanwhile, to other goals that are immediately attainable. Our tactics in contending against evil should be those of modern, noble warfare. When we encounter an obstacle that we cannot surmount, we need not let it stop us; we can bypass it while moving onward in the general direction of our goals, determined by our ethical ideals. This is the experience of salvation. It is not so much dependent on our attaining our goal as in our confidence that the goal is worth attaining, and on our wholehearted devotion to attaining it.”
—Mordecai Kaplan, The Future of the American Jew, “Hope.”
Instead of despairing, as Kaplan tells us, we must turn to religion as the source of strength and comfort that has been given us. You have already taken the first step in that direction by coming here today. Now all you need to do is attend to the very words we all say each time we come together.
In our services, in the Geulah, the section on Redemption, we read:
“In a world torn by violence and pain, a world far from wholeness and peace, a world waiting still to be redeemed, give us, Lord, the courage to say: there is one God in heaven and earth.”
This seems a pretty fair description of what we are seeing around us today. And we do need courage to assert God in the face of what we know is happening in our world. Continuing, in the Amidah, we read:
“God of Israel, may our worship on this [Sabbath] day bring us nearer to all that is high and holy. May it bind the generations in bonds of love and sharing, and unite us with our people in common hope and faith. And through [Sabbath rest and] worship, may we learn to find fulfillment and joy in the vision of peace for all the world.
“You are with us in our prayer, in our love and our doubt, in our longing to feel Your presence and do Your will. You are the still, clear voice within us. Therefore, O God, when doubt troubles us, when anxiety makes us tremble, and pain clouds the mind, we look inward for the answer to our prayers. There may we find You, and there find courage, insight, and endurance. And let our worship bring us closer to one another, that all Israel, and all who seek You, may find new strength for Your service.”
This tells us that God is with us, within us. How can we give up or give in to despair if we believe that? The very Creator – the Source of Being – is our taproot and the bedrock of our strength! Together, we acknowledge the inner source of our strength.
“We gratefully acknowledge, O Lord our God, that You are our Creator and Preserver, the Rock of our life and our protecting Shield. We give thanks to You for our lives which are in Your hand, for our souls which are ever in Your keeping, for Your wondrous providence and Your continuous goodness, which You bestow upon us day by day. Truly, Your mercies never fail, and Your lovingkindness never ceases. Therefore do we for ever put our trust in You. O God, let life abundant be the heritage of all the children of Your covenant. Blessed is the Eternal God, to whom our thanks are due.”
How do we access this inner strength? We are offered the gift of prayer to help us as we face our fears and uncertainties. We are told:
“Prayer invites God to let God’s presence suffuse our spirits, to let God’s will prevail in our lives. Prayer cannot bring water to parched fields, nor mend a broken bridge, nor rebuild a ruined city; but prayer can water an arid soul, mend a broken heart, and rebuild a weakened will.”
And we are told, we are not alone. Not only is God within us, we have each other. We are a holy community, and we support one another.
“We have come together to strengthen our bonds with our people Israel. Like Jews of generations past, we celebrate the grandeur of creation. Like Jews of every age, we echo our people’s ancient call for justice. We are Jews, but each of us is unique. We stand apart and alone, with differing feelings and insights. And yet, we are not entirely alone and separate, for we are children of one people and one heritage. And we are one in search of life’s meaning. All of us know despair and exaltation; all bear burdens; all have moments of weakness and times of strength; all sing songs of sorrow and love. In this circle of hope, in the presence of the sacred, may the heart come to know itself and its best, finding a fresh impulse to love the good. May our celebration lead us to work for the good; and may this day give strength to us and to our people Israel.”
More:
“Let there be love and understanding among us; let peace and friendship be our shelter from life’s storms. Eternal God, help us to walk with good companions, to live with hope in our hearts and eternity in our thoughts, that we may lie down in peace and rise up to find our hearts waiting to do Your will.”
Each time we pray together we announce what it is we have each committed to by our very presence:
“You shall love the Lord your God with all your mind, with all your strength, with all your being. Set these words, which I command you this day, upon your heart. Teach them faithfully to your children; speak of them in your home and on your way, when you lie down and when you rise up. Bind them as a sign upon your hand; let them be a symbol before your eyes; inscribe them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates. Be mindful of all My mitzvoth, and do them; so shall you consecrate yourselves to your God. I, the Lord, am your God who led you out of Egypt to be your God; I, the Lord, am your God.”
In light of all this, knowing that we have the strength of God within us, and the community around us supporting us, we should not be cowed by fear or doubts. We are not alone! We are not powerless!
These beliefs are our touchstones. Our only chance of dealing with fears and uncertainties is to face them in light of our core beliefs and knowing that we are loved and supported. How, then, can we give in to despair?
Rather, with the certainties and the support that this knowledge brings us, we have hope and strength. We can face our fears. We can overcome our troubles and afflictions. We can rise above them. We can scale the heights, and keep our focus on the spiritual aspect of life, seeing God in those around us, seeking to do God’s work in the world.
So as we come to the end of this third leg of the spiritual triathlon, even if we aren’t declared ‘the winner’ of the spiritual marathon of these holy days, each one of us who has seriously undertaken the effort ‘wins.’ Even now, in the midst of this solemn occasion, this high holy day, I want to offer my congratulations to each of you for being a ‘winner’- a status you have earned simply by making the effort, holding your focus, being here as part of our community and as an expression of God in the world. Please accept my ‘high five’ to you. No need for gator ade showers today. Our spiritual high is enough. J
May you, may we all, know that we have support and strength that arises from deep within us, from a place that taps the core of our beliefs as the source. May we draw on that source wisely, and use it to do what we know is right and good in the world, and in that way, go from strength to strength and be strong. Chazak, chazak venitchazek.
Leshanah tovah umetukah tichateimu!
Yom Kippur 5769 Sermon by Rabbi Sue Levi Elwell
Friday, October 17th, 2008
Shir HaMa’a lot: A Song of Ascents
Temple House of Israel, Staunton, VA
Temple Beth El, Harrisonburg, VA
10 Tishrei 5769/8&9 October 2008
Rabbi Sue Levi Elwell
During one of my first visits to the Shenandoah Valley, Nurit and I visited one of the caverns. I later discovered that I was following a family tradition—my grandparents included a visit to a Shenandoah Valley cavern on their honeymoon in 1916! I will never forget my first descent into the unexpectedly beautiful world below the surface of the earth. I kept wondering about the first individuals to “discover” these formations. Once they kindled light to illuminate the beauty around them, did they think that they had descended into a kind of heaven, and that the myths of a hot and smoldering ugly netherworld had simply been wrong? Were they dazzled, as were we, by what they saw? What did they think of the even temperature and the cool water that glides down the walls and creates sparkling, shimmering pools on the floor?
My first visit was followed by another. Even if I visited every year that I am blessed to be with you here, I will never take for granted the magnificent power of the stalactites and stalagmites that form curtains and columns and vistas of natural beauty that delight and amaze so many visitors every year. We who visit this magical world below are afforded a glimpse into the formation of the earth hundreds of millions of years ago, vistas that take our breath away.
The cavern provides a powerful metaphor for us as we enter into this solemn and challenging day of Yom Kippur.
This is a day of mystery and wonder. On this day, we are encouraged to enter a place that is both familiar and unfamiliar. When you, fortunate residents of this area, approach any of the caverns, the terrain is familiar and welcoming. And then you descend below the surface of the earth, and, perhaps like me, are amazed anew. So it is with this day. We enter this familiar sanctuary, and greet friends, family, and acquaintances. We welcome newcomers who are grateful to have found a community with whom to observe this Day of Awe. And then we open the machzor, the High Holiday prayerbook, and we are ushered into the liturgy of this uniquely solemn day. And as Yom Kippur progresses, we descend deeper and deeper into the cavern of our souls.
The metaphor of descent mirrors the journey of the ancient High Priest into the Holy of Holies on this day. This is how Rabbi Jill Hammer describes the Yom Kippur ritual:
Nothing could be more mysterious than the image of the high priest entering the holiest chamber of the Temple on Yom Kippur. As the high priest utters the secret name of the Divine within a cloud of incense, it is as if he planted the sacred word like a seed, creating the cosmos anew. Emerging from the shrine, the high priest renews the land and inspires the people to awe and repentance.
She continues,
On Yom Kippur, many Jews fast and pray the whole day. The words of the Yom Kippur prayers are like the winding journey of the high priest toward the Holy of Holies. Each prayer takes us a little closer to the innermost depths of ourselves. On this day, we are all high priests meeting the Divine in privacy and intimacy. Surrounded by clouds of song and petition, we are able to look into our hearts more deeply than on any other day of the year.[1]
We enter into this day, this day that is the Holy of Holies, as if we were entering one of the nearby caverns. Some of us are unsure about whether or not to enter this day of descent. We’re here because of someone else’s idea of what Judaism asks—or demands—of us. We entered this synagogue tonight as a tourist enters a renowned cathedral, with curiosity and respect, but without commitment. But Yom Kippur is not like any other day in our calendar. This is the Day of Awe, the day when individuals become community by collectively opening our hearts. So you who are hesitating—take the hand of the one beside you. You who hold back, catch the reassuring glance and the outstretched arm of your neighbor. For centuries, Jews have taken the risk of journeying into the dark on this day. Together, we muster the courage to step into the unknown of this Sabbath of Sabbaths, this Day of Judgment.
How well prepared are we for this journey? Do we carry sources of illumination with us? Like early cave explorers, we may carry only candles, which are easily extinguished. Once they’re out, we may find that our matches have become soggy and unusable. How will we make our way in the dark? We move closer together to reassure ourselves that we are not alone.
The air thins, and we find ourselves gasping for breath. But as the seconds become minutes, our breath returns and oxygen courses through our veins and arteries without our willing it. We’re surprised by a wave of calm that follows the panic. We realize that our eyes are slowing becoming accustomed to the lack of light. We’re not going to perish here.
A descent into darkness need not be a one way journey. Rather, this awesome day welcomes us to name the difficult, challenging, painful, narrow passages in our lives, to acknowledge the fears that stop our hearts. By providing particular words, and music, and silence, this day guides us through our descent into awe. After some time, our eyes become accustomed to the darkness, and we begin to step slowly, and deliberately, through the deep.
And as our sight seems to return to us, now sharper than it was, so do we find ourselves better able to hear in this distinct place. We hear the soft breathing of the others who entered this place with us. On this day, we are not alone in our fear, in our awe.
When fear begins to subside, awe begins. Once our eyes become accustomed to the dancing glints of light, we realize that we have descended into a place of profound and overwhelming beauty. No matter how many times we go into the caverns, we are delighted anew by the whimsical and fantastic natural formations. So can each descent into this day bring new insight. Whether we’re here reluctantly or intentionally, Yom Kippur helps us move from fear to awe.
But when we turn from fear to awe we do not banish fear. Rather, we name it. By descending into the dark we acknowledge our limitations, our fallibility, our humanness. In the quiet of this altered space, we feel our smallness, our insignificance, our frailty. And in this place of awe, we face the supernal beauty of creation. In the luminous presence of the Creator, we may see only our flaws.
We call out: Avinu Malkenu: our Father, our King. Our petition is communal. Avinu malkenu, honenu v’anenu. As a collective, in a single voice, we call out, and we ask God to answer us. We are frightened because we have fallen, we have missed the mark. Hurtful words have spilled out of our mouths. We have inflicted harm on others and on ourselves. We have failed to speak the truth, to work for peace, to care for those in need. Yet as we turn to the Holy One in this deep place, we turn together. We do not say, “ashamti, bagadati, gazalti, I have been “arrogant, brutal, careless,” but ashamnu, bagadnu, gazalnu,” we have stumbled and fallen, “our sins are an alphabet of woe.”[2]
For even as we arrive at these days, at this place, with our hands full of the deeds– and the misdeeds of the past year, we also arrive having sought—and granted—forgiveness to one another. Our liturgy reminds us, “For transgressions against God, the Day of Atonement atones; but for transgressions of one human being against another, the Day of Atonement does not atone until they have made peace with one another.”[3] As we all know, building and maintaining families, communities, or congregations, is difficult and demanding work. Because we are human, we hurt one another—usually unintentionally, but not always. Healing community is holy work. That is the work that precedes this day. Sometimes, it happens on this day. As we hear ourselves intone these words, “Ashamnu, bagadnu, gazalnu,” we realize that we are all fallible. We all fall down. We all disappoint ourselves and others. The very process of repeating these words as a collective can be healing. We can begin to forgive ourselves—and one another.
As we stand in the darkness of this day, and as one, cry out to our Creator, “Avinu Malkenu, be gracious and answer us,” we find the Source of Compassion waiting for us. On this day, we are not exiled, or banished. We are forgiven. We are embraced. And we now see that God’s light illuminates not only our failings but also our fortitude, not only our stumbling but also our shining spirits.
Again and again throughout our lives, we descend into the depths. This day tells us that no matter how terrifying the darkness, on this day or on any day, we are never alone there. The Holy One is waiting for us there. On this day, we call to God El Rachum v’Hanun, God of mercy and lovingkindness, erech apaim vrav hesed v’emet—endlessly patient, loving and true. We who take the risk of truly entering into this day are rewarded by discovering the Source of Compassion who acknowledges our fears and welcomes our tears. When we descend we are embraced by a Source of Kindness who invites us to see our own strength. God waits for us not only on this day, but whenever we enter the cavern of darkness that is always just below the surface of our lives. Today we learn that darkness need not be a place of despair.
The ancient psalmist asks:
“Lord, whither can I go from your spirit?… If I ascend to the heavens, You are there! If I make my home in the lowest depths, behold, You are there!”[4]
God is waiting for us, not only today, but every day of our lives.
And the community is waiting for us as well. Jews survive when we lift up the fallen. At some time or other, all of us fall. Just as God meets each of us in the depths, so does God inspire and empower the community to extend hands and hearts when we are in need.
Psalm 126 is familiar to many of us. It is one of fifteen psalms that begins, “Shir HaMa’alot: a song of ascents,” and is sung on each Shabbat and festival at the beginning of Birkat haMazon, the blessing after meals. The final verse of this five-verse psalm begins with four powerful words: “Ha’zorim b’dimah b’rinah ikzaru: Those who sow in tears shall reap in joy.” The plural form reflects the universality of human experience. For those who live on the land, planting, sowing seeds, is an essential step towards providing sustenance for both family and community. Sowing, then, serves as a symbolic action for all work in the world. Like all of creation, plants and animals, fish and fowl, we human beings live and then die. We mourn in a particularly human way, with wailing, with silence, with tears and with words. And while we often take time away from our daily pursuits after a loved one dies, we must soon return to the work that sustains us and our loved ones. Our tears mix with our sweat and with the dew that enables young plants to mature into grain, into vegetables, into fruit. And as days and months pass, we move, slowly, haltingly, away from immediacy of grief. When seasons change and the time of harvest comes, we discover that darkness has become light, and that mourning has turned to dancing. Those who sow in tears reap in joy.
The ascent from the depths of this day of repentance may be arduous for some. The ascent from the depth of loss may seem nearly impossible for many. We may want to stay in the darkness, not sure how we will manage in the light. But this day, which is finally, a day of joy, calls to us. Make the journey. You will find that darkness is rich and fruitful, a place of awe and beauty. Come down, and then come up. And in the ascent, you may discover that your heart is unburdened and that your mind is clear. And that you can face the new year with a new-found sense of joy and perhaps even hope.
Remember the High Priest and his ancient journey into the Holy of Holies? Rabbi Jill Hammer teaches,
“The high priest does not overly prolong his prayer so as not to worry those who wait for him. We too do not prolong our prayers more than necessary. We finish the service at the moment of [sunset], and emerge from the fast into our daily lives.”[5]
When the sun sinks below the horizon, we conclude our Yom Kippur prayers and kindle the havdalah candle. We return from the depths, and from our individual encounters with our Source. And we discover that those who accompany our descent have become essential companions as we reclaim the light. We ascend from silence and open our mouths with song. After a day of petition and prayer, we have exchanged fear for awe, and despair for joy.
So let us go forth, each one of us, into this Yom Kippur day and into this new year, with a new appreciation for the power of the deep. May we enter this day and this new year with strength to face the darkness that awaits us all, and with the confidence that our faith—and our community—can illuminate unexpected paths to beauty and to joy.
Rosh Hashanah 5769 Sermon by Rabbi Joe
Friday, October 3rd, 2008Our Community & Miracles 5769 Rabbi Joe Blair
This past year was a year of much activity in our community, much going on. Most of you can think back and recall it.
This past year, we have had more than our share of illness; we suffered deaths, close calls, health scares, a number of personal tragedies, and many troubles. We saw job losses, estrangements, and accidents. The number and variety of traumas among our community has been greater than anyone could have guessed. We have seen many lives of those among us changed in significant ways; much sadness, sorrow, and loss. And we have ALL been touched by it.
At the same time, some (even much) of what has occurred has been good, sometimes even wonderful. Our community has been strong, and supported each other and those in the larger community. We have given; financially and personally. We have striven to make a difference, to help others, to live out the Jewish values we hold dear.
A few examples: We held healing services for our community to help address the pain we felt. The caring committee came into formal being and has been active ever since. We established the Chevrah Kadishah, the holy burial society, and the members stand ready to perform, offering the most selfless act possible – for those whom they help in this way can never give anything in return.
We added regular Shabbat morning services to our calendar, providing another opportunity and way to join together and to share the peace of Shabbat. We had the first Holocaust Education Week, and worked with the larger community to make known the fact that it is everyone’s responsibility to support the idea of ‘never again.’ The Staunton Jewish Film Festival was successfully initiated, reaching out to Jews and non-Jews alike. We added many opportunities for education and Jewish learning at all levels.
We were blessed with several new Jewish souls, and in the course of this year we celebrated at least one naming, one bris, one marriage, and one B’nai Mitzvah.
We know that our community is a blessing. In times of trouble our community supports and sustains us. In moments of celebration the same members of the community share our joys and uplift us.
What we don’t know until it is our turn to be supported is just how much of a blessing our community really is. We can not even imagine how important, how meaningful, how supportive it is to have the community members there when they are most needed to keep one from feeling utterly alone and abandoned. At those times, when we question G-d most, at times of pain and trouble, to have others stand beside you as you face those feelings is more than anyone can describe. It is a deep, loving, and life-sustaining link that is felt and understood, but is inexplicable and unexpressible.
Our community is more than those we happen to live amongst. The community we live in is our place of prayer, and often, as we have seen, it is also the answer to our prayers. It is the locus for our life cycles, and the stage where we live out our life. Our joys and sorrows play out against the backdrop of that community. Community is always there, around us. Without community, we would be lost.
Just as others are there for you, you have also been there for those others. Make no mistake: you are as much needed by them, as they are by you.
Recently I have heard someone say, ‘but I was just doing what is right, or what I should’, or ‘I really didn’t do anything, I just said a few words’ or ‘I just brought by some food because I knew they wouldn’t have a chance to stop and get something’, or ‘I just called or dropped by to let them know I was thinking of them – they didn’t really need me to talk to them, and I couldn’t do anything for them.’
Not so, my friends. Not so at all. You can have no idea how much your simple presence, or your smile, a friendly word, or a small gesture can mean to someone as they face the dark moments of the soul. What you do is NOT a small thing. Never say, ‘just’.
A story to help me illustrate this point:
[Here I reold the story of “Just a Miracle” by Rabbi Mitch Chefitz about Elijah and recognizing
miracles, where the word 'just' blinds everyone to their presence.]
My friends, never imagine that there is not a miracle in the very existence of each one of us. Every moment is full of miracles – what I call ‘everday miracles’. The smile of a child, the beauties of the setting of the sun, the rainbow after a storm, the mountains and foothills rising up, the mist lifting above the trees in the morning, and the waves on the shore.
It is up to us to make the effort to find them, to see them, to recognize them for what they are. Each one is a tiny, perfect moment, a glimpse of what is and what can be, and we can find them when we look. That is why there are specific blessings for such experiences in our tradition.
And sometimes, just sometimes, we are fortunate enough to discover and to see that these tiny everyday miracles join together to form larger miracles. When we think of the wave, we see this in microcosm.
At the moment, we look and see that there is one perfect wave, one tiny miracle that hits the shore. If we continue to watch and see , we see another, and another, and another - an unending stream of waves that each roll up and crash upon the beach. This endless ebb and flow of wave following wave following wave is what makes for the larger miracle, an ongoing miracle.
Each single event is a tiny miracle. Together they create something much more than the sum of their parts. So it is with us and our community.
When you look around you in this sanctuary, when you see the others here, and feel the sense of kehillah kedoshah (holy community) that together we create, you sense how all of the other people are here and supporting you in creating this community. Their presence is important to you now, today. Equally so, you are supporting them, and your presence is important to each of them.
That sense of mutual suport is one of the ways that you know that our community would not be as strong, and vibrant, as healthy, or as full of love as it is without you, as it is with you as part of it. Your very presence is one of the tiny miracles, as is the presence of each other person here. All of us together are what makes up this community. And we all, together, add our tiny evertday miracles one on top of another, building up, and creating the larger miracle that goes on and reaches far beyond any one of us can imagine.
So always remember: you are not ‘just’ anything – you are a tiny miracle to others, and an integral part of the larger ongoing miracle of our community. Our community is there for you, as you are there for it. Chazak, chazak venitchazek. May our community go from strength to strength in strength.
Leshanah tovah umetukah tikateivu
Rabbi Joe
Rosh Hashanah 5769 Sermon by Rabbi Sue Elwell
Friday, October 3rd, 2008““???? ??? ????
Hayom Harat Olam
Erev Rosh HaShana
Temple Beth El, Harrisonburg, VA
September 29, 2008/1 Tishrei 5769
““???? ??? ????
These three words, which are found in our machzor, our High Holiday prayerbook, are often translated as “today the world is created,” or “today is the birthday of the world.”
My colleague Rabbi Ayelet Cohen teaches that a closer look at these three words “tells us much more. ???? means ‘today,’ that part is simple enough. But the Hebrew word???? means not only ‘world,’ it also means ‘forever/eternity.’” Today eternity is created. Today forever begins.
So a simple phrase that might have led us into a chorus of happy birthday rather stops us– and asks us to think not only about marking time, but rather to consider the nature of time. We are invited to consider the relationship not only of then and now, but how now relates to forever.
Rabbi Cohen continues, and further challenges us: “The word ??? is the most difficult one in the phrase. It comes from the Hebrew ?????, or pregnancy. Here it functions as a verb and a noun at the same time, implying a creative act that is not sudden or abrupt but one that requires a long period of gestation. The elasticity of the words and of this phrase teaches us to go beyond the simple meaning. When we read???? ??? ???? in our ????? we are saying, ‘Today the world was created,’ but also ‘Today we celebrate the constant creation of the world.’ Today is pregnant with eternal creation.”[1]
Hayom Harat Olam becomes, then, not only a statement, but also a challenge. On this day, we consider not only how we live in and measure time, but also how we honor, mirror and illuminate the mystery of continuing creation.
Let us take a moment to listen to the world. Let us take a moment to listen to eternity. Don’t get up. Stay in your seat. Begin to listen. You may settle more deeply into the pew, letting go of any physical stress or discomfort you may have been experiencing. You may want to straighten up to better hear the sounds that are waiting for you to hear. You may feel your spirit moving to the back of the sanctuary, or even out of the door, ready to dance in the evening breeze. Let yourself listen.
What do you hear? Do you hear the clouds whispering as they glide across the night sky? Do you hear the earth settling in for the night, relieved that the majority of humans who have illusions of control as they drive and cycle and walk on the earth are now, because of the dark, huddled in their frail buildings, leaving the out of doors to the insects and birds and animals who know how to navigate the night? Do you hear those creatures calling to one another in forests and deserts and on mountain tops? Do you hear the quiet murmurings of parents on the other side of the globe as they tuck their children into bed or as they gently wake them as the new day dawns? Can you hear this beautiful, fragile universe breathing, humming, singing?
Listen.
Do you want to respond? Do you want to join in?
Can you find a voice in which to harmonize with or provide a counterpoint to this song?
Some of us are life long members of the world choir. Some of us hear—and join—in the song of eternity every time we garden, or when we sing a child to sleep, or when we sit beside one who needs our presence. Some of us feel our hearts open in song every time we enter this building.
Others of us are straining to hear the music. Some of us have closed our ears and our hearts. Some of us have accepted deafness as our permanent condition. But the universe is singing to us, every day of our lives. On this night, Judaism urges every one of us to rouse ourselves from the slumber that has prevented us from hearing eternity’s song. Hayom Harat Olam: today is the day when birthpangs rock our world, when creation begins anew.
What is one of the messages of eternity’s song? The Torah teaches in the Book of Numbers:
And in the seventh month, on the first day of the month, you shall have a holy convocation: You shall do no manner of work; it is a day of blowing the horn unto you. (Numbers 29:1)
And in the Book of Leviticus:
In the seventh month, in the first day of the month, shall be a solemn rest unto you, a memorial proclaimed with the blast of horns, a holy convocation. (Leviticus 23:24)
The chorus of eternity’s song may be as simple as: observe this holy day. Mark this anniversary of creation. One verse says: Do not work. Another verse directs us to blow the shofar.
The shofar sounds, and we begin to wake up. We awaken to eternity’s challenge: be present. Be here now. Make this day the first day of the rest of your life.
A Talmudic teaching: “R. Zevid said, ‘if the first day of Rosh Hashana is warm, the whole year will be warm; if cold, the whole year will be cold’”. (Baba Batra 147a)[2]
Rabbi Zevid was not speaking about the temperature outside. Rather, he was speaking about the temperature inside. He was addressing the enthusiasm, the passion with which each of us approaches this day. Do we “warm” to this day, opening ourselves to the heat that true engagement demands? Do we turn up the heat of our spirits on this day of creation, this day when we glimpse eternity? Or are we tepid, lukewarm, room temperature? Have we, over the years, cooled down or even cooled off? Have we become cold, finding the entire enterprise of Judaism and Jewish practice chilly, off putting, frozen?
We all know that in order for human beings to function, we must maintain a particular, and in fact a very particular, body temperature. When we are ill, when our equilibrium is upset, our body temperature may drop or soar and prevent us from thinking clearly. When we become seriously overheated, or if our body temperature drops precipitously, our very lives are endangered. On this day, we are reminded that our lives depend on balance. And our spiritual lives depend on creating a climate of sufficient warmth so that we not only survive but thrive.
I would like to propose that there are, for each of us, three steps to waking up, and to opening the way to a year of warmth. These three steps can also be imagined as three concentric circles with permeable, shimmering boundaries. We begin with focusing on care for our souls. Then we expand our focus to our intimate companions. Then we extend our focus to the larger world. Join me as we explore three interrelated responses to the call of the shofar, to the call of the universe.
The Jewish calendar gives us ample opportunity to prepare for this Rosh Hashana day. Too few of us take advantage of the month of Elul, the month that precedes and ushers in Rosh Hashana. This is a month when we are invited and encouraged to engage in the process of heshbon hanefesh, taking an accounting of our souls. In fact, the shofar that will rouse us from our slumber tomorrow morning has been warmed up, so to speak, by being sounded every day during the month that preceded this day. Whether we took advantage of this month of preparation or not, each of us can now enter this process of caring for ourselves, for our spirits, for our souls. Our tradition teaches that rather than being a narcissistic or anti-social exercise, taking stock of and taking responsibility for one’s behavior and actions is what mature individuals must do. During the month of Elul and the first ten days of Tishrei, beginning today and continuing until Yom Kippur, we are encouraged to focus on our own lives, on how we care for ourselves, body and soul.
If we don’t care for ourselves, we cannot be present for others. Rosh Hashana, then, is a wake up call to each of us to mind our own health. To make sure that we have regular physical exams, and that we heed the direction and advice of our health care professionals. Rosh HaShana is a perfect time to re-commit ourselves to a regular program of exercise, or to a new approach to modulating our eating patterns.
But health is not confined to the body. How is our intellectual health? What are we reading? With whom do we engage in conversation? Are we speaking only to those with whom we agree? Are we open to ideas that challenge us and make us stretch intellectually? And what about our spiritual health? How do we, day after day, week after week, care for our souls?
We Jews are blessed with many tools for maintaining health. Our tradition has a rich body of prayers and texts that can be used as daily practice, from the moment we open our eyes until we close them again at the end of the day. By thanking God every time we eat, we are engaging in a spiritual practice of gratitude We are also making an explicit connection between our responsibility of caring for our bodies and our appreciation of our place in God’s universe. We begin at home—in the home of our own bodies, the bodies that are the physical container, the temporary home for our durable and infinite souls.
The renewed self, however, does not live alone. Every one of us gathered in this sanctuary tonight, whether we live alone in a modest apartment or in a rambling house, or whether we live in a dwelling that is filled with others and their comings and goings—each of us lives in a context of intimate relations. Whether we eat breakfast every day with our intimates, or whether they are thousands of miles away—each of us is in the center of a particular circle of souls. Some of us are quite conscious—and insistent—about our place as the center, the focal point of that circle. Others of us never think of ourselves that way. I ask you to take this time to place yourself in the center of the unique web that is your life now. Who are the people with whom you interact every day, those who make up your daily world now? This is your intimate circle. Whether these people are related to you or not, whether you have chosen these beloveds and companions or not, I ask you now to focus on these primary connections.
What is the quality of your interactions with these individuals? If you are truly taking care of yourself (step one), you are making space to be present for another. As we all know, intimate relationships are very demanding. They ask us to be present, to show up, to listen, and to interact. Many intimate relationships that come to an end do so because one of the partners is no longer present. He or she became distracted—by work or by something else that pulled them away from the demanding work of being present, showing up so that exchanges of quality and substance and meaning can happen.
Today is the day when we are called by the shofar to pay attention to our relationships. When we take ourselves seriously, we attend to appropriate self care. The healthy self can extend care to others. Our tradition teaches that these two circles of care are essential but insufficient.
My colleague Rabbi Jan Katzew recently shared the following teaching of Isaac Luria, the sixteenth century kabbalist. As you may know, Rosh Hashana is observed for two days in Israel, and in most communities around the world. In the Talmud, which is written in Aramaic, these two days of Rosh Hashana are called yom arichta, one long day. What does this mean? Chaim Vital, Isaac Luria’s student, tells that Luria’s response is that the two days of Rosh HaShana are like one long day. The work of the first day is to turn one’s attention inward: to review one’s deeds, to conduct a heshbon hanefesh. The work of the second day is to turn one’s attention to the world, to address oneself to tikkun olam. Tradition teaches us that this is the work of one long day: the work of each day is necessary but insufficient. The work of both days, together, is the essential challenge of this day of renewal.
HaYom Harat Olam. This day, when each of us is challenged to open our hearts and minds as the shofar jolts us from our slumber—this very day calls us to find a balance that works for us—between our inner work and our outer work, between caring for ourselves and caring for the world.
Today is a day to examine the causes, projects and the communities in which we are engaged. These days of reflection challenge us to re-evaluate and re-assess our involvement: are we lukewarm or have we cooled off? This is a time to remember and reclaim the heat that drew us to the work that reflects our vision of what the world can be. This day is a day to reclaim the sacred Jewish obligation of repairing the world.
Today the world is created. Today is pregnant with eternity. Tonight we listen to the universe calling us, challenging each one of us to wake up and to shake off the chill of our slumber. The silence and the song that we hear when we open our hearts includes the songs of our souls, the music of our souls bound up with the lives of others, the songs of our souls bound up with the world entire. The universe invites us to join the dance of repair and of return, and to sing songs of wholeness, hope and peace.
Let us go forth, my friends, with deep thanks to the Source of all for enabling us to once again celebrate creation. Cradled in the arms of this beautiful world, sheltered beneath the endless skies, may each of us be privileged to hear –and to sing–eternity’s song every evening, and every morning, of this new year.
Jews & that ‘other’ holiday
Monday, December 24th, 2007It is December 24th. Just about everywhere is going to close very shortly, and there will be nothing open for the next 24 hours.
Most of my neighbors and the members of my secular community are going to be celebrating a holiday. Some will do so in a secular fashion. A few will do so in a religious fashion. Most will create some mix of the two.
For me, my family, and my religious community, this is an odd day. It is an enforced day off of work for most (not that I hear many complaints on that score!). It is not a holiday. This year, in fact, it is not even close to any Jewish holiday. It is not a meaningful day in any way for us. There is no religious significance, and no cultural significance.
Once you look at the lights on your neighbors houses, there is not much left to do. I, for one, cannot stand the same old fare that appears from year to year on television (I am not much of a TV watcher, anyway), and the radio blasts a mind-numbing wintry mix of badly performed carols, sappy stories, and other pointless things that are just plain annoying.
So, what’s a Jew (or any non-Christian) to do?
It turns out that the only places that are reliably open on Christmas day are: (1) Chinese restaurants, and (2) movie theatres. Voila! The Answer!
I wish my Christian neighbors and friends a happy, meaningful, and beautiful Christmas. I hope that they will be moved and filled with the spirit of their holiday, andf that there will be peace on earth, as they sing. As for me, and my family and friends, we will be enjoying movies and chinese food! 
Seasons greetings to all.
Rabbi Joe
What does your rabbi do? Part 9
Monday, December 24th, 2007New Initiatives:
What does your rabbi do? Part 8
Monday, December 24th, 2007Outreach/Inreach:
What does your rabbi do? Part 7
Monday, December 24th, 2007The
What does your rabbi do? Part 6
Monday, December 24th, 2007Youth Activities:
What does your rabbi do? Part 5
Monday, December 24th, 2007College Students:
What does your rabbi do? Part 4
Monday, December 24th, 2007Pastoral Care:
What does your rabbi do? Part 3
Monday, December 24th, 2007Services:
What does your rabbi do? Part 2
Monday, December 24th, 2007What does your rabbi do? Part 1
Monday, December 24th, 2007I was asked to write a report to the Congregation for the annual meeting. I did, and it turned out FAR too long to deliver, so I gave a very abbreviated verbal summary. It was suggested that I post the report in segments here on the blog. It sounded like a good idea, so here goes!
Rabbi’s Report to the Annual Meeting of the Congregation, December 2nd, 2007
This Year
A Thought on Light at Chanukah Time
Wednesday, November 21st, 2007A Thought on Light at Chanukah Time
Rabbi Joe Blair
Chanukah is often thought of as the holiday of light, or lights. After the difficult times of oppression and persecution, a moment arrived when we (through the Hasmoneans) were victorius, with G-d’s help carving out a respite in the ongoing war, lightening and enlightening the world for a time. We recall the re-kindling of faith and hope as the
That light, the light of the presence of G-d among us, shines on still. That light cannot be extinguished, but it can be made dim and difficult, even impossible to see. In our day, there are reasons that the light is not apparent to us.
Today, we must acknowledge that the holy light of the presence of G-d among us is not visible to us. It is clouded by the darkness of war in many places. It is obscured by the existence of hate, bigotry, and prejudice among us, and within us. It is masked by the use of violence and bloodshed as tools to quash others. It is concealed by the cries of those who feel the sting of poverty and degradation. It is hidden by the intolerance and lack of acceptance of others not exactly like us. It is covered by the actions and choices of our elected and appointed officials, in our name, in perpetrating actions we do not and cannot condone or accept. It is veiled by the actions and words of our leaders, religious and secular, who use their position to further their own ends and not G-d’s. It is buried by the vicious, genocidal actions of so many in too many places.
If we are to truly kindle the light of Chanukah, we must re-dedicate ourselves to the pursuit of justice and righteousness. We must partner with G-d in making the world more perfect, more fit for the presence of G-d among us, so that the light of G-d’s presence will shine forth brightly, illuminating all in every corner of this world.
There are so very many needs, and so many worthy ways to work towards this end. I pray that we each choose at least one among them, and dedicate and re-dedicate ourself to the holy tasks of Tikkun Olam (repair of the world) and Rodef Tzedek (pursuit of righteousness) to help bring light to the world at this season of the year when light is on our mind. .
Rabbi Joe
Sermon: Yom Kippur – Chance Encounters
Thursday, October 18th, 2007Yom Kippur 5768 Chance EncountersRabbi Joe Blair
Monday evening, after a fairly long and very busy day, I left the office at the synagogue, and made my way towards home. My day had started with a flat tire when I went out to the car, and after changing the tire and cleaning up, I made a detour on the way to the office to drop the car off to have the tires replaced, the car aligned, and the brakes checked – a routine service which had been delayed a little too long. In the late afternoon, they called and I went and picked up the car, then returned to the office to continue what I was working on for a few more hours. It was after eight when I left, and it was already dark. As is so often the case, for me, at least, my mind was full of the events of my day: fragments of conversations, nagging problems, unresolved feelings; the list of things I would need to do, things I had forgotten to do, things I should not have done; and a whole host of other bits of the flotsam and jetsam of my day. Nonetheless, I was still alert, awake, and attentive as I steered my car towards home. There was a good amount of traffic on the main highways, but once I got off on the smaller secondary roads it dissipated, and there were few cars on the road as I came close to home. I have driven the same route almost daily for the last four plus years. I am quite familiar with it, and there are few locations along it that I can’t pick out or picture in my mind’s eye. Consequently, I am fairly comfortable driving along it, and have a sense of when to slow down for upcoming curves and hills, as well as knowing where the straightaways make for easy driving. Never, however, have I imagined anything out of the ordinary happening along that route, so I was utterly taken by surprise when suddenly, out of nowhere, seemingly from thin air, a deer dropped from above me onto the roadway no more than one foot in front of my car. I tried to swerve, and I did my best to stop, but it was completely futile. I was traveling at between 45 and 50 miles per hour (the speed limit there is 55), and a car just won’t turn or stop in one foot of distance. I hit the deer. In less than the blink of an eye, that deer flew off my hood and into the brush and trees on the side of the road at that place. A cloud of steam billowed out from under my hood, and the front of the car bounced violently up and down, bottoming out. The tires squealed as I stomped on the brake pedal. It all took just an instant. By the time I could stop the car, and pull over and get out to try to see if there was anything to be done, I heard a crashing of brush receding into the distance. I had to accept that as indicating that the deer had survived and was able to resume its progress. My car was not nearly so resilient. It is in the body shop having most of the front end replaced. So much for the alignment done that afternoon! I know that deer are overpopulated in this area, that they are not suited to survive in a suburban environment, and that Virginia has the largest number of deer-car accidents in the US, but I still felt and feel badly. I can’t help but wonder if I had done something a little differently, or come along ten seconds earlier, or five seconds later, if the whole incident would have been avoided. The very chance nature of our encounter, intersecting only for a split second, only at that precise time and place, is amazing. Any small change on the part of the deer or by me would have changed that incident significantly. In a sense, the very fact that we did intersect is a small miracle. It seems that we are constantly ‘happening’ to have things occur to us, that chance plays a huge role. Perhaps, on a personal scale, this is what chaos theory is supposed to help explain. (If I am mistaken in my use of the term, I know that the physicists in the congregation will correct my misapprehension shortly enough.) I couldn’t help but think about this idea of chance and happenstance as it plays out in our daily lives. Think about these examples: If I had stopped for coffee instead of going straight home, I would have missed that deer. If I had not had the tires changed and the alignment and brakes done, I might have been less able to steer, slow, and stop and much worse could have happened. Similarly, if I had not forgotten to pick up the book to return, I would not have had to make an extra trip to the library. If I had not gone back into the house to retrieve something I forgot, I would not have missed the phone call at the office. If I had not missed the phone call, I would have been able to meet my friend for dinner. If I had not turned off my cell phone, I would have known that my appointment was cancelled and been able to do something else. It all seems so random, so subject to chance. Is this really the organizing principle for our lives? Of course, chance is one way to describe it, but perhaps a better term would be ‘opportunity.’ At the risk of exposing my age, I recall reading a series of books by Carlos Castaneda about a Yaqui sorcerer named Don Juan who lived largely in rural areas of the west coast of
Rabbi Sue’s Rosh Hashanah Sermon 5768
Tuesday, September 18th, 2007Standing on One FootRosh HaShana SermonRabbi Sue Levi Elwell
Staunton/Harrisonberg,
Sermon: Seeking Joy Amidst Imperfection
Thursday, September 13th, 2007Rabbi Joe Blair — Rosh Hashanah 5768 (September 12-13, 2007)
Today, we are taught, is the birthday of the world, the anniversary of creation. G-d is viewed as the sovereign, sitting on the throne of justice and judgment, writing our fate in the books of life and death. Our deeds are weighed, our souls are judged, our worth is measured, our future determined.
Which of us is confident we will not be found lacking? Which of us has been completely righteous, without sin or transgression, blameless, and without error? Certainly, I would not dare to think of myself in that category. I am an imperfect human being. I err frequently.
But all is not lost.
Even now, at the holy days, if we strive, we can accomplish Teshuvah, turning and returning. We can repent and make amends. We can seek and grant forgiveness. We can repair the damages, heal the injuries, seek forgiveness for our trespasses, and forgive those who have trespassed against us. In short, we can open our hearts, perform Teshuvah, and be better than we were.
This requires a sincere effort in all of these tasks and aspects. Not one, not two, not some, but all. It is not enough to make amends and repent. Nor can we simply seek forgiveness for what we have done that injured others. A key component of this process is sincerely to grant forgiveness.
Easier said than done. I find that often, the most difficult thing of all of these to do is to forgive. As hard as it is to say ‘I am sorry’, it is harder still truly to forgive.
I am human – we all are -and we all have a tendency to nurse our hurts, to hold on to our grudges. This is not healthy. In fact, this is not only fruitless, it is downright self-destructive.
Rabbi Harold Kushner tells of a woman who approached him after a high holiday sermon on forgiveness. The woman was absolutely furious. She reminded Kushner that her husband had abandoned her, leaving her to raise two small children by herself in very tough circumstances ten years earlier. Her life had been very hard since then. She demanded, angrily, “After he did all that to me, you want me to forgive him for what he did?”
After a moment, Kushner replied, “Yes, I want you to forgive him. Not to excuse him, not to say that what he did was acceptable, but to forgive him as a way of saying that someone who would do that has no right to live inside your head, any more than he has a right to live inside your house. Why are you giving a person like that the power to turn you into a bitter, vengeful woman? He doesn’t deserve that power over you.”
Kushner’s point is valid, showing us that forgiveness is not a favor we do for the person who offended or injured us. It is a favor we do for ourself, a way of cleansing our soul of thoughts and memories that lead us to see ourself as a victim, and make our life less enjoyable than it is or could be.
When we understand that we have little choice as to what other people do, but we can ALWAYS choose how we will respond to what they do, we are empowered and able to let go of the embittering memories. We can then enter the new year cleansed and refreshed, free of the burden of carrying their actions in our heart and soul.
One more step: as difficult as forgiveness is, an even more difficult task, in my experience, is forgiving oneself. Like many of us, I am my own harshest critic. I seem to never forget or let go of my failures, I can’t overlook my mistakes, I hold on to and remember all that I do that does not work or does not meet my own expectations. Being very much human, I have lots to criticize in myself. I cannot count my errors and faults in the course of a week just on my fingers and toes. At times I feel that it would take a 10 digit adding machine with paper tape to do so! I am all too aware of my many flaws and mistakes.
But if I continue to carry the load of all of these faults and flaws and mistakes with me, I will burden myself to the point that I will be unable to move or function under the oppressive and crushing weight of them all.
What to do?
We cannot merely forget these flaws and mistakes, and we cannot simply say that the slate is wiped clean and we will go forward into the new year, doing the same things again! No. We know in our hearts that is not the way, it will not work.
Instead, once we have sincerely repented for what we have done, made amends as best we can, and truly asked forgiveness of others, then we are ready to do the hard work. Only then may we seek to do for ourself that which we do for others: we must forgive ourselves for our own errors and transgressions. In this way we can free ourself from a crushing encumberance that drags our soul down, and free ourself of the burden. At that point, we are prepared to seek G-d, and to ask for forgiveness from the divine ruler.
When we free ourself of the burden we have created, we enter the world of the spirit. The most amazing thing to say about this world is that it is free of the constraints of our ordinary life. Gravity doesn’t apply to our spirit or our soul. We can fly and soar, there are no boundaries, and the whole universe is open to us, and our playground.
When we are free in this way, it is possible for us to seek G-d, to approach the throne of the most high. In that state, we are able to soar upwards, seeking G-d, and in that fashion, acting and striving to bring more godliness into the world, and to be more godly in our own life.
There is a huge benefit to us for this effort. This feeling of freedom, of interacting with the divine, is the source of Joy. Not happiness, for that is fleeting. Not pleasure, which is tied to the physical world and the actions of others. Joy, the sense of being at one with creation, in communion with the divine, at peace with ourself.
The tools are available to us, and we can take advantage of them to reach Joy. We are flawed, but in a manner of thinking, the imperfections we contain are the necessary precursors to seek and find Joy. It only remains for us to choose to seek Joy amidst imperfection.
One more story, before I conclude. A bit of wisdom that shows us how G-d is merciful, and offers us a path that can lead to Joy.
In the traditional Jewish world, there are men (and some women) who serve as schnorrers. This term means ‘beggar’, but the fact is that they are really not beggars. Instead they serve as collectors for money for a worthy cause. The stereotypical picture is of a righteous chasidic man, very pious, very religious. They often come to Jews around the High Holy days (and other holidays), and they make a pitch for the person they are visiting to give Tzedakah for a cause they espouse. Their attitude is often that they are there to do the Jew they are visiting a favor, giving him or her the opportunity to fulfill a Mitzvah. Often, the best of them make their pitch in the form of a story, something that will touch and affect the listener. Here is one such story that contains a great deal of wisdom, as told by Avi Magid (a name that can be translated as ‘my father is a storyteller’), slightly adapted here.
“I was called and asked to join in a meeting, so I hurried to the rabbi’s study. As I entered his study, Rabbi Joseph was talking in an animated way with, of all people, a schnorrer, a very small, very elderly chasid. Odd, I thought, why invite me over to meet another schnorrer? A schnorrer is a schnorrer. A quick glance verified that there was nothing unusual about this schnorrer. He was dressed in the usual black coat, black hat, wore a long gray beard, had the full payes. In short, he had all the criteria of the mental image of a schnorrer. But, as it turned out, this was no ordinary schnorrer collecting money for a yeshivah or orphanage. No, this guy had gone big business — he had merged and consolidated! He represented a multitude of institutions, and had gold foil stamped and embossed certificates of authenticity, documented in a well worn leather portfolio, which he grandly displayed and brandished to emphasize both his status and the importance and value of his mission. Every year, he made the rounds of synagogues and individuals. Every year, he brought back large amounts of money for his employers. And every year, he did this by telling a story — usually something that contained musar – a tale with an ethical twist to it. And, like the wandering minstrels of medieval Provence, you paid him in direct relationship to how you much you liked it or how much it affected your heart. As you can imagine, he was very good at it. That year, his story was in the form of a question. The rabbi led us over to the seating area. We got settled, and comfortable on the couch, the schnorrer sitting opposite us on an armchair. He leaned forward in his chair and looked deep in our eyes. He asked, “What is the difference between a mitzvah – a good deed – and an averah – a sin?” The question, of course, was rhetorical – not meant to be answered by us. And, even if you did know an answer, you were obliged not to respond. So, we looked at him and waited politely for him to explain the answer. He sat back heavily. Closing his eyes and speaking softly in the sing-song voice which is often used to study Talmud, so as to draw us in, he said: “A mitzvah is something that often seems hard to do, but afterwards you know you did the right thing. An averah is something that often seems easy to do, but afterwards you know you did the wrong thing. And how do you know? Because your kishkes – your guts -tell you so.” Here was a statement about life which basically rendered any formalized system as meaningless. All the structured discourse of the philosophers, all the patterned logic of the theologians were for naught. All the classes on morality, the reflections on situational ethics, the values based decision making, even the pilpul of the Talmud; and it all came down to just this. The final arbiter of principle was kishkes. How simple. That was the schnorrer’s story that year. He got an exceptionally large check.” For us, the message is clear. As the schnorrer said: you know in your guts what is right. The hard thing is doing it, but you can choose to do so. When you do what is right, you feel yourself free and moving closer to G-d, finding Joy. And when you err, all is not lost! There is still the means to recover, by using the tool of Teshuvah. You can still free yourself, and achieve Joy.
The bottom line, the take away message is that G-d has provided for us two ways to seek Joy: by choosing so as not to err, and by seeking Teshuvah when we do err. Joy is available to us even when we err. How liberating! What a great gift! Praise be to G-d for creating us in such a way that we may find Joy, even when we fail in the first instance.
May all of you have a shanah tovah u’metukah, and a gut, gebencht, gezunt yor, and may you find and experience much Joy.
Blogging and The Congregational Trip to Israel in August
Wednesday, July 25th, 2007I am going to point out to you here that I have created a secondary blog in another location to report on the Congregational trip to Israel. I did this because I cannot update this blog readily from Israel, so wanted to be able to put entries up. I hope to move that blog wholesale to this one after the trip is completed. Meantime, please feel free to visit that blog at
SORRY. Link removed. No longer available on line. [12/276/2007]
Rabbi Joe
In the Wake of Violence
Wednesday, April 25th, 2007The following is an attempt to reproduce the Devar Torah I gave on Friday, April 20th, 2007.
I am posting it here to share some of the thoughts.
In offering it to be read, rather than spoken, I fear that it loses all of the emotional content, and will seem cold and unaffected. Please know that it was very much from the heart as I gave it.
In the Wake of Violence
Rabbi Joe Blair
April 20, 2007
The Torah parashiot we read from a few moments ago are found in Vaykra (Leviticus) in the double portion of Tazria-Metzora. Some translations call Tzara at leprosya, but this is not quite right. It is not truly Hansenitis, but would seem to me to be more something that afflicts you because of your own behavior, as happened to Miriam when she spoke ill of her sister-in-law. In some way, the term carries the sense of an affliction as retribution, which struck a chord for me this week.
I am offering this devar Torah on April 20th, 2007 sadly, the 8th anniversary of the Columbine school killings, and less than a week after the horrific massacre at Virginia Tech. The airwaves, print media, and cyberspace are all filled with discussions of this most recent tragedy: could it have been prevented, what do we do now, what mental health services are needed at universities, should we try to institute gun control in light of this tragedy, what is needed for school and campus security, who is to blame, will this affect the upcoming elections: a myriad of questions about the world around us, practically all without answers. Issues, in the words of Tevye the dairy man, that would cross a rabbi’s eyes and they do, between my tears.
But right now what is weighing on my mind and spirit has more to do with the unasked religious questions, and less to do with the secular culture with which we are surrounded in
In some ways, the horror in
In the midst of all the suffering and pain, I was intrigued to read these moving words, spoken in response to the Virginia Tech killings:
It is impossible to make sense of such violence and suffering. Those whose lives were taken did nothing to deserve their fate. They were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now they’re gone – and they leave behind grieving families, and grieving classmates, and a grieving nation. In times like this, we can find comfort in the grace and guidance of a loving G-d. As the Scriptures tell us, Dont be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.
Those words were spoken by President Bush. I am not usually noted for quoting politicians, but in this instance I resonated deeply with the Scriptural message he offered in his speech a quote from the book of Romans in the Greek Scriptures (often called the New Testament), itself quoting the Tanakh (the Hebrew Scriptures, our Bible), from the book of Proverbs. A very Jewish sentiment, and one that seemed appropriate and timely.
No doubt you, as I, have been inundated with reports of what happened in
Perhaps you, too, heard of engineering Professor Liviu Librescu. A Romanian Jew by birth, he suffered terribly under the Nazi sympathizers in his nation during the Holocaust. He survived. After that horror ended, he returned to live a normal life, only to suffer again under the repressive rule of Ceaucescu and the Communists when he would not join the party, and even more so when he declared that he wished to make Aliyah to Israel. He survived that, as well, and made his way to Eretz Yisrael, and the Technion. From there he was recruited to Virginia Tech, and he had been teaching at VT for the past twenty years.
When the gunman came near his room, Professor Librescu recognized the sound of gunfire. He told his students to flee out the windows, and without hesitation, he ran the opposite way, towards the door, to block it against the gunman. The gunman was prevented from entering, and in frustration, shot through the door, striking Professor Librescu fatally, but leaving without entering and without injuring any student in that classroom. Professor Librescu saved all of the students in his class, at the cost of his life.
We see that Professor Librescu puts the lie to the words of President Bush. He was not simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. By his actions and choices, Professor Librescu proved that *even if* we are in the wrong place at the wrong time, we are not simply pawns in the hands of fate: we have a choice in how we react. We can take to heart the instruction, the Mitzvah drawn from the Tanakh, with which President Bush concluded “don’t be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” Professor Librescu did just that.
It does not change the fact of his death. It does not alleviate the loss and suffering of his family and friends. It does, however, change the character of his death, demonstrating nobility, humanity, and compassion, and elevating him beyond the status of a victim to one who overcame evil with good. The outpouring of love and affection for Professor Librescu is no accident. By his actions he teaches us a deep and abiding lesson in love, faith, ethics, and morality. He shows us a way to elevate our lives.
Despite all the evils that befell him throughout his life, Professor Librescu was not bitter or hate-filled. By his actions he teaches us the inherent goodness that we can choose to live out, and he gives us renewed hope for humanity and for the future. As sad and as tragic as his death is, he is elevated, and his choice and his actions give meaning to his life, and to our world. This is his lesson and his legacy to us.
Yehi zichrono tzadik livrachah may his righteous memory be for a blessing. May we remember him, along with all the other victims of this terrible event, and all other innocent victims, for good and with love.
Let us all say, Amen.
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With appreciation and acknowledgment of my colleague and friend, Rabbi Toba Spitzer, for some of the language and ideas contained herein.
The Virginia Tech Tragedy
Tuesday, April 17th, 2007April 16, 2007
I write to you today, saddened and troubled by the horrific and senseless violence that shattered the quiet of life at VT in Blacksburg, Virginia thismorning. Details are still unclear, and it may be days or weeks before we know more fully what has transpired. We will likely never really know why.
Our thoughts and prayers are with the victims, with their families andfriends, as well as with the greater Virginia Tech community, in this timeof sadness, tragedy, and confusion.
May it be G-d’s will that those who are injured in any way heal fully and speedily, and that all those who are bereaved, those who mourn, those who are frightened, and those who suffer be comforted and supported.
Let us say, Ken yehi ratzon.
Rabbi Joe