S’lichot
September 16, 2006 – 24 Elul 5766
Community S’lichot Service – Adath Jeshurun Congregation
Minnetonka, Minnesota
by Rabbi Jared H. Saks

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During lunch, Amy’s counselors approached me. I was her unit head that summer at camp. Amy was socially awkward, as many 12-year-old girls are. And Amy was an outsider. She had trouble making friends and it was her first summer at camp. She didn’t know anyone. She also didn’t know how to swim. On her registration form, Amy had indicated that she had two goals for the summer: to make friends and to learn how to swim. Based upon the conversation that was about to ensue between her counselors and me, it seemed unlikely that Amy would accomplish either of those goals that summer.

Her cabin mates had stolen all of her shoes. Well, not all of them. They left Amy with one pair of shoes: her shower sandals, or flip-flops. At first glance, the remaining pair of shoes seemed to have been selected at random, but when given greater thought, the girls’ cruelty became more evident. If you’re familiar with camp life, you know that you need closed-toed shoes for just about every activity. Amy, with her pair of shower sandals, could attend every activity at camp… and participate in none of them. Her cabin mates had made it possible for her to sit on the sidelines and watch them have fun while she could not be a part of the action. She couldn’t be involved. She didn’t have closed-toed shoes. Of course, she could have still gone swimming, but, if you recall, Amy didn’t know how to swim.

It became clear to me that the theft of Amy’s shoes was not haphazardly planned. It was well thought out, well orchestrated, and malicious. And, I was at a loss. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t fathom children treating each other so cruelly and I didn’t understand the mob mentality of every girl in the cabin participating. There wasn’t even one, not even one, who was willing to divulge the location of Amy’s stolen shoes.

I went to their cabin during rest hour, after lunch. We made sure that Amy wouldn’t be there. I walked in. The girls were all on their beds reading, listening to music, talking, or resting. I gathered them and said, “I don’t even know what to do with you.” We stood in silence staring at each other for a few moments. “Amy’s shoes,” I continued, “will reappear before rest hour is over. Is that clear?” I got a few nods of the head and a hushed, “Uh-huh,” from one of the girls. “And,” I continued, “you have until dinner to figure out what your punishment should be. I don’t know what to do with you.” I walked out.

Initially, we had to get Amy’s shoes back. That, however, would not create any reconciliation between Amy and her fellow campers. It would not help her to achieve one of her goals: making friends. It would only get her shoes back to her so she could participate in activities in camp, ones from which the other girls would probably still exclude her. Amy’s counselors and I knew that reconciliation was even more important than getting Amy’s shoes back to her. We didn’t have a plan, though.

Since Tisha b’Av, over the past seven weeks, we have been reading the Haftarot of Consolation, passages from Isaiah in which the prophetic message tells us that God seeks reconciliation with us, promising to restore us and re-establish a relationship with us, even though we have gone astray. Israel’s relationship with God is often framed as the marriage of two loving partners, one of whom has not been trustworthy. We have wandered away from God. Over these past seven Shabbatot, as Rosh Hashanah draws ever nearer, God has sought to reunite with us. The promise that God makes to us, encouraging reconciliation, is not only about the relationship that we have with God, though. It is also about the relationship God has with the generation that follows.

When we express that God has forgotten us, God asks rhetorically, “Can a woman forget her baby or disown the child of her womb” (Isaiah 49:15)? When we despair over the loss of our children to the scary world around us, God responds by telling us that our children will return to us. God will bring our sons and daughters back to us (Isaiah 49:17, 49:20-22, 60:4, 60:9). God assures us that our children will not only return, but they will be faithful to God and they will experience tremendous happiness. It is through our children as well, not only through us, that reconciliation takes place.

As our children get older, we tell them, “Act your age.” We encourage them to grow up too quickly and expect them to behave like adults when they are still teenagers. And then, we, as adults, behave like children. We could learn from the childhood games that kids on the playground use to settle disputes. Last June, two lawyers stood before Judge Gregory Presnell of the Federal District Court in Orlando. The two, screaming at each other, could not agree about where to conduct the deposition of a witness. They were squabbling over the building where they both worked, four floors apart, or a court reporter’s office down the street.
Deciding such things is not part of the job of a federal judge. Judge Presnell issued an order that the two lawyers were to “convene at a neutral site and engage in one (1) game of ‘rock, paper, scissors’ to settle the matter.” You know the game: Rock, paper, scissors… shoot. Rock, paper scissors… shoot. Rock beats scissors; scissors beats paper; and, paper beats rock. While childish behavior in adults has become commonplace, Judge Presnell’s new form of alternative dispute resolution, the use of children’s games to resolve litigation disputes, was a new development in America’s legal system. In order to avoid the lawyers’ battling over the location of the game, the judge ordered them to play it on the steps of federal courthouse in Tampa, Florida.

Let me get back to Amy and her stolen shoes, now. At dinner, I approached the cabin’s table. Her counselors informed me that Amy’s shoes had been returned to her. Then, without even asking, the girls began to explain their punishment to me. They would teach Amy to swim. I was dumbfounded. Punishments developed by the counselors or me may have included extra clean-up, missing snack, or not having free time. Teaching someone to swim; however, would take quite a bit more time. When we ask our children to tell us what they think they deserve when they’ve done wrong, they often come up with a punishment that is more harsh and more profound.

Of course, I was nervous about the prospect of ten girls getting into the pool with one whom they didn’t like. I asked the lifeguards to be extra diligent. But I accepted the punishment they had chosen for themselves. Over the remaining time at camp, the girls spent free swim teaching Amy how to swim. One or two only did so reluctantly. Most were cordial. And a few actually became Amy’s friends. They had gotten to know Amy as an individual, as a person. Amy went home that summer with two things: new friends and the ability to swim.

And those lawyers in Florida? Ultimately, they settled the dispute without the rock-paper-scissors game. One, though, called on two consultants to help him strategize in order to win the game: his two daughters, age 5 and 9.
As the month of Elul draws to a close and we approach the High Holy Days, as we seek reconciliation with God and with one another, may we turn to our children who see visions of the future. May we hold their best interests at heart and take the world both as playfully and as seriously as they do. And may the promise of the generations to come inspire God to reconcile with us, as well. Shanah Tovah.