Sermons

Proximity
Yom Kippur 5768
by Rabbi Sim Glaser

Not so very long ago one third of the Jewish people of the world lived in small villages in Europe. A story goes that one day a young man declared to his fellow villagers that he was an avowed atheist and that he was leaving the village to make his home elsewhere because, since he was an atheist, he wanted to go live among other atheists. He was soon on his way and no one heard from him for some time.

Several years later the young man returned. The villagers asked him: “Why did you come back? Do you now believe in God?” “No,” he replied, “I still do not believe in God, but I have lived for many years in a village where no one believes in God and after some consideration I have decided that I prefer to live here with you who do.”

In deciding how to position the very building in which we sit this morning, Rabbi Minda and his minions in 1928 opted to have the ark face not east toward Jerusalem but west. When I first heard this it made sense to me that the ark should face the true lands of our ancestors, Palm Springs, Scottsdale and La Jolla. But a second explanation seemed far more plausible – that the Emerson doors, aiming that direction, would open toward the greater community. That a messianic view of God’s perfected world had less to do with rebuilding the Temple in Jerusalem than with our own ability to perfect our own immediate society and embrace, in a real sense, our proximity to our neighbors.

Did Rabbi Minda and his followers somehow know that a congregation that cares about the welfare of the greater community is going to be a healthier Temple community?

The New York Times ran an article last week describing the development of morality and found that it might have happened in two distinct periods of human evolution. In caveperson days those who bound together with shared beliefs and concerns about the welfare of their entire group were going to be more successful than those who simply fended for themselves.

Thus, the “Do unto others” motif common to so many religious traditions may be deeply ingrained in the DNA of us all, and yes, the organizational nature of religious grouping over the ages has helped give voice and method to that innate calling.

The theory then goes on to suggest that a later stage of morality came with language – putting words to what appeared to be an innate human capacity for kindness. It may be some time before they identify the precise DNA structure that points to our natural propensity for building a compassionate society, but I think the 297,000 figure mapping of our genetic religious code may be contained in the scrolls directly behind me.

From the earliest days of Judaism we have understood that putting ourselves in direct proximity to others is the most meaningful way of living our lives. Whether it is the closeness we cherish with a loved one, the sanctity of marriage, the relationship of teacher to student, the simple kindness in the workplace regardless of position, or the complete stranger that we befriend and bring into our midst. Alienation from others is destructive, drawing close to one another is nourishing.

The Torah and rabbinic tradition has endless sources relating to assisting the needy in our community.

Abraham and Sarah, the very first Jews on the planet were known for the mitzvah of hachnasat orachim – welcoming the stranger – their tent flaps up and their ready willingness to house the traveler.

The rabbis told stories of the most wicked city in the Bible – Sodom – in which a stranger wandering into the midst of that terrible place could starve to death within days because it was against the law to come anywhere near them with assistance. We are told that the compassionate daughter of Lot, Paltit, was burned to death for secretly coming to the aid of a homeless stranger.

Rabbi Hillel – circa 1st century CE – taught: “What is hateful to you do not do to another”. (Jesus was eavesdropping on Hillel that day, composing the golden rule of: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you – and guess who gets all the credit!)

Hillel also asked the question - If I am only for myself, what am I? And if I don’t act now, then when?

From Leviticus 19 – a.k.a. the Holiness Code: When you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not wholly reap the corners of your field, nor gather the gleanings of your harvest… you shall leave them for the poor and the stranger…” which asks us not to give a handout, (nowhere in the Torah dare we ever admonished to give a handout) but to bring the needy into proximity with us as business partners in the harvesting of our fields. Let us know who they are! Let them know who we are!

The Midrash teaches: if all the troubles of the world are assembled on one side and poverty is on the other, poverty would outweigh them all.

In God’s famous blessing to Abraham we hear: v’nivrechu v’cha kol mishpachot ha’adama u’v’zar’echa – “all the families of the earth shall bless themselves by virtue of their proximity to you!” But we also know that our proximity to those whom we bless will help us grow morally and spiritually.

And Isaiah taught us proximity about 15 minutes ago - is this the fast I seek? Bowing your head like a reed and covering yourself with sackcloth and ashes? Is not this the fast I look for, to unlock the shackles of injustice, to break every cruel chain? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and to bring the homeless poor into your house?

It is then perhaps very fitting that on the holiest day of the Jewish calendar we find ourselves in close proximity to the homeless of our community as we worship in the Jewish house of God that is geographically closest to our urban center.

One estimate is that there are 9,200 homeless people in the state of Minnesota. Approximately 2/3rds of them are staying in shelters. In 2006 there were about 1300 homeless families, a number that has tripled over the last fifteen years. Nearly half of all homeless people are children.

There are over 400 teenagers who are homeless in Minnesota and a total of 48 beds available to them at any one time. Those beds, in case you were wondering, are located 150 yards directly to your right, at the end of the block. We are in close proximity.

Homelessness, it turns out, is a vicious cycle. Almost one in ten of those experiencing homelessness today was homeless as a child. The unfortunate moving around from place to place has a detrimental effect on the education of a child. Almost half of these kids attended two different schools in a year, and a quarter of them attended three or more schools in a year’s time. Students who moved three or more times over a half year period scored 20 points lower than those who had one solid home. And there you have it – a problem that regenerates itself with each generation.

At the very most basic level, every child needs a safe place to sleep at night – for right there you have the root of the future. These children need to dream of hope for their futures. They have to know there are others out there who care about their future so they can give a damn about their own. We have to break the pattern of hopelessness.

I believe our proximity to the homeless in our community is having an effect, sometimes good and sometimes not so good. We react off one another, a dialogue on some level.

We see them on the street corner asking for a handout, and we comfort ourselves by remembering that we’re not supposed to give them any money because they’ll buy alcohol or drugs with it. And they respond: I remember seeing one day a man standing on a corner with a sign that did not read homeless, please help, but instead: I’m not going to lie to you, I need beer.

At the national biennial of our Reform Movement here a couple of years ago a homeless man was playing accordion in the walkways leading to and from the convention center. At the beginning of the convention he was playing Silent Night and Winter Wonderland, and not getting much attention. Within a few hours he had figured it out and was playing Dreidl Dreidl and Hava Nagilah, and was making some bucks, and connections. True story.

We say to ourselves – I work hard, I’ve found a way to make ends meet. Why can’t they? To this we can only look at the facts: The majority of homeless households are single mothers with children. The average such household expense for food for a month is $407. Housing is $855, health care $334, transportation $421, childcare $990, clothing, $263.

With net taxes the total comes to $3,719. Let’s say you are that single mother and you have acquired a job at minimum wage, which, in Minnesota is $6.15 an hour. Working 40 hours you’d be pulling in $984. For the sake of argument, let’s say you worked two full time jobs – 80 hours a week at minimum wage – that’s $1968, a bit more than half of what you would need to survive. And many of the homeless in our state are working hard.

There are dreamers out there who are talking about ending homelessness in Minneapolis entirely within ten years. Let’s be frank. A long term solution involves health care reform, affordable housing availability, substance abuse treatment, long before people wind up on the streets or in shelters. But the dreamers say it can be done if we put ourselves in proximity with our neighbors and see the situation for what it is and get to know these folks for who they actually are.

Temple Israel, with our eastern doors facing the messianic direction need to dream along with these visionaries. We need to act alongside them. How beautiful a thing it would be for us, ten year’s hence to be announcing to the rest of our movement that we participated in the successful effort of the first major metropolitan area to literally eradicate homelessness.

You have probably heard by now that Temple will be opening our doors in January as a shelter for two weeks. As part of the Families Moving Forward Program, a consortium of 40 churches (up until now – guess who is the first synagogue) - 4 to 5 families will come have dinner with us, stay the night, and leave in the morning for a Day Center where they will be able to clean up, look for jobs and housing, their kids can be off to school, and be afforded a space for their children to play. There are facilities there for doing laundry, cooking, eating, reading and watching TV and doing homework.

Yes, it is only four families and it is only two weeks. But these families are in transition and they are on their way to full time housing. We are not going to solve the problem of homelessness with this effort, but we are going to begin to better understand their situation by putting ourselves in proximity to them, meeting those who face challenges we can hardly even imagine, and ultimately, God willing, and you willing, become part of a major force in making a long lasting impact on the problem of homelessness.

You know, next week we bring our children into the Sukkah. We explain that this is the way our ancestors lived when they were “in transition” between the enslavement of Egypt and the promise of secure homeland. We talk about the providence of a roof over one’s head, and the fragility of that home. We teach them gratitude for what they have and try to develop in them eyes that can see beyond their own four walls. And we feel strongly enough about this effort that for the first time, at least as far as I can recall, Rabbi Saks is preaching about the same thing downstairs at this very moment.

But I think the most profound lesson will occur on a Hebrew school afternoon this winter, when our own little Shira or Dahvid strides into the classroom and sees several rolled up inflatable mattresses and some unusual belongings stored in a corner of the room and asks: “What, is that?” To which the simple answer will be: “Well, there is a homeless family staying here with us for a couple of weeks. That’s their stuff. We’re helping them get their bearings for a couple of weeks so that they can find a home of their own.” “But why here?” she might ask. And our answer to that question is where the most profound Jewish learning will begin. Her proximity to our guests will be palpable. Her understanding of the underpinnings of her faith will be inerasable.

White cards were distributed along with your service programs. You are asked to consider volunteering for the Temple Israel Shelter January 20th through February 2nd or helping with systems change work. Please take the card with you and send it back to Temple Israel or else complete it and put it in the box in the lobby. Social Action Committee and TIPTY members will also distribute informational sheets to you as you leave the building. Please bring in the items listed or consider making a monetary donation to the shelter effort.

Some of you may remember a fellow by the name of John Delapenna. He was “our homeless guy” as many referred to him – the Hebrew school kids especially – they said it sort of proudly. John was here the first several years that I was here. Having just come from Beth Israel in West Hartford, another large urban reform Jewish congregation that also had a “homeless guy” I assumed there was some agency that provided one homeless person per church or synagogue to add some color or to illustrate the necessary reality of a religious vision to the congregation – sort of one step up from a food donation bin.

John came to everything, whether it was warm or cold out and whether or not there was food. In getting to know him I learned that John did have options of places to stay and that he had chosen to live on the streets. This soothed my conscience a bit. His choice, right?

One evening, at an oneg Shabbat with a 30 below wind chill blowing outside John approached me and asked if I would put him up for the night. In my house. I couldn’t do it. I offered to bring him to a shelter or to pay for several nights lodging in a hotel, and take him there that very instant. He wasn’t interested. As I learned later, John approached another congregant that night who did put him up in their home for the night.

But that night I lay in bed thinking about the roof over my head. About my need to first protect my family. There it is, I thought. I have drawn my line as to the extent of proximity I personally am willing to engage in with the homeless. I felt terrible.

I talked to John a couple of days later and he had forgotten about it and moved on, literally and figuratively. But a year later, on a particularly bitter cold winter’s night, when John was discovered frozen to death under an overpass, the episode came back to me vividly.

Temple donated a small plot at our cemetery to inter his ashes. I was to officiate at his funeral two days later and I expected it would be me, John’s remains and a few Temple congregants who might have heard about his death and were available that afternoon.

Over 80 people showed up at John’s funeral. Turns out, though he did not necessarily choose to stay in a homeless shelter or accept donations to put him up in a motel, John had many homes. He held court in a number of places. Outside Whole Foods, downtown, and yes, Temple Israel was one of his homes. He had a community. Several actually.

John had about 6 books in his possession when they found him. They were given to me. One was a book on Kabbalah with much of certain chapters underlined. I turned to the chapter on Tikkun Olam and noticed it had caught John’s interest. Tikkun Olam – repair of a broken world, an ancient Kabbalistic idea.

How much there is to do, I thought. So many fragments spinning chaotically through the cosmos. The very least we can do is to ensure that the youngest and most vulnerable of those fragments find their way to a warm bed, a smiling, encouraging countenance, a hot meal and an encouraging send off to a day of school with the promise of a home to which they will return that afternoon. Really, is this too much to guarantee to every young citizen of this great city?

What do you say? On this holiest day of the year, let’s be visionaries. Let’s put Temple Israel and Minneapolis on the map as partners with God in proving to the rest of the country that the cycle can be broken, the future can be secured, and a broken world can be repaired.

There are people in this village who believe. It is a place where God’s work is done. It is a good place to live.

I think we can do it.