The days and weeks leading to the High Holy Days can be awesome – fraught
with dread and fear for rabbis as we struggle with our sermon topics.
These days can be stressful for clergy – just ask our families. During
these days of preparation, my husband kindly reminds me that this is the
time when God judges us all; not congregants the rabbi’s sermon. And
yet, it’s Rosh Hashanah, and after all, you give each sermon a grade – each
rabbi’s performance a thumbs up or down. And we know it.
Rabbis and cantors are fearful and strive to make meaning out of this important
day in the Jewish calendar. After all, when do we get a chance to speak
to or sing to so many of you at one time any other time of the year – except
of course, if we’re Tom Friedman. With the long lines and the complaints
of running out of tickets, I was misdirected when I thought you were all
talking about the 4:45; 7 or 9 p.m. service. Halavi, maybe one day.
Finding the right subject for Rosh Hashanah is difficult at best in any year,
but this year the problem is just the opposite; there are too many topics
to discuss, too many difficult, painful experiences we’ve had over the past
year as a nation and as a people, and the one, ever-present, underlying emotion
is that of fear.
In Hebrew, the root of the word fear can also mean to be in awe. Yeray,
it is the same etymology of the word to see or to be aware of. For
me, this simple Hebrew lesson holds the depth of our collective response
to the fear lurking in our world.
Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear – not the absence of fear.
In fact I have said recently, on more than one occasion to couples under
the chuppah, that their marriage is an act of courage and bravery.
The fact that people continue to have children, a rash of babies born nine
months after 9/11, is astounding in this world today. The simplest
acts become courageous when we live in a world filled with fear.
When last I stood before you on Rosh Hashanah, it was just days after 9/11.
We had no perspective, we were in shock, but somehow we gathered together
as a community to endeavor to find the words to speak about the unfathomable.
Do we have any greater insights now a year later?
These are difficult and uncertain financial times. Here, too, fear
abounds. Revelations of corporate cheating and lying make the daily
news. Some of our largest companies and trusted professions and institutions
have added to our feelings of mistrust and fear.
The confidence of the American economy is shaken to its very roots by the
dishonesty of some of those who most benefited from our corporate system.
Desperate economic times have historically been fertile ground for the rise
of anti-Semitism.
There is growing fear of anti-Semitism in Europe with synagogues being burned,
Jews beaten, Torah scrolls destroyed. Even in our own country, when
five-term Congresswoman Cynthia McKinney lost in the August 22 Democratic
primary in Georgia, she said her defeat was due to a four-letter word
J E W S, Jews. While there were more significant factors that led to
McKinney’s defeat, she blamed Jewish money that supported her opponent.
We fear for our brothers and sisters in Israel. We experienced another
year of terrorism, innocent deaths and accusations against Israel.
How does the Israeli government both uphold its right to defend itself and
the belief in democracy and civil liberties?
This is a daily struggle where there is no easy answer, and my heart cries
out for the families of the victims of senseless terror.
I’ve heard some of you express fear and concern over our safety here at Temple
Israel that we, too, could become a target during these Days of Awe.
These and more confirm for us a frightening, fearful world out there.
Bombarded daily, we wonder how quickly our world has changed.
12 months ago:
We had never experienced the scale of civilian casualties from terrorism
by outsiders within our borders; a loss of our innocence forever;
12 months ago:
Who would have ever imagined the systematic deceit and greed that ran rampant
in our free-market system?
12 months ago:
Who could have imagined how quickly covert anti-Semitism could ignite.
12 months ago:
The horrors of the second intifada were real, but the senseless and relentless
acts of terrorism – bombings at a Passover Seder, a University cafeteria,
pizza parlors and cafes, all still seem incomprehensible.
We are fearful; we are frightened; we are scared. We have been terrorized
as a nation, as a people, as human beings. There are evil people out
there, and when they will strike no one knows, and who they are is anyone’s
guess. This stress has had a tremendous affect on all of us.
This fear can be paralyzing.
As a result, the upgraded security during these High Holy Days, and everyday
in our Temple and in synagogues everywhere, is a response to this reality.
In addition, our congregational family trip to Israel was cancelled.
All across the country, hard working people are out of work, under employed,
and all too many people are struggling financially. Many who rely on
their investment portfolios, are fearful and worried about their future and
retirement. And for those who do not have the option of IRAs or other basic
benefits that we take for granted, day-to-day life is even more difficult.
Daily we walk around a little more wary, a little more depressed, disillusioned
and confused. Fear is evident in people’s faces, no matter how some
may want it all to be “business as usual.”
Our world is changing right before our very eyes. Our instinctive reaction
is to hold on to what was, yesterday, hoping we will wake up and it’ll all
be just a bad dream.
Do we live in fear and scramble for cover for ourselves and our loved ones
alone?
The famous Reverend Martin Niemoller said these words four days before he
was taken to Dauchau: “First they came for the socialists, and I did
not speak out – because I was not a socialist. Then they came for the
trade unionists, and I did not speak out – because I was not a trade unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out – because I was not
a Jew. Then they came for me – and there was no one left to speak for
me.”
Hiding guarantees nothing; succumbing to our fears is not the answer.
Trying to fix the problem, taking away the feeling of fear, can potentially
create additional problems. Charles Mann, in this month’s Atlantic
Monthly in his article entitled “Homeland Insecurity,” gives examples of
security measures that ended in even more serious crimes.
To stop the rampant theft of expensive automobiles, manufacturers in the
1990s began to make ignitions very difficult to hot-wire. This reduced
the likelihood that cars would be stolen from parking lots – but apparently
contributed to the sudden appearance of a new and more dangerous crime, carjacking.
To help merchants verify and protect the identity of their customers, marketing
firms and financial institutions have created large computerized databases
of personal information: social security numbers; credit-card numbers;
telephone numbers, home addresses; and the like. With these databases
being increasingly interconnected by means of the Internet, they have become
irresistible targets for criminals. From 1995 to 2000, the incidence
of identity theft tripled.
These instinctive responses to fear do not work. What is our response?
Remember, courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear, not the absence
of fear.
We must be courageous; we must remain steadfast in our convictions, like
Marla Bennett. Marla, a United States citizen and a victim of the Hebrew
University bombing wrote for the San Diego Jewish Press.
On August 2, she was one of 100s of casualties. On May 10, only two
months before her death, she had written:
“Each morning when I leave my apartment building, I have an important question
to contemplate: Should I turn left or should I turn right?
“This question may seem inconsequential, but the events of the past few months
in Israel have led me to believe that each small decision I make – by which
route to walk to school, whether to go out to dinner – may have life-threatening
consequences. My friends and family in San Diego are right when they
call and ask me to come home. It is dangerous here. I appreciate
their concern. But there is nowhere else in the world I would rather
be right now.
"I have a front-row seat for the history of the Jewish people. I am
part of the struggle for Israel’s survival. Paying for my groceries
is the same as contributing money to my favorite cause.”
In the midst of the violence that surrounded her, Marla Bennett found meaning
through her strength and conviction. I believe her words teach all
of us an important lesson in courage.
We must be courageous; we must remain steadfast in our convictions, like
Natan Shranasky. In his last and timeless speech before the Soviet
court that sentenced him to prison over 30 years ago, Shranasky stated:
“Five years ago, I submitted my application for an exit visa to Israel.
Now I am further than ever from my dream. This would seem to be a cause
for regret. But it is absolutely otherwise. I am happy.
I am happy that I lived honestly, in peace with my conscience. I never
compromised my soul, even under the threat of death. For more than
two thousand years, the Jewish people, my people, have been dispersed.
But wherever they are, wherever Jews are found, each year they have repeated,
“Next year in Jerusalem.” Now, when I am further than ever from my
people, from Avital, my wife, facing many arduous years of imprisonment,
I say, turning to my people, my Avital: Next year in Jerusalem!
And I turn to you, the court, who were required to confirm a predetermined
sentence, to you I have nothing to say.”
The enemy was real, but Sharansky did not forego his integrity, his beliefs,
his convictions and his courage.
We must be courageous; we must remain steadfast in our convictions.
Fear is nothing new within Judaism; we find it in the traditional Torah reading
for Rosh Hashanah: the story of Hagar and Ishmael. We enter the story
when Sarah, out of jealousy, sends Hagar, the concubine, and Ishmael, Abraham’s
oldest son, out of the house. They have no place to go, and Abraham,
himself, takes them away giving them limited provisions. Wandering
around the wilderness of Beer Sheva, Hagar soon runs out of water.
In despair, she places her son under a bush and sits down at a distance,
so she will not hear or see him die of dehydration. She then bursts
into tears. The text continues to tell us that God hears the cry of
the child, and an angel speaks to Hagar, telling her not to worry that Ishmael
will be the father of a great nation. The actual Hebrew says, Al-Tearee,
do not fear. But now here is the nechemta, the real lesson. God
does not create water in the desert to assure Hagar and Ishmael’s survival.
No, the water is there all the time; she is in Beer Sheva, the place of seven
wells. All God does is open her eyes to see the well of water.
The water was there all along, but out of her fear, she was unable to see
it. She was surrounded by wells of water, but she could not draw upon
them until she drew upon her faith through the blessing that God bestowed
on her son’s future.
We must be courageous; we must remain steadfast in our convictions, like
the many heroes in New York, Washington and from all round the country on
Flight 93. 9/11 was a horrible day in our nation’s history. As
we approach the first-year anniversary, news accounts and histories abound,
commemorative ceremonies are planned here and throughout the country.
Returning to ground zero is a testimony to innocent lives that were lost.
Practically everyone who has gone to New York City has made his or her way
down to where the twin towers once stood. Someone called it sacred
ground. Perhaps the deafening silence that is there gives meaning to
the lives lost, the loved ones still mourned and our nation’s loss of innocence.
Baruch Spinoza, famous 17th century Jewish philosopher, once said:
“Fear cannot be without hope nor hope without fear.” This haunting
message is especially important to remember on Rosh Hashanah because the
Jewish New Year is all about hope. We need hope to make it through
these difficult times. In the Talmud, there is a discussion between
two rabbis about the appropriate time of the New Year that illuminates the
power of hope. One rabbi asserts that the new year must be in Nisan,
in the spring, the time of new birth and hope. The second rabbi argues
the opposite – no, no, the new year should be in Tishri – in the fall – while
we are on the cusp of the winter, when the leaves fall from the trees, the
earth becomes dormant.
That is the time we must have the hope to celebrate the New Year. So,
too, today – in this time of confusion, we must be courageous; we must remain
steadfast in our convictions.
We have been coming together as a community in hope to this sanctuary for
over 70 years. This is our sanctuary, our spiritual home, our sacred
ground. It is also our hope. We come here to remember our loved
ones who have died, to celebrate our greatest joys. We gather together
to find hope and spiritual peace of mind.
This sanctuary has been the gathering place for our entire community during
this difficult year: on the national day of prayer on September 14; on the
day of solidarity for Israel last spring. Our sanctuary is the place
where we, as a congregational family, find our history, our tradition and
our pride. It is our hope, our home, a place of safety and comfort
and conviction.
We must feel free to openly express our pride as Jews.
Upon the conclusion of our Rosh Hashanah service, we will exit onto Emerson
Avenue as we did last year. It is our strongest and loudest statement
we can make.
Join me and my colleagues as we proudly wish you a shanah tova, a happy New
Year. We will stand strong as Jews, where all can see us, feeling proud,
feeling safe, feeling renewed hope, and feeling courageous.
May it be God’s will, Amen.
